Apr 18, 2019
@hivebite
Pluto’s jaw juts out, shifting like a tectonic plate. When they move toward Khthonios, their shoulders churn, slow and wave-like. Their sheep are safe--miles away. This gives them comfort and the chance to be unreserved. Their gaze is as slick and sharp as two iced ponds, pupils open like two wine-dark fishing holes.
Pluto speaks softly, gravel-y, it makes their words sound like they’re rumbling:
“I am not the same as you. I am a shepherd. I am better for it. I am better.”
