Back in Gotham, he's got a sentient pillow on the couch who used to be one of his best friends.
The gait is nothing like a horse-- the closest he can compare it to is that of a cat, although that's not right either-- and Jason reflexively holds on to bone spurs/ribs/tibias/and whatever else he can grip against the back-and-forth motion of the collection of bones.
The landscape is white, white, white-- save for the water of the river is black-- and Jason squints into the snowscape and its myriad variations on a lack of saturation. Here and there blues, and pearl grays, and darker shadows... but the only true feature in the landscape is the mountain, rising singular and sharp, a tooth to pierce the sky.
Jason isn't terribly fond of approaching fortresses, but then, this can be recon, he supposes.
"To the mountain-- can you see it?" he asks, since the thing has no damned eyes.
He loosens the sword in its scabbard. Quite pathetic, if they are set upon by wolves and his fancy, stupid blade happens to be frozen in place.
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The gait is nothing like a horse-- the closest he can compare it to is that of a cat, although that's not right either-- and Jason reflexively holds on to bone spurs/ribs/tibias/and whatever else he can grip against the back-and-forth motion of the collection of bones.
The landscape is white, white, white-- save for the water of the river is black-- and Jason squints into the snowscape and its myriad variations on a lack of saturation. Here and there blues, and pearl grays, and darker shadows... but the only true feature in the landscape is the mountain, rising singular and sharp, a tooth to pierce the sky.
Jason isn't terribly fond of approaching fortresses, but then, this can be recon, he supposes.
"To the mountain-- can you see it?" he asks, since the thing has no damned eyes.
He loosens the sword in its scabbard. Quite pathetic, if they are set upon by wolves and his fancy, stupid blade happens to be frozen in place.