I’d be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice; Imagine being loved by me.
It isn't okay, but Fox doesn't say that. Leaning gently back into her embrace, the hunter's gaze never leaves the fallen luxere, even if a calloused and bloody hand comes up to cover Kiada's as her arms twine around him. "I suppose so," he murmurs, though he imagines that a wolf doesn't feel the same churning in its stomach or bone deep guilt. Clearing his throat and doing his best to swallow back his feelings, Fox glances back to the harpy.
"Do you mind if I meet you back at the cottage?" he asks softly, his voice almost swallowed up in the rain. "I just want to..." He nods at the carcass. "I don't feel right, leaving it out in the open like this." And maybe a little bit of time to himself - and some hard labour - will make him a little more pleasant to be around.
"Do you mind if I meet you back at the cottage?" he asks softly, his voice almost swallowed up in the rain. "I just want to..." He nods at the carcass. "I don't feel right, leaving it out in the open like this." And maybe a little bit of time to himself - and some hard labour - will make him a little more pleasant to be around.
Fox Sinclair
Horns: Small, bone-like protrusions (aka your stereotypical devil horns) that are easy to miss in his hair.
