RORY
Her reaction was not one that he had anticipated, not in his wildest dreams: “You saved everyone, Rory.” The words, coming from her, not exactly one to coddle or sugarcoat, stunned him deeper into the silence. Sluggish and sad and scared and mournful, he wanted to doubt his mind, his ears, his memory, but it was engraved there.He hadn't thought of it before, not like that, of all the deaths. The many at the Rathskeller. The Palmer family. The Valair, all except Maea. And who knew who else had disappeared in the dark? Those who had none to look for them, none to mourn them, the dark figure death count.
How would the rest of the night had gone, had not the Spark Bird come to bless them with its light and safety? His eyes fell to his pale hands. He didn't feel like a savior; he made for a poor hero.
The fire had licked every ounce of pride out of him.
"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help," he offered quietly, sincerely, perplexed and worried. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, and in most cases.. well, he'd be more of a hindrance than a help, but now it was out there. If she needed, she had but ask.
Then he laughed, gently, lightly, as she went to ladle soup into the bowl. "Wessex, please, I'd eat it even if it was wood shavings and rawhide." What he didn't say was that even if it would taste bland and badly balanced, he knew it would be nutritious. It would be warm. And more so, she had made it for him. Everything that had happened since the Festival of Lights when it came to the pair of them left him oddly touched, in ways he didn't know how to express, so he didn't say any of it.
Instead he began to eat the stew, more or less inhaling it, while knowing that he would regret it later when his body caught up with it. But for now, he was content to give in to the urge and just stuff his face with it.
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.
