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libraryofwindsShe didn't run when she left the TARDIS, not really. She just wanted out, out of the air that still held painful emotions and words that rang over and over in her head. She needed them to stop, to quiet, but she knew that things wouldn't until she was calmer, until she could think straight again.
And that meant feeding.
She slowed a bit when she approached the places the artists gathered. A shaky breath and she tested the world, finding she could slide between here, too, make herself invisible unless she wanted to be seen. She was careful as she moved among them, just listening to the sounds in their heads right now, the songs in their hearts. The air itself vibrated with energy, and it was all she could do not to pull it in greedily. She'd make herself sick if she did that, get disoriented, so she kept a tight reign on everything until she found a quiet garden meant for contemplation and respite. A few writers were scattered on benches, scribbling in journals and she smiled to see it.
Settling under a tree, she closed her eyes, finding the tune of this world, the ground under her, the energy of the pull and turn of it, added to them until she felt like she was as connected to it as she could be to earth that was not hers. Then gently, delicately, with more control than she thought possible, she started to pull it into her slowly. Her breath quickened almost immediately, pores and cells opening to soak it up, begging for what they'd been denied. The place was pulsing, brimming with energy in every iota of atmosphere, and she lifted her face to the sun and drank it in until she was full. Just the place itself was nourishing and there was nothing she could give until she had something in her.
Once she did though, she moved among the writers, touching this one or that one lightly, offering little touches of inspiration, what they needed to move to the next paragraph, the next stanza. Little sparks for each of them, and little sips back into her to replenish what she gave. Give and take; inspiration and creation. Two sides of one coin and she gave out as much as she took. If the energies worked differently in their physiologies, that wasn't anything she could control, really, and she pushed those words aside, concentrating on the truths she'd found in her anger.
When she was done, she still wandered some, ignoring his "don't stay too long." "Too long" really wasn't a defined concept, and she needed the peace of this place for a while longer.
She wasn't sure how long that longer was until she finally made her way back to the TARDIS. She was calmer, at least, no longer aching with need and hunger, if still shaky from the emotions. Steadying them as best she could, she somehow found the courage to push open the door and step back inside.
And that meant feeding.
She slowed a bit when she approached the places the artists gathered. A shaky breath and she tested the world, finding she could slide between here, too, make herself invisible unless she wanted to be seen. She was careful as she moved among them, just listening to the sounds in their heads right now, the songs in their hearts. The air itself vibrated with energy, and it was all she could do not to pull it in greedily. She'd make herself sick if she did that, get disoriented, so she kept a tight reign on everything until she found a quiet garden meant for contemplation and respite. A few writers were scattered on benches, scribbling in journals and she smiled to see it.
Settling under a tree, she closed her eyes, finding the tune of this world, the ground under her, the energy of the pull and turn of it, added to them until she felt like she was as connected to it as she could be to earth that was not hers. Then gently, delicately, with more control than she thought possible, she started to pull it into her slowly. Her breath quickened almost immediately, pores and cells opening to soak it up, begging for what they'd been denied. The place was pulsing, brimming with energy in every iota of atmosphere, and she lifted her face to the sun and drank it in until she was full. Just the place itself was nourishing and there was nothing she could give until she had something in her.
Once she did though, she moved among the writers, touching this one or that one lightly, offering little touches of inspiration, what they needed to move to the next paragraph, the next stanza. Little sparks for each of them, and little sips back into her to replenish what she gave. Give and take; inspiration and creation. Two sides of one coin and she gave out as much as she took. If the energies worked differently in their physiologies, that wasn't anything she could control, really, and she pushed those words aside, concentrating on the truths she'd found in her anger.
When she was done, she still wandered some, ignoring his "don't stay too long." "Too long" really wasn't a defined concept, and she needed the peace of this place for a while longer.
She wasn't sure how long that longer was until she finally made her way back to the TARDIS. She was calmer, at least, no longer aching with need and hunger, if still shaky from the emotions. Steadying them as best she could, she somehow found the courage to push open the door and step back inside.
