He saw Deimos stiffen at his greeting, and Jigano held his wince inside. It wasn't that they had unfinished business, but that the casual distance they had once fallen so naturally into as their lives revolved in different orbits was no longer going to be possible. Jigano had forged his bonds with Amalia and did not begrudge her the chance to do the same with others, and he had not missed how she blushed and smiled at the large, dark-haired man. She had become family, dear to him - as he was to her, and if she chose to pursue Deimos, either as friend or something more, he would not stand in the way of it. But neither would he retreat from what those bonds of family meant to him, no more than she had when he and Rory - her brothers - forged bonds of their own.
It was not what he would have chosen, that their tentatively friendly bonds from the bakery had been severed when Jigano had managed to escape an ambush that Amalia and Kiada had not, whether through luck or some purpose known only to the warchief. It was one thing to castigate himself for what had happened, to lash himself with guilt and words of acid, punishing his failure to protect them with austerity and privation. It was quite another to let one who hadn't been there cast judgment from a position of ignorance, but just as he and Remi had maintained a polite distance when their personalities had been at odds, so Jigano thought he could hold himself to that standard with Deimos as well... provided the big man was willing to do so, too.
The return greeting in spite of the tension was a step in the right direction, at least, and the smile was entirely unexpected, far more than Jigano had dared to hope for. He returned it, no less cautious, even as he carefully turned over Deimos's words for barbs or hidden blades. They were a prickly sort of observation, a damning of faint praise, but not overtly hostile, and so the bard accepted them at face value. "The only success that matters to me is that my family and friends are safe and able to return with us," he said quietly, shifting politely out of the way of a diminutive man hurrying past with an armload of fabric piled high. "Not that I think Amalia and Caiside will be able to stay out of the Wildwood for long, and it's all the more reason to build bridges and make allies among the Fae where I can, in preparation for that day," he added with a touch of rueful admission. He dodged again, coming to rest near a stall with baskets piled high that had been doing brisk business until a lull timed neatly with their arrival. The young winged man standing behind the booth cocked his head up at the white-haired bard and dark-maned warrior consideringly before coming to a decision and offering a basket for them to admire.
"Good sirs, surely you will be needing a basket for the days to come! I sell nothing but the finest woven reeds, guaranteed to capture the very sun in their weaves! Since you are strangers in our village I am willing to be generous in my offers. What do you have for trade in exchange for these useful and beautiful baskets, both utilitarian and pieces of art in their own right?"
It was not what he would have chosen, that their tentatively friendly bonds from the bakery had been severed when Jigano had managed to escape an ambush that Amalia and Kiada had not, whether through luck or some purpose known only to the warchief. It was one thing to castigate himself for what had happened, to lash himself with guilt and words of acid, punishing his failure to protect them with austerity and privation. It was quite another to let one who hadn't been there cast judgment from a position of ignorance, but just as he and Remi had maintained a polite distance when their personalities had been at odds, so Jigano thought he could hold himself to that standard with Deimos as well... provided the big man was willing to do so, too.
The return greeting in spite of the tension was a step in the right direction, at least, and the smile was entirely unexpected, far more than Jigano had dared to hope for. He returned it, no less cautious, even as he carefully turned over Deimos's words for barbs or hidden blades. They were a prickly sort of observation, a damning of faint praise, but not overtly hostile, and so the bard accepted them at face value. "The only success that matters to me is that my family and friends are safe and able to return with us," he said quietly, shifting politely out of the way of a diminutive man hurrying past with an armload of fabric piled high. "Not that I think Amalia and Caiside will be able to stay out of the Wildwood for long, and it's all the more reason to build bridges and make allies among the Fae where I can, in preparation for that day," he added with a touch of rueful admission. He dodged again, coming to rest near a stall with baskets piled high that had been doing brisk business until a lull timed neatly with their arrival. The young winged man standing behind the booth cocked his head up at the white-haired bard and dark-maned warrior consideringly before coming to a decision and offering a basket for them to admire.
"Good sirs, surely you will be needing a basket for the days to come! I sell nothing but the finest woven reeds, guaranteed to capture the very sun in their weaves! Since you are strangers in our village I am willing to be generous in my offers. What do you have for trade in exchange for these useful and beautiful baskets, both utilitarian and pieces of art in their own right?"
