[it reminds wanda of somewhere, too, but she doesn't want to linger too long on thoughts of wundagore's cursed grounds, because there is no way this is the same mountain. the cold is biting, though, and although she's been able to conjure appropriate clothes to keep herself warm, it seems that the more she tries to escape the situation, the worse it gets.
no way but up, and her fingers are so cold they've gone numb.
as a last ditch effort, she tries to use her magic to compel the horizon's magic creation to take shape however she wants it β into the shape she wants β of a cabin; anywhere to escape the cold, especially now that the sun was setting. wanda knows enough about winter to know it gets worse at night.
walls set upβand a roofβand though it may be a small, one-room cabin, it will suffice until she can figure up from down (quite literally). it is the muffled footsteps in the snow which makes her turn around, keeping herself from entering the cabin entirely, and what she seesβ well.
wanda gasps, falling back on the snow, shocked at the sight. it's always unexpected, even if she's seen enough of it by now.
it's claude, she recognizes as much, eyes foggy and visage pale, looking like a half-rotten corpse more than anything living. is this mountain going to be climbing with the dead by sundown? what a terrifying notion. wanda tries pulling herself up to her feet, scrambling and slipping a little, one of her hands raised in front of her.]
β wait β
Claude?
[maybe, maybe, if he can say something, she can force herself to see him for the friend he is to her, and not some mindless dead vision coming to haunt her.]
mountain
no way but up, and her fingers are so cold they've gone numb.
as a last ditch effort, she tries to use her magic to compel the horizon's magic creation to take shape however she wants it β into the shape she wants β of a cabin; anywhere to escape the cold, especially now that the sun was setting. wanda knows enough about winter to know it gets worse at night.
walls set upβand a roofβand though it may be a small, one-room cabin, it will suffice until she can figure up from down (quite literally). it is the muffled footsteps in the snow which makes her turn around, keeping herself from entering the cabin entirely, and what she seesβ well.
wanda gasps, falling back on the snow, shocked at the sight. it's always unexpected, even if she's seen enough of it by now.
it's claude, she recognizes as much, eyes foggy and visage pale, looking like a half-rotten corpse more than anything living. is this mountain going to be climbing with the dead by sundown? what a terrifying notion. wanda tries pulling herself up to her feet, scrambling and slipping a little, one of her hands raised in front of her.]
β wait β
Claude?
[maybe, maybe, if he can say something, she can force herself to see him for the friend he is to her, and not some mindless dead vision coming to haunt her.]