[ Syl blinks, slowly, tiny hand still resting against the heart. She hears the woman's voice too, contained and trapped as it is in that wretched vessel, and tears herself away. It reminds her of shardblades, and she hears the voice of her people, of spren, trapped and contained within swords and then used for awful, awful things. She shudders, and insteads hugs herself tightly, as if caught in a chill. The short exchange catches Kaladin's attention, and he pauses long enough to flick a glance over his shoulder - Syl had appeared to people before, but usually, only if she deemed them worthy, or they specifically asked. She must be in full visibility for him, and she inches closer, hovering just before the nose of the mans mask. The captain doesn't falter in his stride however - if Syl wanted to commune with their masked companion, so be it. ]
You need to let her free. [ Syl states, voice small and quiet like the echo of a breeze. She stays there, still and motionless, her gaze pointed fixedly at the heart. Something dark was keeping her there. The little spren didn't like it at all. ]
death by pillow is not super fear inducing
You need to let her free. [ Syl states, voice small and quiet like the echo of a breeze. She stays there, still and motionless, her gaze pointed fixedly at the heart. Something dark was keeping her there. The little spren didn't like it at all. ]