NaNoWriMo Day 7- A few misc Pontifex POVs etc

The Pontifex sat still in the old tarp tent, listening to the rain and wind batter and buffet the frayed fabric outside. He was seated on a rudimentary cloth tarp, a single flickering candle before him. Pontifex could feel the humming of the Night Things around him, the souls and gifts and curses, every thing's attachment to magic, vibrating like a string connecting each particle to higher dimensions. With a stroke of his finger, Pontifex could reach out and pluck the strings, like the strings of a great awful interdimensional harp, and make them sing, or silence them. Intensify the vibration that connected a magic to its source.

Moone was so close to him; Pontifex could practically feel the man's body heat, feel the blood pump through his body. Maybe it was an illusion caused by the steady flicker of the candle, but Pontifex thought that he could see Moone's pulse thump rhythmically in Moone's neck. With the dangers of the world torn away from Moone, Pontifex struggled, desiring strongly to replace those dangers with himself.

Pontifex regarded the sleeping Moone's naked strings before him, and saw a harmony and intensity of them, and something more beyond. The particular vibration, the length and thickness of the string itself, this particular note chord. He stared at it a long time, long into the night, far longer than the night should have lasted, each minute stretching out and out and out until morning. It was a chord that he had only seen once before. In himself.

Pontifex stretched and pondered his fate. Just a few months ago, the thought has occurred to him [flashback??]