[The flight is uneventful. Michael is quick to rejoin Wanda's side, a quiet reassurance that she hasn't disappeared like the others in the few seconds or so she was out of his sight passing through his thoughts.
He'd have questions about taking the ear off a deaf man—will Solvunn's gods be insulted by taking a "defective" part, or is it the pain of its removal that they truly value—but Wanda has the list. She knows what they need.
Michael advances, dagger already in hand.
There is acceptance in the old man's eyes. He does not say so it's time, but Michael can just about hear the words he doesn't speak. It makes sense, he supposes. The commune's eldest residents must be used to their ways. The man knows whatever it is he's done to offend.
His expression is as impassive as ever, fingers of one hand going to hold the ear as he brings the blade to meet skin, blood welling up beneath the sharp edge. The man shifts his gaze away from him as it happens, eyes on some distant trees. It's quick: a neat slice and the ear is sheared from his head. Michael reaches for him again. A small surge of grace, and the wound has healed over. Then he holds out the ear, ready to drop into the leather bag Wanda carries.]
Remember nothing.
[Michael snaps his fingers, and the man's stare goes blank. Blind to their presence, he returns to smoking his pipe as though he's been one-eared for as long as he can remember.
no subject
He'd have questions about taking the ear off a deaf man—will Solvunn's gods be insulted by taking a "defective" part, or is it the pain of its removal that they truly value—but Wanda has the list. She knows what they need.
Michael advances, dagger already in hand.
There is acceptance in the old man's eyes. He does not say so it's time, but Michael can just about hear the words he doesn't speak. It makes sense, he supposes. The commune's eldest residents must be used to their ways. The man knows whatever it is he's done to offend.
His expression is as impassive as ever, fingers of one hand going to hold the ear as he brings the blade to meet skin, blood welling up beneath the sharp edge. The man shifts his gaze away from him as it happens, eyes on some distant trees. It's quick: a neat slice and the ear is sheared from his head. Michael reaches for him again. A small surge of grace, and the wound has healed over. Then he holds out the ear, ready to drop into the leather bag Wanda carries.]
Remember nothing.
[Michael snaps his fingers, and the man's stare goes blank. Blind to their presence, he returns to smoking his pipe as though he's been one-eared for as long as he can remember.
He turns back to Wanda.]
Next?