http://sinfulspeeder.livejournal.com/ (
sinfulspeeder.livejournal.com) wrote in
shatterverse2008-04-24 08:43 pm
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One moment, Edwin is tearing through the steppes...
...and the next, he (and his horse) find themselves in very unfamiliar territory. Huxley pins his ears back and snorts at the sudden flash, rearing slightly, while Edwin fights to remain in the saddle as he looks around. "A storm?" he asks himself, looking up a sky that seems anything but stormy. He starts as his attention goes to the rest of the landscape-it certainly looks dry enough, but this...isn't Euloria.
His horse, meanwhile, recovers quite a bit more quickly and begins to move along at a quick trot, apparently not bothered by the fact that he's trotting on pavement rather dirt. Edwin just hangs on, still staring at his surroundings, particularly at the sign that he passes by as Huxley continues onwards-Snakewater, Montana - Pop. 21,500.
At least, that's what it says underneath the scratch marks covering the population number. Beside the former number, someone's painted 15.
Edwin is fairly certain that isn't a terribly good omen.
...and the next, he (and his horse) find themselves in very unfamiliar territory. Huxley pins his ears back and snorts at the sudden flash, rearing slightly, while Edwin fights to remain in the saddle as he looks around. "A storm?" he asks himself, looking up a sky that seems anything but stormy. He starts as his attention goes to the rest of the landscape-it certainly looks dry enough, but this...isn't Euloria.
His horse, meanwhile, recovers quite a bit more quickly and begins to move along at a quick trot, apparently not bothered by the fact that he's trotting on pavement rather dirt. Edwin just hangs on, still staring at his surroundings, particularly at the sign that he passes by as Huxley continues onwards-Snakewater, Montana - Pop. 21,500.
At least, that's what it says underneath the scratch marks covering the population number. Beside the former number, someone's painted 15.
Edwin is fairly certain that isn't a terribly good omen.
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"It's a good think I have hobbles," he says after a moment of thought. "Otherwise he'll be hard to catch when I let him graze."
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"...What killed them?"
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He should know from the oddly windy handshake that she's not exactly solid.
"Gimme a minute..."
"--okay," says Sky, focusing on the world at hand again. "Now would be a good time to go that way, very fast."
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Perhaps more importantly-does he want to know what she saw?
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She's never seen Jurassic Park, see.
"Quick. Low. Claws. Three of 'em."
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He keeps Huxley at a gallop, still looking behind himself for any sign of whatever's chasing them.
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