[ In their use of the golem that Brandon simply calls a messenger, they might have felt the vague presence of the others. The messenger he kept for his own use was made at the same time as the one he gave to them, and would be easiest to sense; the others, he called to him afterward (not daring to make more himself as long as he's on the grounds), and are are more like the occasional filmy sweep of an ancient curtain in the breeze.
The messengers don't have feelings, exactly, no affection inherent for each other or their masters, past or present. They are easy to dream with, their jittery sharp instincts subsumed to obedience when guided. On their own, however, to and fro on their errands, they must fend for themselves. So they do have strange little reactions from time to time, jolts of something like feelings, too animal or alien for recognition. And they recognize each other, of course.
It's that recognition that sends a restless flutter through the golem in Ivor's hands, concurrent or perhaps just a moment before he himself would be able to pick up on Brandon's presence. The so-called magus has their messenger's kin in his own grasp, eyelids low as if in communion with it. He's tucked into a sort of alcove formed by the eccentric lines of the outside of the House, a little shielded from the wind but otherwise relying on his coat, a line in the dirt at his feet, a dreamy, vulnerable look on his face. He seems to register Ivor's presence slowly, though that is not really the case.
Somewhat languidly, a certain respectful wariness brimming behind the relaxed expression: ]
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The messengers don't have feelings, exactly, no affection inherent for each other or their masters, past or present. They are easy to dream with, their jittery sharp instincts subsumed to obedience when guided. On their own, however, to and fro on their errands, they must fend for themselves. So they do have strange little reactions from time to time, jolts of something like feelings, too animal or alien for recognition. And they recognize each other, of course.
It's that recognition that sends a restless flutter through the golem in Ivor's hands, concurrent or perhaps just a moment before he himself would be able to pick up on Brandon's presence. The so-called magus has their messenger's kin in his own grasp, eyelids low as if in communion with it. He's tucked into a sort of alcove formed by the eccentric lines of the outside of the House, a little shielded from the wind but otherwise relying on his coat, a line in the dirt at his feet, a dreamy, vulnerable look on his face. He seems to register Ivor's presence slowly, though that is not really the case.
Somewhat languidly, a certain respectful wariness brimming behind the relaxed expression: ]
Hello.