"Even carvings would have worn away over time," she murmurs, her face and voice both distracted.
She's not really doing anything more than studying the stones a bit more when she puts her hand on one, and then the buzzing--
Oh, it's louder, but there's so much more than that. There are sensations she has no words for, except maybe it's the moon moving backwards and the sun going west to east, and everything that means must be happening as well, over and over and all at once.
To look at her, suddenly still, it's nothing that happens instantaneously. There's somehow the impression that she's going somewhere without moving, and then something almost like her fading.
And then Claire Randall isn't there--to be precise, she isn't then--any more.
no subject
She's not really doing anything more than studying the stones a bit more when she puts her hand on one, and then the buzzing--
Oh, it's louder, but there's so much more than that. There are sensations she has no words for, except maybe it's the moon moving backwards and the sun going west to east, and everything that means must be happening as well, over and over and all at once.
To look at her, suddenly still, it's nothing that happens instantaneously. There's somehow the impression that she's going somewhere without moving, and then something almost like her fading.
And then Claire Randall isn't there--to be precise, she isn't then--any more.