After what had felt like an endless night, dawn had come at last.
Jigano had wished his friends in the Temple well - some old, some surprisingly new - and been one of the first out the door when it had opened to let the first rays of sunlight stream across the threshold. Isuma had soared above him, relishing the feel of the warmth on her feathers and fur again as Jigano had taken himself swiftly over the melting snow, first at a walk and then at a lope, heart pounding in his chest with hope and fear alike.
The gryphlet had flown ahead, unburdened by armor and weapons and lanterns that held the souls of the lost, her pale body painted rose and gold by the rising sun, but even her flight was only a little ahead of the oracle who ran like the freshening wind, sure-footed even as the snow softened and made him work for every stride.
He never should have left.
If he hadn't, he might not have been able to gather the souls.
How could one weigh a soul - even dozens of souls - against a heart?
He ran until his breath came in gasps and his sure feet finally stumbled but still he didn't stop. Not as he rounded the last hill and the farmhouse came into view. Not until he reached the yard, cleared of trees where it kissed the woods, the snow fading from bloody red to pale pink and pearl and nacreous blue. Not until his hand landed against the rough wood of the frame and he leaned against it gasping, praying, hoping, fearing.
Isuma perched on a fence post, trilling greetings to the hounds, but it was the fox who raised a shaking hand to knock against the door, having to clear his throat twice before he could call out. "Rory?Rory are you... are you there?"
Jigano had wished his friends in the Temple well - some old, some surprisingly new - and been one of the first out the door when it had opened to let the first rays of sunlight stream across the threshold. Isuma had soared above him, relishing the feel of the warmth on her feathers and fur again as Jigano had taken himself swiftly over the melting snow, first at a walk and then at a lope, heart pounding in his chest with hope and fear alike.
The gryphlet had flown ahead, unburdened by armor and weapons and lanterns that held the souls of the lost, her pale body painted rose and gold by the rising sun, but even her flight was only a little ahead of the oracle who ran like the freshening wind, sure-footed even as the snow softened and made him work for every stride.
He never should have left.
If he hadn't, he might not have been able to gather the souls.
How could one weigh a soul - even dozens of souls - against a heart?
He ran until his breath came in gasps and his sure feet finally stumbled but still he didn't stop. Not as he rounded the last hill and the farmhouse came into view. Not until he reached the yard, cleared of trees where it kissed the woods, the snow fading from bloody red to pale pink and pearl and nacreous blue. Not until his hand landed against the rough wood of the frame and he leaned against it gasping, praying, hoping, fearing.
Isuma perched on a fence post, trilling greetings to the hounds, but it was the fox who raised a shaking hand to knock against the door, having to clear his throat twice before he could call out. "Rory?
