Awful, wasn't it? Bel grins in sympathy, turning back to wrestle the rest of the pipe junction loose.
"It's about a wandering pilgrim." The light alto is introspective, with no sign, as they turn with the pipe in their arms, of feeling the blood painting their uniform from breast to feet. "She roamed an endless desert, because deserts were endless in those days, searching for the buried treasures of a lost civilization. One day, she came to the remains of an old highway, guarded at the crossroads by two beautiful archers with ageless, identical faces. I always sort of related to them." One side of Bel's mouth pulls up. The next bolt is promising to be much easier. "Instead of telling her which way to go, the one on the right promised to shoot her if she took the left fork but not the right, and the one on the left promised to shoot her if she made the opposite choice. Conveniently, they each wore a tunic on which someone had printed 'We are both of us terrible liars, but only one of us'--"
--but either Clark has shifted so the light falls more fully on his work or the bloodstain had just started to spread. Bel's wrench drops, their voice suddenly sharp, reaching instinctively for his reddened hand. "Damn -- Clark, you're bleeding. Put that down a moment--"
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"It's about a wandering pilgrim." The light alto is introspective, with no sign, as they turn with the pipe in their arms, of feeling the blood painting their uniform from breast to feet. "She roamed an endless desert, because deserts were endless in those days, searching for the buried treasures of a lost civilization. One day, she came to the remains of an old highway, guarded at the crossroads by two beautiful archers with ageless, identical faces. I always sort of related to them." One side of Bel's mouth pulls up. The next bolt is promising to be much easier. "Instead of telling her which way to go, the one on the right promised to shoot her if she took the left fork but not the right, and the one on the left promised to shoot her if she made the opposite choice. Conveniently, they each wore a tunic on which someone had printed 'We are both of us terrible liars, but only one of us'--"
--but either Clark has shifted so the light falls more fully on his work or the bloodstain had just started to spread. Bel's wrench drops, their voice suddenly sharp, reaching instinctively for his reddened hand. "Damn -- Clark, you're bleeding. Put that down a moment--"