Jigano tilted his head, a flicker of amusement breaking through his weariness at how quickly Kiada had gotten tipsy. From her appearance as a hardened warrior he would have expected her to drink Deimos under the table. This side of her was unexpectedly endearing, and his lips quirked into a tired smile at her offhanded mention of loving him and Amalia. ”I’m not sure he was any safer with the landshark,” the bard pointed out, a hint of his old teasing making it into his tone, even as he slipped a fond glance to Amalia’s quiet approval of the Harpy’s protectiveness. He understand exactly where she was coming from…
But he also understood how Deimos must have felt, and knew he would have done the same in his tall friend’s place.
Seeing a unicorn was a far brighter prospect than dwelling on the morning’s events, especially since he would have to bring them up again soon enough. The point about Isla was well-made, but then, Isla had been a human before she had been a unicorn, with a human’s understanding of common sense behavior in a building, and a human’s sharp intellect, even in her new body. But Kiada also had a good point about Auni (and for that matter, Isuma and Jyoti).
It was the second time Isla’s name fell from the Harpy’s lips that struck Jigano to stillness, eyes widening in surprise. He’d heard something of that night from Sam, but he hadn’t made the connection between Auni and Isla’s death. The wound was no longer raw, but it still hurt, and he drew in a sharp, interrupted breath, the world spinning sideways as he remained at the table while the others headed for the door. He followed them automatically, if slowly, glassy-eyed and trying to fit the tearing open of that emotional scab into the rest of the day’s griefs and losses. Amalia had come back to life again, or a semblance of it, and Isuma purred encouragingly on her shoulder, but the chatty bard had gone silent and still as they all ambled to the door and then back in again, joined by a significantly larger presence.
So lost was he in the past that it wasn’t until the touch of Zuriel’s horn that he started out of his reverie, the poison washing from his eyes, his throat, his blood beneath her ministrations. ”Thank you, Lady Zuriel,” he murmured, blinking back a betraying flicker of tears as he focused on the unicorn who had chosen Deimos, seeing her for herself and not the black-furred form that had once been his friend. He could not look at Auni, innocent creature that he was, not under the weight of Kiada’s revelation, but instead he turned to pour himself another double shot and knock it back, seeking the numbness that strong alcohol could bring.
”There is… something else,” he began hesitantly, trying to force himself to concentrate on the present and the future. A future that might well hold more death and grief for all of them… ”The last thing the Tulmhainar told me before she died. Something that… that we may need, now more than ever.” He took a deep breath, his first one untainted by poison, and relished it for a moment because he blew it out again. ”We need to go back down there again.” He couldn’t look at Amalia, and Kiada’s words still stung, so it was Deimos his eyes sought out, grim and pleading as he met his friend’s gaze.
But he also understood how Deimos must have felt, and knew he would have done the same in his tall friend’s place.
Seeing a unicorn was a far brighter prospect than dwelling on the morning’s events, especially since he would have to bring them up again soon enough. The point about Isla was well-made, but then, Isla had been a human before she had been a unicorn, with a human’s understanding of common sense behavior in a building, and a human’s sharp intellect, even in her new body. But Kiada also had a good point about Auni (and for that matter, Isuma and Jyoti).
It was the second time Isla’s name fell from the Harpy’s lips that struck Jigano to stillness, eyes widening in surprise. He’d heard something of that night from Sam, but he hadn’t made the connection between Auni and Isla’s death. The wound was no longer raw, but it still hurt, and he drew in a sharp, interrupted breath, the world spinning sideways as he remained at the table while the others headed for the door. He followed them automatically, if slowly, glassy-eyed and trying to fit the tearing open of that emotional scab into the rest of the day’s griefs and losses. Amalia had come back to life again, or a semblance of it, and Isuma purred encouragingly on her shoulder, but the chatty bard had gone silent and still as they all ambled to the door and then back in again, joined by a significantly larger presence.
So lost was he in the past that it wasn’t until the touch of Zuriel’s horn that he started out of his reverie, the poison washing from his eyes, his throat, his blood beneath her ministrations. ”Thank you, Lady Zuriel,” he murmured, blinking back a betraying flicker of tears as he focused on the unicorn who had chosen Deimos, seeing her for herself and not the black-furred form that had once been his friend. He could not look at Auni, innocent creature that he was, not under the weight of Kiada’s revelation, but instead he turned to pour himself another double shot and knock it back, seeking the numbness that strong alcohol could bring.
”There is… something else,” he began hesitantly, trying to force himself to concentrate on the present and the future. A future that might well hold more death and grief for all of them… ”The last thing the Tulmhainar told me before she died. Something that… that we may need, now more than ever.” He took a deep breath, his first one untainted by poison, and relished it for a moment because he blew it out again. ”We need to go back down there again.” He couldn’t look at Amalia, and Kiada’s words still stung, so it was Deimos his eyes sought out, grim and pleading as he met his friend’s gaze.
