This deer's not, and his voice is all queer. Unbidden, she thinks of Miss Margaery's ram.
Taking a breath of cold air, Kate walks forwards. She's wearing her skirts in layers, petticoats under her blue overskirt, but without stockings, she's still chilled. A few layers are better than one or two, but the fabric is still thin. The snow crunches under her feet, an alien sound to her which merely adds to the eerie atmosphere.
She doesn't want to walk forwards. She doesn't. She wants to go back to the warm sanctuary of the inn, the sanctuary she's built up, but she's a Kelly and she's an adult: it is not to her to hide from unsightly things.
Although she can flinch, and she does when she sees the wreckage. She lifts her hand, crosses herself and murmurs an almost silent prayer.
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Taking a breath of cold air, Kate walks forwards. She's wearing her skirts in layers, petticoats under her blue overskirt, but without stockings, she's still chilled. A few layers are better than one or two, but the fabric is still thin. The snow crunches under her feet, an alien sound to her which merely adds to the eerie atmosphere.
She doesn't want to walk forwards. She doesn't. She wants to go back to the warm sanctuary of the inn, the sanctuary she's built up, but she's a Kelly and she's an adult: it is not to her to hide from unsightly things.
Although she can flinch, and she does when she sees the wreckage. She lifts her hand, crosses herself and murmurs an almost silent prayer.
"It. It looks like the ram."