I named this little doodle so long ago that I don't recall what I meant with the title, beyond that the fabric is firey red and the main shapes appear to be whale-like. I also see that unfortunately the scan isn't sharp. Stitches are rather undefined which is a pity because the main stitch I used, running stitch threaded through, makes a nice show with variegated yarn.
I will see if I can improve on it with a photo ...
In which neither Shad nor Zebe understand the reasons for what must come to pass ... A hoverole that was probably a cab, since it didn’t come with the excruciating sound effects that Neil’s vehicle produced stopped at the front door and went off again after an interval long enough to let someone off.
The someone negotiated the locks on the front door as if trying to enter without being heard.
“It’s Zebe,” Shad said.
“Don’t say another word,” Tardi said. “I’m aware of every fucking danger courtesy of all my fucking nightmares.” He soft-footed down the stairs and entered the kitchen.
Zebe stared into the open fridge.
“Hey there,” Tardi said to her back.
She jumped. “Looking for a snack. Neil scored a night shift he couldn’t wiggle out of. One of his mates dropped me off. Kitchen is pretty tidy for two blokes shut in for the day. Did you eat anything?” She closed the fridge and turned in a smooth move.
Tardi quirked a smile. She had a rushed explanation that shifted into a judgmental commen…
On waking after the shuttle flight from Lotor, Jeb finds herself in a strange white hall, on a platform of statues. She finds Mongoose among them and tries to wake him, to no avail. At last she can only hope that he'll wake her when he wakes ... In my dream, Mongoose does wake. He glances down and steps over me, hops down to floor level and walking toward one of the white walls disappears into it.
I’m so frightened I shudder and wake.
The great white tile-shining hall is alight with a time of day I might as well call morning. Mongoose is not breathing beside me. Then I remember … he was standing. Without looking in his direction—I’m so so afraid—I feel for his animal-feet.
I don’t feel him. The dream was real?
I stand up, the better to flick my gaze over the podium, animal to animal, corner to corner, end to end. He isn’t anywhere among them. Among us. I sob.
I want to find him so desperately that my eyes want to bulge from their sockets trying to see him, somewhere, in this shining…
Having hit a hard place in Monster-Moored, Part 2: Mongrel which has resulted in a swag of research to be done, I'm switching my posts back to The Half Shaman for a bit.
At the end of The Half Shaman:
After I have pressed my hand against that jamb and thought my goodbyes toward them all, Mongoose and I go back to the command room with its glassy-looking dome. “I am totally comforted that you can be up here with me,” I say.
Mongoose smiles. “Told you, I’m your love-struck loon.” He squeezes my hand. We lie down, sweatily holding hands the whole time. I slot the transponder in the depression for it on the arm rest. A dash dash dot dot flickers through its sequence. A dash dash flickers on Mongoose’s arm-rest. The mattress moulds itself around us. A pair of hoods come down from somewhere above and we cover our faces. We breathe the cool fresh air spurting from the hoods. I hear the shuttle’s starter engines scream. I feel the shuttle spinning faster and faster to gather power to escape…