[ That sense of urgency laps insistently at the edges of Emmet's thoughts again, which, yes, thank you, he is aware, he knows. There is something very wrong here. He knows! The woods are uncanny and dangerous and don't want them here (except in the ways that they do, apparently). Emmet is paying less attention to exactly where they are going at this point than he is tracking the concentration of fog, all but dragging his brother these last few stretches through what looks like and what he hopes is actually thinner fog. His aim is that, removed from the thickest part of the mist, whatever's hypnotized Ingo will relinquish its grasp. It's clumsy, stumbling going, and Emmet is just about ready to head to Ingo's other side and start shoving, regardless of the Typhlosion's ribs, or maybe he can try to cast an illusion of nothing, no sound to block out whatever it is that's calling from the fog,
—there's a break in the trees. The air is clear of any fog or mist.
It's fairly dark still. Even to Emmet's hearing, ears pitched in alert, their surroundings are quiet. His fur billows harshly in the nonexistent wind. The sudden absence of the sense of danger prior is as unsettling as the presence of it. ]
... What you were hearing before. Do you still hear it.
no subject
—there's a break in the trees. The air is clear of any fog or mist.
It's fairly dark still. Even to Emmet's hearing, ears pitched in alert, their surroundings are quiet. His fur billows harshly in the nonexistent wind. The sudden absence of the sense of danger prior is as unsettling as the presence of it. ]
... What you were hearing before. Do you still hear it.