They hear him rise. They--he may be making more tea. But all he has in his hands when he comes in...the curtains. They avoid looking down at the marks on the floor, or to the things that may or may not be relics on the counter.
He looks at them. They keep from wondering if he was expecting something for more than a moment, remaining, as they always attempt-to-and-should-be, impassive.
What he tells them holds enough substance to be read as order. They must return the gravestone, besides.
They pull the blanket off, setting it aside in a half-folded heap, and shift to their knees. Slowly. In part to keep from stirring his wariness--their Nail is still at their side--and in part due to simple stiffness.
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syntheid
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Date: 2020-09-06 09:55 pm (UTC)He looks at them. They keep from wondering if he was expecting something for more than a moment, remaining, as they always attempt-to-and-should-be, impassive.
What he tells them holds enough substance to be read as order. They must return the gravestone, besides.
They pull the blanket off, setting it aside in a half-folded heap, and shift to their knees. Slowly. In part to keep from stirring his wariness--their Nail is still at their side--and in part due to simple stiffness.