Natasha knows what to expect. Every other time she's stepped out beyond the torches she's felt the force of the storm immediately. The gale roars up in her face, freezing, whipping at her skin, threatening to drive her to her knees in the snow-
Not this time.
She steps past the orange torch-glow on the snow and the wind drops. She finds herself in the midst of a strange silence, snowflakes tumbling gently down around her. Around her the deserted streets loom dark and empty beneath their icy blanket. Ahead, the suggestion of a figure slips between shadows. A lithe figure: something about the way it moves suggests female, the flutter of an outline hints cloaked. She makes no sound as she steps through the snow, leading the spy further into the new dark. The last light from the fires recedes behind her, and the only thing to guide their path is...
...The moon?
None of them have seen open sky since the new year, yet there is is above. A break in the clouds, a perfect half-moon shining down on them. They've come to a crossroads, the statue at the center long buried under snow. Across the street from her, the woman waits. She seems to be wearing sensible outdoor gear, albeit a bit light for the conditions out here. Hard to see but it looks pretty modern, aside from the cloak. Her face is quite lost in shadow but there's a hint of pale features when she angles her head in the moonlight.
"You needn't worry, Agent." Her voice is low and smooth, offering the kind of gracious assurance given by the powerful to their supplicants. "I am here only to grant you a gift."
no subject
Not this time.
She steps past the orange torch-glow on the snow and the wind drops. She finds herself in the midst of a strange silence, snowflakes tumbling gently down around her. Around her the deserted streets loom dark and empty beneath their icy blanket. Ahead, the suggestion of a figure slips between shadows. A lithe figure: something about the way it moves suggests female, the flutter of an outline hints cloaked. She makes no sound as she steps through the snow, leading the spy further into the new dark. The last light from the fires recedes behind her, and the only thing to guide their path is...
...The moon?
None of them have seen open sky since the new year, yet there is is above. A break in the clouds, a perfect half-moon shining down on them. They've come to a crossroads, the statue at the center long buried under snow. Across the street from her, the woman waits. She seems to be wearing sensible outdoor gear, albeit a bit light for the conditions out here. Hard to see but it looks pretty modern, aside from the cloak. Her face is quite lost in shadow but there's a hint of pale features when she angles her head in the moonlight.
"You needn't worry, Agent." Her voice is low and smooth, offering the kind of gracious assurance given by the powerful to their supplicants. "I am here only to grant you a gift."