The silence stretched and Jigano let it, the words he usually hid behind, used as shield and sword and poisoned knife gone still and quiet in his breast when Rory was in his arms. He had first earned the leatherworker's friendship without words, and grew to return it with his love, knowing that here, with this man, it was not the silver of his tongue that mattered so much as the fire in his heart. He held his lover as close as the stools would allow and Rory would permit, resting a bronze cheek on golden hair and closing his eyes to better soak in the warmth of his partner's body and his familiar, soothing scent. They fit together easily now, bodies that knew each curve and jut of bone, each swell of muscle and softer places to rest a weary head, and the fox tucked his mate against him as if to protect him as much as support him in their quiet half-embrace
It was easy to be patient when he knew that whatever had happened it had left his love alive, despite all the fears to the contrary that had haunted him through the past week. His fingers tightened on the curve of Rory's hip as the forbidden name was spoken, however, a flex of worry at the tricks the monsters could play. He knew so little of his partner's family, of the sister who had vanished even before the barrier had fallen.
He knew that Rory loved her dearly, deeply, painfully so. The bard had been curious but willing to wait, testing the waters from time to time to see if the wolf-souled man was ready to talk about her, but willing to drop the subject when it proved to be too soon.
It had always been too soon, but that was the way of grief and uncertainty, and he had thought - in the warm days, the bursting life of Flowerbirth, the endless days of summer - that there would be time later. On a brisk Leafchange night, perhaps, or curled up beside the fire some Deepfrost morning, sipping tea and sharing a blanket against the frost that clouded the windows before they went out to tend the horses and goats. But then there had been blights and portals and murders and LongNights and always a reason to put it off until later, later, later.
Until it came knocking on the door when he hadn't been here. When he had left Rory to face the past (his sister? his monster?) alone.
A blanket. An indent. A favor. A curse? Or a blessing? A muscled arm tightened around the treasure he held, as did pearly teeth in his fox-sharp jaw. "I survived a few days in that barn," he said softly. "I'm sure she could, too, if she had to." Had she even been there at all? "I can go out later and check for a scent," he offered after a moment's hesitation. He wouldn't recognize it as one he knew, but if a human other than Rory had been there he would smell them. If it had been a monster, though... "As long as she isn't Ascended, she should have left that much behind."
It was easy to be patient when he knew that whatever had happened it had left his love alive, despite all the fears to the contrary that had haunted him through the past week. His fingers tightened on the curve of Rory's hip as the forbidden name was spoken, however, a flex of worry at the tricks the monsters could play. He knew so little of his partner's family, of the sister who had vanished even before the barrier had fallen.
He knew that Rory loved her dearly, deeply, painfully so. The bard had been curious but willing to wait, testing the waters from time to time to see if the wolf-souled man was ready to talk about her, but willing to drop the subject when it proved to be too soon.
It had always been too soon, but that was the way of grief and uncertainty, and he had thought - in the warm days, the bursting life of Flowerbirth, the endless days of summer - that there would be time later. On a brisk Leafchange night, perhaps, or curled up beside the fire some Deepfrost morning, sipping tea and sharing a blanket against the frost that clouded the windows before they went out to tend the horses and goats. But then there had been blights and portals and murders and LongNights and always a reason to put it off until later, later, later.
Until it came knocking on the door when he hadn't been here. When he had left Rory to face the past (his sister? his monster?) alone.
A blanket. An indent. A favor. A curse? Or a blessing? A muscled arm tightened around the treasure he held, as did pearly teeth in his fox-sharp jaw. "I survived a few days in that barn," he said softly. "I'm sure she could, too, if she had to." Had she even been there at all? "I can go out later and check for a scent," he offered after a moment's hesitation. He wouldn't recognize it as one he knew, but if a human other than Rory had been there he would smell them. If it had been a monster, though... "As long as she isn't Ascended, she should have left that much behind."
