"I have little evidence with which to speculate about a pattern yet," Enjolras points out.
Patiently; there's no point in being otherwise.
He does spend a moment studying the bones, his lips thinned, before he moves cautiously on. He's no anatomist, but they're unmistakably human.
Around the next corner is a very short stretch of hallway, empty of bones, and empty of everything else except another burning torch. But the moment they turn it, there comes a bone-rattling bellow from somewhere out of sight, echoing from the walls, a wordless roar of bovine rage, its source and direction indistinct, its proximity immediately apparent.
For an instant, Enjolras freezes, his wary glance flicking from one empty wall to the other.
no subject
Patiently; there's no point in being otherwise.
He does spend a moment studying the bones, his lips thinned, before he moves cautiously on. He's no anatomist, but they're unmistakably human.
Around the next corner is a very short stretch of hallway, empty of bones, and empty of everything else except another burning torch. But the moment they turn it, there comes a bone-rattling bellow from somewhere out of sight, echoing from the walls, a wordless roar of bovine rage, its source and direction indistinct, its proximity immediately apparent.
For an instant, Enjolras freezes, his wary glance flicking from one empty wall to the other.