The old woman has her own nose pressed up against books on the shelves, trying to speed-read a couple to get a sense of where she is, and doesn’t notice the kid until he’s right on top of her. No pain on the collision, of course, but she is a bit taken aback, putting her hands in the air in a very I didn’t touch him way. Or perhaps, in an Ew, a walking germbomb, don’t touch me way.
Taking his apology with a brusque ”Hmph,” and nod of her head, Wessex is about to turn and head on her way when she catches one of the titles. “What’s ThirdEye?” Lifting a thin, greying brow, she hovers a bit over his head.
It sounds suspiciously like something to do with Darkeye. And another one - or thing - like him is the last thing she needs.
Taking his apology with a brusque ”Hmph,” and nod of her head, Wessex is about to turn and head on her way when she catches one of the titles. “What’s ThirdEye?” Lifting a thin, greying brow, she hovers a bit over his head.
It sounds suspiciously like something to do with Darkeye. And another one - or thing - like him is the last thing she needs.
The Wraith
the bright
the thing in the night
the bright
the thing in the night
Wessex
