Jigano sat upon Amalia's shoulder when Rory left for Maea's call to government, a smoldering seed of discontent and frustration in his breast that he could not quench and would not reveal to any other, for they all thought him a good man, and he was nothing of the sort. He was just good at looking like it to the outside observer, who did not see the tarnish beneath the gilt, or the rotten places artfully hidden by shadows where his ideals had once blossomed, innocent as flowers in the springtime - and just as fragile, he had discovered, when put to the test.
He had been a leader once. He might have been, again... but the Hollowed Grounders were too insular, too divided into schisms of race and class, town and farm, to bear the yoke of government willingly, and the Outlanders were even worse, pulling in all directions at once and none recognizing a leader. The Northhaveners who had arrived together had a hierarchy that might allow for it, but plenty of others had arrived since then who cared nothing for Launcelyns or militaries that existed only in dreams. Given time he might have been able to coax and wheedle and bribe and cajole them into working together...
Or, then again, perhaps not.
And he had abandoned the burden of politics once before, determined to never take it up again.
But, oh, it burned him all the same to see the groundwork he had laid so easily stolen and subverted by someone he had started to trust...
The raven had sat on Amalia's shoulder and watched the mob around the Spire to distract himself from his selfish resentment and the petty impulses he harbored in his feathered breast. He watched how Amalia walked among the naturals, her quiet but firm hand settling disputes, and the respect she was shown that she herself seemed oblivious to. He croaked softly to himself at times, and other times he chirred and pressed his feathery forehead to her temple to reassure and comfort her.
He had not realized Rory was back until it was too late, and the confrontation passed before he could help his friend - his friends, Edy apparently having been present as well from the muttering observers who had seen her fiery temper. As a human he could hide his feelings well behind an actor's mask of laughter or calm wisdom, but as a raven he shifted his weight from foot to foot on Amalia's shoulder, worried little croaks escaping until he gave in and awkwardly hopped and fluttered over to Rory's shoulder, mantling a protective wing over the hunter's head and glaring with blue-eyed menace at any who tried to approach while Amalia led them to a more private place.
The Oasis was perfect, earning an approving croak as they slipped out of sight of the gathered naturals but stayed close enough to hear any shouts of anger or fighting. Rory was...
Not alright. Not even close. There were wounds that Jigano couldn't wrap, exhaustion that he couldn't mend with a spell or a single hour's nap. He looked to Amalia with concern, but as soon as the humans had sat down he hopped down from Rory's shoulder, growing and flowing into the shape of a fox, white furred and worried as he curled into the blond's lap and nudged at one limp hand with a pleading whine, his pink tongue swiping a licknot a kiss, not in this form, at least over sweat-salted skin as he urged the man to stroke him as they had done so often before.
He had been a leader once. He might have been, again... but the Hollowed Grounders were too insular, too divided into schisms of race and class, town and farm, to bear the yoke of government willingly, and the Outlanders were even worse, pulling in all directions at once and none recognizing a leader. The Northhaveners who had arrived together had a hierarchy that might allow for it, but plenty of others had arrived since then who cared nothing for Launcelyns or militaries that existed only in dreams. Given time he might have been able to coax and wheedle and bribe and cajole them into working together...
Or, then again, perhaps not.
And he had abandoned the burden of politics once before, determined to never take it up again.
But, oh, it burned him all the same to see the groundwork he had laid so easily stolen and subverted by someone he had started to trust...
The raven had sat on Amalia's shoulder and watched the mob around the Spire to distract himself from his selfish resentment and the petty impulses he harbored in his feathered breast. He watched how Amalia walked among the naturals, her quiet but firm hand settling disputes, and the respect she was shown that she herself seemed oblivious to. He croaked softly to himself at times, and other times he chirred and pressed his feathery forehead to her temple to reassure and comfort her.
He had not realized Rory was back until it was too late, and the confrontation passed before he could help his friend - his friends, Edy apparently having been present as well from the muttering observers who had seen her fiery temper. As a human he could hide his feelings well behind an actor's mask of laughter or calm wisdom, but as a raven he shifted his weight from foot to foot on Amalia's shoulder, worried little croaks escaping until he gave in and awkwardly hopped and fluttered over to Rory's shoulder, mantling a protective wing over the hunter's head and glaring with blue-eyed menace at any who tried to approach while Amalia led them to a more private place.
The Oasis was perfect, earning an approving croak as they slipped out of sight of the gathered naturals but stayed close enough to hear any shouts of anger or fighting. Rory was...
Not alright. Not even close. There were wounds that Jigano couldn't wrap, exhaustion that he couldn't mend with a spell or a single hour's nap. He looked to Amalia with concern, but as soon as the humans had sat down he hopped down from Rory's shoulder, growing and flowing into the shape of a fox, white furred and worried as he curled into the blond's lap and nudged at one limp hand with a pleading whine, his pink tongue swiping a lick
