For a while, it was only the four of them, one of which was a stranger to him. Rory had studied the slender man when he came in like an errant breeze, a stray shaft of sunlight: something not quite of this world. He seemed fey in his grace, different in the way he moved, as if he should've weighed less, somehow.
It took him a while to realize that the stranger reminded him of a deer.
It took him a little longer to realize that the stranger reminded him of Jigano. Both graceful; both animal. Copper and silver, different sides of the same coin (one side stamped with fangs). The realization sat in his gut, not ugly, but uncomfortable, as if he didn't quite know what to do with it. His brows furrowed as he set to work, unsettled, a rough, blocky thing in a sea of elegance and passion—
He did not doubt, and he was not concerned, nor was he jealous, but the thing that was called knowledge sat in his bones and it did not quite fit the shape he wore. He knew he would have to examine it later, for now wasn't the time: he had other things to focus on, mindless drudgery to lose himself in, though he couldn't forget. Whatever it was, it stayed below his skin, like a bad taste in the back of his mouth, a shadow over his grave, wrapped and hooked around his spine.
The merciless Longheat sun beat down on them, and Rory paused to drink from his waterskin, and splash his face with the lukewarm liquid. He had long ago abandoned his shirt.
Jigano got his attention and then disappeared, returning mere moments later as a horse that had no business being that gorgeous. He was unlike anything Rory had ever seen before—tall, refined, graceful, elegant, powerful... Everything, from the quality of his mane and tail to the regal arch of his neck, the strength of his broad hindquarters... Whenever he saw Jigano in his horse form he watched him with a different kind of hunger, a senseless longing that he had no idea what to do with, for Jigano was not a horse. And though he frequently ran his hands over the honeyed skin it felt altogether different to obsessively want to run his hands along his horse's body, to constantly battle his fascination and his admiration and his habits. His eyes said this is a horse and his hands wanted to move in certain ways, but his brain said this is Jigano and it was just .. weird.
It always took effort to not talk to him like he did with his ponies, and little things slipped through: a scratch at his withers here, a steadying hand on his flank there. Biting the inside of his cheek Rory fitted the harness to the white wonder, and then hitched him to the cart.
It took him a while to realize that the stranger reminded him of a deer.
It took him a little longer to realize that the stranger reminded him of Jigano. Both graceful; both animal. Copper and silver, different sides of the same coin (one side stamped with fangs). The realization sat in his gut, not ugly, but uncomfortable, as if he didn't quite know what to do with it. His brows furrowed as he set to work, unsettled, a rough, blocky thing in a sea of elegance and passion—
He did not doubt, and he was not concerned, nor was he jealous, but the thing that was called knowledge sat in his bones and it did not quite fit the shape he wore. He knew he would have to examine it later, for now wasn't the time: he had other things to focus on, mindless drudgery to lose himself in, though he couldn't forget. Whatever it was, it stayed below his skin, like a bad taste in the back of his mouth, a shadow over his grave, wrapped and hooked around his spine.
The merciless Longheat sun beat down on them, and Rory paused to drink from his waterskin, and splash his face with the lukewarm liquid. He had long ago abandoned his shirt.
Jigano got his attention and then disappeared, returning mere moments later as a horse that had no business being that gorgeous. He was unlike anything Rory had ever seen before—tall, refined, graceful, elegant, powerful... Everything, from the quality of his mane and tail to the regal arch of his neck, the strength of his broad hindquarters... Whenever he saw Jigano in his horse form he watched him with a different kind of hunger, a senseless longing that he had no idea what to do with, for Jigano was not a horse. And though he frequently ran his hands over the honeyed skin it felt altogether different to obsessively want to run his hands along his horse's body, to constantly battle his fascination and his admiration and his habits. His eyes said this is a horse and his hands wanted to move in certain ways, but his brain said this is Jigano and it was just .. weird.
It always took effort to not talk to him like he did with his ponies, and little things slipped through: a scratch at his withers here, a steadying hand on his flank there. Biting the inside of his cheek Rory fitted the harness to the white wonder, and then hitched him to the cart.
