[b]"But you're- It's going to-"[/b] Silas's hands then engaged in a confused display of modern dance, reaching first to help, then to perhaps take the handkerchief back and dab Terran's wound, and finally just stammering a bit in mid air before falling to his sides. 

Sometimes, Silas felt like the only normal one in the house.

And then a leopard gecko climbed up his face to lick a bead of nervous sweat from his brow. This was not one of those times.

[b]"Alright,"[/b] he surrendered, falling into step behind Terran. [b]"What is it you've made, n-"[/b] Silas stopped talking as Terran introduced the stones, (which Silas mentally logged as "water," and "sun," if his recollection was not too rusty,) and watched the ensuing process. 

The glowing caused him to take a healthy step back, nearly losing his footing over a chair behind him. "[b]"That's quite, um-"[/b] He nudged his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and stepped back in to look. [b]"The.. Wyrd is the blank, isn't it? Or..."[/b] He leaned over the stone Terran was holding now, trying to see if there was any crack or fusion line. 

There was not. 

As a linguist, Dr. Whitmore had a bit more than a casual interest in the nature of runic casting, but knew well enough to keep his nose out of something beyond his league. 

[b]"But Wyrd is the 'blank rune,' is it not? Old English for 'fate.' Well, vaguely. Missing some of the finer points of cultural meaning in that translation- More similar to the German [i]werden,[/i] in that sense, really, but um."[/b]

He stepped back. People had personal space. Right. 

[b]"Sorry.[/b]