Purple gold strings surrounded everything.
Noah stood leashed and chained in an area walled by them on every side, countless strings pulsing and thrumming as they moved at tremendous speeds through the dark, each one racing along its own path as though it had a set destination it had crossed a billion times before, and his senses read them quietly from behind an expression of nothing at all!
The Argent Loom. Expressed differently here, dyed purple gold and woven into roads!
Around him, the incursion force stood in loose formation as Warden Yrsa gave her orders, clipped and efficient, and group after group of shrouded ones bowed and stepped onto the racing strings and vanished along them, dozens of departures in moments, until the transit dark held only four figures: Noah, Yrsa, the vast clay-skinned Primeval with a pale band at its own throat... and the being wrapped in turning halos.
And at this time, prompts rose before Noah's eyes alone!
