He had forgotten himself in that moment, lost in the flash of Edy's dark eyes, the fire licking along her hands; lost in the self-confident snarl of the wolf-girl, in the crackle and static of the lightning arcing so effortlessly over her skin.
He hadn't meant to provoke them, just to point out the reason he hadn't wanted them to fight the demon in the first place, but his startled mind kept returning to the moment. He had been a stag, helplessly tangled in vines and fencing, staring in the face of the predators.
How much had stilled Edy's hand? How little had separated him from death?
The fire blossomed in the dark, dark night, roaring towards him—even as he saw it he knew that he could not escape. There just wasn't any way, any time, anywhere to go.
And then he was falling—
He barely noticed Jigano upon his shoulder, the wing spread across the back of his head. He didn't quite see where they were going, until he was folding himself down upon Amalia's cloak by the edge of the Oasis. The bright and cheery singing of birds was distant, and out of place, an echo across the border between two worlds.
His was dark and dreary and gray, a thing made out of fear, bottled adrenaline; it was a noose around his neck, constricting until he couldn't speak, tongue swollen in the back of his mouth. Something wormed its way into his lap, wet warmth across his fingers—
Something had to give.
He couldn't stay like that forever, tangled up in a memory, running out of his own skin. He dragged in air through gritted teeth, aware of Amalia moving next to him, of how close they all were, there on the edge of something peaceful. They had found him in the dark and pulled him into the light, where the sun could touch his face, and the breeze riffle through his hair.
They were saving him. He was safe—
Something gave. Rory did not stroke the fox, but he hunched over, pulled his white friend close to his beating heart as his shoulders began to shake, and his warm tears wet the soft fur.
He had been so, so afraid in those tense, last moments.
He hadn't meant to provoke them, just to point out the reason he hadn't wanted them to fight the demon in the first place, but his startled mind kept returning to the moment. He had been a stag, helplessly tangled in vines and fencing, staring in the face of the predators.
How much had stilled Edy's hand? How little had separated him from death?
The fire blossomed in the dark, dark night, roaring towards him—even as he saw it he knew that he could not escape. There just wasn't any way, any time, anywhere to go.
And then he was falling—
He barely noticed Jigano upon his shoulder, the wing spread across the back of his head. He didn't quite see where they were going, until he was folding himself down upon Amalia's cloak by the edge of the Oasis. The bright and cheery singing of birds was distant, and out of place, an echo across the border between two worlds.
His was dark and dreary and gray, a thing made out of fear, bottled adrenaline; it was a noose around his neck, constricting until he couldn't speak, tongue swollen in the back of his mouth. Something wormed its way into his lap, wet warmth across his fingers—
Something had to give.
He couldn't stay like that forever, tangled up in a memory, running out of his own skin. He dragged in air through gritted teeth, aware of Amalia moving next to him, of how close they all were, there on the edge of something peaceful. They had found him in the dark and pulled him into the light, where the sun could touch his face, and the breeze riffle through his hair.
They were saving him. He was safe—
Something gave. Rory did not stroke the fox, but he hunched over, pulled his white friend close to his beating heart as his shoulders began to shake, and his warm tears wet the soft fur.
He had been so, so afraid in those tense, last moments.
