"Made of mischief, all of thee," Susan says, mock-sternly, then rolls her eyes at Alain's bland tone as he observes, "Not me, surely."
"Aye, thee too, ka-mai or not." But even as she says it, something stirs well beyond the edge of the garden, and her glance drifts unconsciously toward it.
For ka works and the world moves on, may it do ya, and though those gathered here may not know it, ka's workings with regard to one Roland Deschain have been long set in
(a handful of dust)
a pattern as strong and binding as any chain. Time is soft here in the places between, and softer still on this night when the veils between the worlds are dim and thin and drifting, and although a price was paid and a horn once lost was found and in a rose-covered field far distant a Tower waits for change, here the weight of ka's wheel drags still at those who Roland failed to save.
(lost and by the wind grieved - O Discordia)
And oh, though she does not know it, Susan Delgado was the first of them all, and now here she stands again among them, the linchpin that marked the beginning of all their losses, while at the edges of this tenuous place of safety something dark begins to rise.
(what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?)
"Something's wrong." For all it's a mere whisper, it's achingly clear.
no subject
"Aye, thee too, ka-mai or not." But even as she says it, something stirs well beyond the edge of the garden, and her glance drifts unconsciously toward it.
For ka works and the world moves on, may it do ya, and though those gathered here may not know it, ka's workings with regard to one Roland Deschain have been long set in
(a handful of dust)
a pattern as strong and binding as any chain. Time is soft here in the places between, and softer still on this night when the veils between the worlds are dim and thin and drifting, and although a price was paid and a horn once lost was found and in a rose-covered field far distant a Tower waits for change, here the weight of ka's wheel drags still at those who Roland failed to save.
(lost and by the wind grieved - O Discordia)
And oh, though she does not know it, Susan Delgado was the first of them all, and now here she stands again among them, the linchpin that marked the beginning of all their losses, while at the edges of this tenuous place of safety something dark begins to rise.
(what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?)
"Something's wrong." For all it's a mere whisper, it's achingly clear.