Oh how marvelous it sounds, travelling the stars, seeing innumerable sights and civilizations, sharing adventures with someone. She could listen to him talk about his travels for an eternity, he is such a splendid storyteller when he gets going, passionate and engaging. And, perhaps, a welcome distraction for both of them. She starts to pile up a little wall as she listens, or a bridge, gently sloping from the base of her structure over to a corner of his, delicately carving out tiny spires along the top. Her hood keeps obscuring her vision during this tricky bit of work, so she ends up brushing it back over her skull.
Then he mentions escaping his current fetters, and her claws still in the sand. For one reason or another, she'd never quite stopped to think about a future beyond their present arrangements, except perhaps in the brief lonely moments before sleep overtakes her. She has never even once considered this to be a kind of imprisonment, their life in the boundless dimensions of the TARDIS within the brilliant, loud, astonishing human city; there's been far too much to see and to do. But perhaps it would be to him, who by all his stories is accustomed to truly unrestrained wandering. Yet the thought of all that they have here ending squeezes her insides as though a relentless serpent had taken hold of her. "You must be looking forward to returning to your universe quite terribly," she manages at length, voice wavering.
Ophion is tolerating the grooming patiently, lying still and loose in the sand, occasionally twitching a coil to the side when it tickles. As Calliope's mood shifts he half turns to gaze up at her, then hurries into the shelter. Curling up close to the owl's feathered claws, his only way of showing affection is to seek out her company.
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Then he mentions escaping his current fetters, and her claws still in the sand. For one reason or another, she'd never quite stopped to think about a future beyond their present arrangements, except perhaps in the brief lonely moments before sleep overtakes her. She has never even once considered this to be a kind of imprisonment, their life in the boundless dimensions of the TARDIS within the brilliant, loud, astonishing human city; there's been far too much to see and to do. But perhaps it would be to him, who by all his stories is accustomed to truly unrestrained wandering. Yet the thought of all that they have here ending squeezes her insides as though a relentless serpent had taken hold of her. "You must be looking forward to returning to your universe quite terribly," she manages at length, voice wavering.
Ophion is tolerating the grooming patiently, lying still and loose in the sand, occasionally twitching a coil to the side when it tickles. As Calliope's mood shifts he half turns to gaze up at her, then hurries into the shelter. Curling up close to the owl's feathered claws, his only way of showing affection is to seek out her company.