”You are not alone in that,” Jigano said softly, lightly, trying not to show how fast his heart had raced when he had seen Rory fallen and still upon the cool earth. The fear still coiled through his guts, an icy serpent in his veins, lingering in spite of the relief that had washed through him upon seeing his lover move again, and hearing the rough music of his voice. He wished that the hunter would meet his eyes again… but after his previous experience with fire, the bard could hardly blame him for being shaken and focused inwards.
Would he be any different, having been put to such a test of his greatest fear and left with little in the way of dignity? He could only hope he dealt with it as stoically as Rory was, trembling but pushing himself upwards once more.
He held himself still, tense as a drawn bow as he let his friend rise at his own pace, trying not to stare as the blond straightened his clothing as best he could. What Jigano wanted just then was very much to close his eyes and whisk them both back to the Farm again, none the worse for wear after this excursion. He had chosen to come, after all, but Rory very clearly had not, unprepared and unprotected against the night.
Elegant fingers stilled their faint quiver as they were finally grasped and held, and Jigano pulled up even as Rory rose. The others had left, or were in the process of leaving, and the bard knew they should go after them. Knew, and yet he hesitated to slip his free arm around his friend in a gentle embrace, needing to feel the other man whole and alive against him for a few selfish moments. The plea fell on sharp ears, and something shifted restlessly within him, a sense of power that responded to the hunter’s words and the urgency in his voice. Jigano’s breath shook as he drew in Rory’s scent, fingers curling into a fist against the cloth between the blond’s shoulder blades, and he spoke on the soft exhalation. ”Yes,” he agreed simply.
The restlessness grew stronger, and so he kept an arm wrapped protectively around his friend’s shoulders as they started to walk. He was slowly learning the ways of the forest, and at least knew not to think of their destination (though perhaps the forest would be more than happy to spit them out back towards the barrier, intruders as they were?) as he led Rory back into the trees, away from the river and its strange and capricious sprite. The tension in his chest seemed to grow worse with every step, however, a stretching of skin and bone that demanded release, and even with his fox’s eyes he stumbled in the dark, needing to catch himself on the hunter’s strength for a moment. ”Sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head against the impatient buzzing in his blood. ”I feel… strange…”
Would he be any different, having been put to such a test of his greatest fear and left with little in the way of dignity? He could only hope he dealt with it as stoically as Rory was, trembling but pushing himself upwards once more.
He held himself still, tense as a drawn bow as he let his friend rise at his own pace, trying not to stare as the blond straightened his clothing as best he could. What Jigano wanted just then was very much to close his eyes and whisk them both back to the Farm again, none the worse for wear after this excursion. He had chosen to come, after all, but Rory very clearly had not, unprepared and unprotected against the night.
Elegant fingers stilled their faint quiver as they were finally grasped and held, and Jigano pulled up even as Rory rose. The others had left, or were in the process of leaving, and the bard knew they should go after them. Knew, and yet he hesitated to slip his free arm around his friend in a gentle embrace, needing to feel the other man whole and alive against him for a few selfish moments. The plea fell on sharp ears, and something shifted restlessly within him, a sense of power that responded to the hunter’s words and the urgency in his voice. Jigano’s breath shook as he drew in Rory’s scent, fingers curling into a fist against the cloth between the blond’s shoulder blades, and he spoke on the soft exhalation. ”Yes,” he agreed simply.
The restlessness grew stronger, and so he kept an arm wrapped protectively around his friend’s shoulders as they started to walk. He was slowly learning the ways of the forest, and at least knew not to think of their destination (though perhaps the forest would be more than happy to spit them out back towards the barrier, intruders as they were?) as he led Rory back into the trees, away from the river and its strange and capricious sprite. The tension in his chest seemed to grow worse with every step, however, a stretching of skin and bone that demanded release, and even with his fox’s eyes he stumbled in the dark, needing to catch himself on the hunter’s strength for a moment. ”Sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head against the impatient buzzing in his blood. ”I feel… strange…”
