The blue lines of light take them down the tunnel, but it's not too bad a descent. Not enough to trip them up, as long as they're careful with where they put their feet. Anima seems to come to no visible harm either, his tiny hand grazing over the light lines without interrupting the low pulse of the luminosity.
But soon they come upon a door. Round and stone, just like the one they'd passed through earlier, though not quite as large. This new one gathers the continuous stream of blue light in its carvings instead of the white they had encountered earlier.
And there's a woman by the door.
She's crouching against it, her back slumped, her sleek black hair tumbled forward, over her shoulders, down her face. Her clothing is not familiar to Aymeric, tawny but splotched with brown and olive green, fatigues cut utilitarian to her lean frame. But the look on her face is nigh universal when she looks up, her lips white and tears running down her =cheeks.
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But soon they come upon a door. Round and stone, just like the one they'd passed through earlier, though not quite as large. This new one gathers the continuous stream of blue light in its carvings instead of the white they had encountered earlier.
And there's a woman by the door.
She's crouching against it, her back slumped, her sleek black hair tumbled forward, over her shoulders, down her face. Her clothing is not familiar to Aymeric, tawny but splotched with brown and olive green, fatigues cut utilitarian to her lean frame. But the look on her face is nigh universal when she looks up, her lips white and tears running down her =cheeks.