Batsby remains still in the shadows, his presence softened beneath the quiet cover of the forest as he keeps his distance from the Carriage. His wings give a faint, restless twitch, but he does not step closer—careful, deliberate.
his head tilts slightly as he listens to its movements, mapping her through sound rather than sight, every shift noted and understood
he murmurs under his breath, one hand rising to rest thoughtfully against his chin
a living construct… or something bound within
his voice stays low, almost contemplative now, curiosity overtaking caution—though not replacing it
he adjusts his stance just slightly, ensuring he remains unnoticed
*The Carriage remains still for a few moments, as if it simply exists there, wood, silence, and presence, then, one of her wooden legs moves, the sound is low, a soft dry creak against the ground. Without any sign that she has noticed Batsby, her other legs begin to adjust slowly, they reposition into a tighter arc around her body, folding with organic precision, forming a kind of shelter around herself. The movement is not aggressive. It is not conscious alertness, it is instinct, like a spider drawing in its legs upon sensing a shift in the environment, not because it knows what is there… but because it feels that something is different, the wood creaks softly as she settles into this new posture, more contained, more protected.*
