They weren't sure what to expect from their response--were not allowing it, have no previous context for it--and his burst of excitement is startling, though they show nothing.
They stare at the parchment. Words. He wants words. They struggle, again, for a time, over the mere concept of giving them, that they shouldn't have them--they were never truly taught written word besides, beyond the most basic if something had to be ordered by text, which never happened.
They do. They have fragments of it, some learned from standing by the Pale King's side, more from the memories of bugs and mosskin and spiders and the mushroom folk, dragged through their mind with burning hooks.
To the question: Why does Hallownest still stand? The Hollow Knight...doesn't understand this question. The population is decimated. The King and Queen are gone. It is ruins and rare pockets of life that She loathed--half the Mantis Tribe was all they knew of, and they were not truly under Hallownest's rule--were nearly nothing.
They pluck the quill up with trembling fingers. As they were not made for words, it was not made for hands of their size. But they have been asked, so they must try.
Hallownest is long fallen. Infection spread, Nothing l
This is all they write in a mix of archaic Hallownest text and a dash of Mosskin grammar rules, and then their hand spasms and slides off the parchment, leaving an ugly ink line trailing onto the desk.
no subject
They stare at the parchment. Words. He wants words. They struggle, again, for a time, over the mere concept of giving them, that they shouldn't have them--they were never truly taught written word besides, beyond the most basic if something had to be ordered by text, which never happened.
They do. They have fragments of it, some learned from standing by the Pale King's side, more from the memories of bugs and mosskin and spiders and the mushroom folk, dragged through their mind with burning hooks.
To the question: Why does Hallownest still stand? The Hollow Knight...doesn't understand this question. The population is decimated. The King and Queen are gone. It is ruins and rare pockets of life that She loathed--half the Mantis Tribe was all they knew of, and they were not truly under Hallownest's rule--were nearly nothing.
They pluck the quill up with trembling fingers. As they were not made for words, it was not made for hands of their size. But they have been asked, so they must try.
Hallownest is long
fallen. Infection spread, Nothing l
This is all they write in a mix of archaic Hallownest text and a dash of Mosskin grammar rules, and then their hand spasms and slides off the parchment, leaving an ugly ink line trailing onto the desk.