There had been assistants in the infirmary, more experienced and better trained than he, but still Jigano had hovered worriedly as they'd set to cleaning and bandaging Rory to continue the healing that Vervain's magic had begun. One had finally, in exasperation, gotten him to clean himself up as well so that he wouldn't do anything to endanger the hunter's healing when he inevitably returned to his friend's side. He'd even begged one of the assistants to collect the glowing antlers and return with them, thinking that his friends might find them a comfort.
Isuma had kept watch over Rory until they had finished fussing over him, and she fell asleep curled on the hunter's hip almost as soon as the nurses withdrew, exhausted in body and soul.
Jigano knew how she felt. Now that he was in human form and the emergency was past it felt... strange... to reach for his friend's hand. The bard's honey-toned fingers hovered above his the hunter's fingers, afraid in a way he didn't know how to fight. Would Rory even want to see him now? Would he blame Jigano for the bite? Would he feel better if neither man nor fox was there when he woke up?
Or would he be worried?
In the end it didn't matter. Jigano had promised that he wouldn't leave his friend, a vow made in the heat of the moment, but a vow nonetheless. As an Oracle he had been blessed with divine favor in many ways... but it had been balanced by a curse that had run in the Oracles of his family for generations. He couldn't break a vow, once made, without suffering immediate physical repercussions. Perhaps that, too, had been broken when he had stepped through the portal, but it wasn't the sort of thing one tested lightly, nor without good reason.
Staying by Rory's side, though fraught with its own dangers, was something he wanted to do anyways. If he could give his friend comfort at all, and not bring him more pain, it was worth any hurt the leatherworker might wish to inflict on him in retaliation. But he'd never been given permission to touch his friend as a human. And besides, there wasn't much room for him, tall and lanky as he was. It was the most natural thing in the world to slip back into his fox form and curl up on the cot along Rory's side, nudging himself under his friend's limp arm so gentle, familiar fingers rested between his ears and he could share his own warmth with the wounded man.
He had meant to sit silent vigil, but heartache and the cost of the day - in fear, in rage, in madness, and guilt - wrapped him in numbing exhaustion and before he knew it he'd slipped away into dreamless slumber.
Isuma had kept watch over Rory until they had finished fussing over him, and she fell asleep curled on the hunter's hip almost as soon as the nurses withdrew, exhausted in body and soul.
Jigano knew how she felt. Now that he was in human form and the emergency was past it felt... strange... to reach for his friend's hand. The bard's honey-toned fingers hovered above his the hunter's fingers, afraid in a way he didn't know how to fight. Would Rory even want to see him now? Would he blame Jigano for the bite? Would he feel better if neither man nor fox was there when he woke up?
Or would he be worried?
In the end it didn't matter. Jigano had promised that he wouldn't leave his friend, a vow made in the heat of the moment, but a vow nonetheless. As an Oracle he had been blessed with divine favor in many ways... but it had been balanced by a curse that had run in the Oracles of his family for generations. He couldn't break a vow, once made, without suffering immediate physical repercussions. Perhaps that, too, had been broken when he had stepped through the portal, but it wasn't the sort of thing one tested lightly, nor without good reason.
Staying by Rory's side, though fraught with its own dangers, was something he wanted to do anyways. If he could give his friend comfort at all, and not bring him more pain, it was worth any hurt the leatherworker might wish to inflict on him in retaliation. But he'd never been given permission to touch his friend as a human. And besides, there wasn't much room for him, tall and lanky as he was. It was the most natural thing in the world to slip back into his fox form and curl up on the cot along Rory's side, nudging himself under his friend's limp arm so gentle, familiar fingers rested between his ears and he could share his own warmth with the wounded man.
He had meant to sit silent vigil, but heartache and the cost of the day - in fear, in rage, in madness, and guilt - wrapped him in numbing exhaustion and before he knew it he'd slipped away into dreamless slumber.
