THE PRICE OF ANYTHING
IS THE AMOUNT OF LIFE YOU EXCHANGE FOR IT
IS THE AMOUNT OF LIFE YOU EXCHANGE FOR IT
For a moment, Pravda is not there; he is Prigovora’s eyes as the raptor slices through the high grasses at a speed that feels like flight. For a moment, he is only the raptor’s hunger and ferocity, and the way that he flashes through a field of tulips and slices through a group of citizens walking through the field. Then, Pravda is listening to Pan’s voice. Soft at the top. It’s over there… don’t touch it…
Pravda’s eyes follow the young man’s gaze. He takes in the grasses and, after a moment, remembers a similar picture. Wraithgrass. At least the boy chose something that would respond to treatment, Pravda supposes. Pan slides a satchel from his shoulder and offers the contents, but Pravda shakes his head. “No, no—I’m familiar with it. And—wait… you stole it?” The outrage is evident in Pravda’s tone; he is a scholar, and thieves… well, thieves should be punished.
His jaw clenches inadvertently. There is a new hardness overcoming him, one difficult to disguise. The young boy closes his eyes but Pravda makes a noise of disapproval in his throat. “No, try to stay as aware as possible. Look at me.”
Then: Where did you find the dinosaur? I’ve never seen one, aside in storybooks.
“He came from a land very far from here,” Pravda says. He can see the boy’s attention waning, and decides it better to keep speaking. “A land where men are bonded with creatures that represent the worst parts of themselves. Prigovora is hardly a dinosaur. He’s worse than that, I suppose.”
Pravda searches for the otter that led him here. “And how does one find an otter?” Pravda asks, to keep Pan talking as they wait. Pravda continues to see flashes of Prigovora’s journey. He is already to the swamp, which has hindered his speed.
"Speech." || @Pan
