Mr Motley stood and pushed the screen to the floor.
.
Lin got half to her feet, her headlegs bristling with astonishment and terror. She gazed at him.
.
Scraps of skin and fur and feathers swung as he moved; tiny limbs clutched; eyes rolled from obscure niches; antlers and protrusions of bone jutted precariously; feelers twitched and mouths glistened. Many-coloured skeins of skin collided. A cloven hoof thumped gently against the wood floor. Tides of flesh washed against each other in violent currents. Muscles tethered by alien tendons to alien bones worked together in uneasy truce, in slow, tense motion. Scales gleamed. Fins quivered. Wings fluttered brokenly. Insect claws folded and unfolded.
.
Lin backed away, stumbling, feeling her terrified way away from his slow advance. Her chitinous headbody was twitching neurotically. She shook.
.
Mr. Motley paced towards her like a hunter.
.
"So," he said, from one of the grinning mouths. "Which do you think is my best side?"
.
(from Perdido Street Station, by China Miéville)
No comments:
Post a Comment