His hands were cold as they lay in his lap, with neither glove nor fur to keep the frigid air from brushing up against his skin. They were turning pale, a little numb, but he didn't quite notice as he instead gazed into the blue eyes set in the white-furred face. What if he hadn't found the scrap of cloth as he rode past earlier today? What if he had never known about it? Her dramatic entrance would've been nothing but unusual, out of place for the Wessex he knew—an eccentric night, nothing more.
He wouldn't have had his heart bruised, wouldn't have stood at the front of a crowd, afraid of their gazes—wouldn't have felt that stupid, awkward mixture at seeing Wessex again, the overwhelming sense of relief and anger mixing with grief into whatever it was that glittered on his eyelashes now.
He felt at a loss: what do you say, after what he'd already said? He could talk about how he hadn't even known Wessex was Ascended—though that was hardly something he could fault her for for not telling him, they weren't friends in such a way—or how anxious the talk of fighting the demon made him. It wasn't that he wasn't curious, not like he didn't want answers, it was just...
Then the fox placed its dainty white paws on his knee and stood up, a gesture that was both very human and animal at the same time, and for the briefest of moments the breath hitched in his throat—somehow expecting this to be the moment when it'd elongate into the other shape it likely held, but—no. It was just the fox, peering up into his face with an unreadable yet earnest expression, and Rory met the gaze steadily, although he couldn't keep the hurt out of his eyes.
He probably couldn't do that even if you threatened him. He'd get himself together after a night of good sleep, but for now.. he just felt too damn broken to get his face under control.
Whatever the fox might've planned on doing, it didn't do it, because it dropped back in the snow. Rory closed his eyes and tried to commit the weight of those paws on his knee to memory.
Then the cold nose touched his freezing hands, warm tongue slipping out to lick against his skin: Rory blinked, partially because he had not expected such an animal behavior as licking, and partially because he had not noticed how quickly the cold had crept into his hands.
Grimacing, the man reached out to dig his fingers into the warm fur. "I'm a mess, huh?" he said quietly, voice still a little scratchy.
He wouldn't have had his heart bruised, wouldn't have stood at the front of a crowd, afraid of their gazes—wouldn't have felt that stupid, awkward mixture at seeing Wessex again, the overwhelming sense of relief and anger mixing with grief into whatever it was that glittered on his eyelashes now.
He felt at a loss: what do you say, after what he'd already said? He could talk about how he hadn't even known Wessex was Ascended—though that was hardly something he could fault her for for not telling him, they weren't friends in such a way—or how anxious the talk of fighting the demon made him. It wasn't that he wasn't curious, not like he didn't want answers, it was just...
Then the fox placed its dainty white paws on his knee and stood up, a gesture that was both very human and animal at the same time, and for the briefest of moments the breath hitched in his throat—somehow expecting this to be the moment when it'd elongate into the other shape it likely held, but—no. It was just the fox, peering up into his face with an unreadable yet earnest expression, and Rory met the gaze steadily, although he couldn't keep the hurt out of his eyes.
He probably couldn't do that even if you threatened him. He'd get himself together after a night of good sleep, but for now.. he just felt too damn broken to get his face under control.
Whatever the fox might've planned on doing, it didn't do it, because it dropped back in the snow. Rory closed his eyes and tried to commit the weight of those paws on his knee to memory.
Then the cold nose touched his freezing hands, warm tongue slipping out to lick against his skin: Rory blinked, partially because he had not expected such an animal behavior as licking, and partially because he had not noticed how quickly the cold had crept into his hands.
Grimacing, the man reached out to dig his fingers into the warm fur. "I'm a mess, huh?" he said quietly, voice still a little scratchy.
