Eda’s eyes narrow, just a little, because she doesn’t like feeling yelled at and she doesn’t like being told what to do and she doesn’t like people deciding things for her. Not even when they think they’re helping. Or maybe that’s part of it–because yes, she was scared. She was hiding. She warned him off. But she didn’t ask for his help.
She knows it’s stupid, she knows she’ll probably get herself hurt, and she knows she should be grateful, like she should be grateful to everyone else who’s tried–and none of that stops her from moving to put herself between the man and the owl beast before she can think better of it.
Because this is a dream, the next thing that happens will feel less like a transformation and more like a shift in perspective.
One way or another, there are no longer two separate things in front of him. Perhaps there never were. Or perhaps there still are. But that isn’t what Manji sees.
What’s in front of him is a harpy. One that never exactly existed in real life, not like this, not back then. One with bright red hair and rust orange feathers, gangly and fluffy and young. She’s taller than Eda was moments ago, although much smaller than the version of this form that Manji has met. Still, it’s probably hard to miss the resemblance.
Her eyes are wide and wary, and she clutches an arm against her injured side. She backs up, baring sharp teeth and letting out a panicked hiss.
“Stay… stay back. Leave us alone.”
Her voice shakes and cracks a little, but it has the same layered effect as when she’s been in this form in the waking world–though perhaps with a bit more context now.
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She knows it’s stupid, she knows she’ll probably get herself hurt, and she knows she should be grateful, like she should be grateful to everyone else who’s tried–and none of that stops her from moving to put herself between the man and the owl beast before she can think better of it.
Because this is a dream, the next thing that happens will feel less like a transformation and more like a shift in perspective.
One way or another, there are no longer two separate things in front of him. Perhaps there never were. Or perhaps there still are. But that isn’t what Manji sees.
What’s in front of him is a harpy. One that never exactly existed in real life, not like this, not back then. One with bright red hair and rust orange feathers, gangly and fluffy and young. She’s taller than Eda was moments ago, although much smaller than the version of this form that Manji has met. Still, it’s probably hard to miss the resemblance.
Her eyes are wide and wary, and she clutches an arm against her injured side. She backs up, baring sharp teeth and letting out a panicked hiss.
“Stay… stay back. Leave us alone.”
Her voice shakes and cracks a little, but it has the same layered effect as when she’s been in this form in the waking world–though perhaps with a bit more context now.