The chant rises gradually, from a whisper to a commanding shout, louder and clearer than anything that cracked old voice should be able to produce, and the light slowly brightens in response.
And then changes.
It's not the bottle glowing anymore; the light's pouring from the palms of his hands, pouring through the fragile ivory and horn. There's a surface line visible through the bottle now, gradually rising as though ... well, exactly. As though it's being filled.
It's still warm, but there's a pulling sensation to it now, a drawing forth of something. Some part of him.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-07-08 03:04 am (UTC)And then changes.
It's not the bottle glowing anymore; the light's pouring from the palms of his hands, pouring through the fragile ivory and horn. There's a surface line visible through the bottle now, gradually rising as though ... well, exactly. As though it's being filled.
It's still warm, but there's a pulling sensation to it now, a drawing forth of something. Some part of him.