RORY
His heart was a runaway train pounding in his chest, the cold morning air a flame searing his lungs: his knees were weak and he fell against the door's frame, letting it take his weight as he took in the silencethe
silence
Just the munching of what hay and straw still remained, the whuffle and snuffle of content animals, the swish of a pony's tail against some barely-annoying itch. It was peaceful and calm and on any other first morning the only sound he wanted to hear but what he wanted now was her voice, her bright, warm cry of little brother, the sound of her feet shuffling straw aside and her strong hand clamped on the back of his neck as she demanded her morning coffee—
The fucking coffee sitting and steaming in its pot over his fire
(
But all he had was his empty barn, his cold feet, a blanket he didn't recognize and an indent where it laid, the smell of leather conditioner and the sight of some tack he knew he hadn't left out. His fingers trembled against the rough wood grains of the massive door, his heart a violent fist against his ribs—he felt sick, he felt stunned, dizzy and desperate and so confused.
Someone cried his name and for a split second he thought it was her.
But she wouldn't have said Rory, she would've said Aury, and the arms wrapping themselves around his trembling body were not his sister's (well, they kind of were—) but someone else's, and he found himself in conflict: so relieved and so disappointed that he wanted to punch the door and scream—
Which, to his own surprise, he actually did.
Then he turned in her arms, ignoring the startled animals and the dogs streaking out of the house like confused sentinels, barking and looking for the danger; he grabbed her with his cold and aching hands and collapsed into the snow with his back against the door, hoping to tug her with him. "Oh, Amalia," he said—groaned—trying to hold her as tight as he could. "I-I think she was here."
[ where can I get a monster that polishes my tack??? please ]
as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
