[Edward is the potent combination of bored, frustrated, and terrified. The frustration bubbles up from wanting to help, but being unable to do so, which leads to the boredom of being left behind and feeling useless. The terror is easier to trace; things are changing all around them, and Edward usually has no idea what, exactly, is happening. He's not foolish or selfish enough to expect anyone to linger around and explain it to him, so he's spent long hours near the convoy, hoping whatever magic surrounds it will keep him safe, or at least a less likely choice for any attacking beasts.]
[He feels the convoy go over bridges, and can smell the water, though. At one point, when they stop, he ventures out to the water's edge and crouches to touch it with his fingertips.]
[It feels cool and silky, like the lazy river that wound through his family's property back home. It conjures memories of swimming, and before he knows it, Edward has removed his boots and slipped into the water.]
[He wades out until he's waist deep, trailing his hands over the water's surface. Unbeknown to him, the water all around him is flickering with scenes from his life, from the war: the tortured battlegrounds, mud and barbed wire as far as the eye can see; the air thick with bullets and shells; long hours spent staring at walls made of earth. There are other images there too, mostly colours, never quite taking shape: the figure of a faceless man, the only parts of him well-defined being his hands and arms; a faceless woman, shifting and morphing with only her hands solidifying; a second man, with no shape to him at all but the harsh, barking yellow of his voice. They surround Edward, swirling around him as he stands and turns his face towards the sky.]
Illuminating Light
[Edward has changed, transformed by the waters into something else. He doesn't question it; everything about this world feels like a dream, so he follows the dream logic of it all and accepts the sleek tail where his legs used to be. It's better, under the water; he's quickly learning that the water is full of images, if he simply clicks or makes keening sounds in the back of his throat.]
[He can also hold his breath for what feels like eternity, and dives down to the bottom of the lake to linger in the shadows. Once he's down there, though, he finds the carvings and traces them with his fingers, trying to memorise them so he can draw them back on the surface.]
Rain
[The constant downpour and squalling has Edward in a foul mood as he hangs out near the convoy. He stays close to a bonfire, shivering and miserable under a damp blanket.]
Is anyone organising sandbag teams? We should be thinking about that in case it floods.
Edward Courtenay | Downton Abbey | Swarm
[Edward is the potent combination of bored, frustrated, and terrified. The frustration bubbles up from wanting to help, but being unable to do so, which leads to the boredom of being left behind and feeling useless. The terror is easier to trace; things are changing all around them, and Edward usually has no idea what, exactly, is happening. He's not foolish or selfish enough to expect anyone to linger around and explain it to him, so he's spent long hours near the convoy, hoping whatever magic surrounds it will keep him safe, or at least a less likely choice for any attacking beasts.]
[He feels the convoy go over bridges, and can smell the water, though. At one point, when they stop, he ventures out to the water's edge and crouches to touch it with his fingertips.]
[It feels cool and silky, like the lazy river that wound through his family's property back home. It conjures memories of swimming, and before he knows it, Edward has removed his boots and slipped into the water.]
[He wades out until he's waist deep, trailing his hands over the water's surface. Unbeknown to him, the water all around him is flickering with scenes from his life, from the war: the tortured battlegrounds, mud and barbed wire as far as the eye can see; the air thick with bullets and shells; long hours spent staring at walls made of earth. There are other images there too, mostly colours, never quite taking shape: the figure of a faceless man, the only parts of him well-defined being his hands and arms; a faceless woman, shifting and morphing with only her hands solidifying; a second man, with no shape to him at all but the harsh, barking yellow of his voice. They surround Edward, swirling around him as he stands and turns his face towards the sky.]
Illuminating Light
[Edward has changed, transformed by the waters into something else. He doesn't question it; everything about this world feels like a dream, so he follows the dream logic of it all and accepts the sleek tail where his legs used to be. It's better, under the water; he's quickly learning that the water is full of images, if he simply clicks or makes keening sounds in the back of his throat.]
[He can also hold his breath for what feels like eternity, and dives down to the bottom of the lake to linger in the shadows. Once he's down there, though, he finds the carvings and traces them with his fingers, trying to memorise them so he can draw them back on the surface.]
Rain
[The constant downpour and squalling has Edward in a foul mood as he hangs out near the convoy. He stays close to a bonfire, shivering and miserable under a damp blanket.]
Is anyone organising sandbag teams? We should be thinking about that in case it floods.