[For a long moment, D watches the woman with the kit in her arms. There doesn't seem to be anything behind the gaze, no emotion in the slightest, and perhaps that's the most disturbing thing in the end.
But the air feels safe in a kind of strange politeness. A detachment, a quietness. Despite his imposing figure, notched out against the greenery, he doesn't appear to be any threat.
His eyes lower to the ground where the rest of the kits bide their time, and he debates the merit of entertainment. Finally, he leans over and scoops the mossy ball up in his long, pale fingers, and then he tosses it gently across the ground toward the woman's feet. Three kits scramble after it.]
no subject
But the air feels safe in a kind of strange politeness. A detachment, a quietness. Despite his imposing figure, notched out against the greenery, he doesn't appear to be any threat.
His eyes lower to the ground where the rest of the kits bide their time, and he debates the merit of entertainment. Finally, he leans over and scoops the mossy ball up in his long, pale fingers, and then he tosses it gently across the ground toward the woman's feet. Three kits scramble after it.]