In the Glade time seemed to slow, the sunlight moving like honey, idle and languid through the seconds, minutes, more that Rory cried and found release from the pain that had held him captive, dimming his light within its shadow. Fingers tangled in the silk of white fur, tears collecting there like rain that dampened the fox’s brow, and he bowed his head against the quiet spring shower that fell from bluest eyes. When Rory raised his head again, Jigano shifted his head to rest it on a shoulder that soon pressed against the slender strength of Amalia, the three of them bound together as one in those first few moments of silence.
He listened, then, as the story came out in gasps and growls, Rory’s voice rough with tears. The man seemed as much beast as the fox in those moments, caught up in the memories of a conversation the lorekeeper wished desperately that he had been there to hear. At his friend’s shudder he pressed his nose to Rory’s neck, his tongue licking out impulsively at the hunter’s stubbled jaw when it was followed by a shiver. He knew Edy, enough to call her friend, though he still wasn’t sure he meant the same to her. Not after the Spark Bird’s arrival, at least, and a forlorn slip of a girl left alone in the light. He knew she had anger in her, and an utter lack of control that made her threats terrifyingly real… but unlike Amalia he could not find it in him to hate her for what she had said. He was only glad that she had stopped at words, and not scarred his hunter further.
It was mention of Vai’s daughter, the assassin, that had his hackles rising and a growl rumbling low in his throat. He echoed Amalia’s threat in the silence of his mind for the short, dark-haired killer, and Rory would find two predators ready to leap to his defense before any such destructive magics could be brought to bear against him.
But it was Amalia’s words that struck the fox like whips of fire, the lean beast flinching in Rory’s arms at each reiteration of ‘them,’ though he held his instinctive whine locked behind his teeth. Ears flat and body tense he held tight to the hunter’s earlier reassurances, and cuddled close against Rory's strength as an unexpected chasm seemed to open between him and the leopardess he held so dear.
He listened, then, as the story came out in gasps and growls, Rory’s voice rough with tears. The man seemed as much beast as the fox in those moments, caught up in the memories of a conversation the lorekeeper wished desperately that he had been there to hear. At his friend’s shudder he pressed his nose to Rory’s neck, his tongue licking out impulsively at the hunter’s stubbled jaw when it was followed by a shiver. He knew Edy, enough to call her friend, though he still wasn’t sure he meant the same to her. Not after the Spark Bird’s arrival, at least, and a forlorn slip of a girl left alone in the light. He knew she had anger in her, and an utter lack of control that made her threats terrifyingly real… but unlike Amalia he could not find it in him to hate her for what she had said. He was only glad that she had stopped at words, and not scarred his hunter further.
It was mention of Vai’s daughter, the assassin, that had his hackles rising and a growl rumbling low in his throat. He echoed Amalia’s threat in the silence of his mind for the short, dark-haired killer, and Rory would find two predators ready to leap to his defense before any such destructive magics could be brought to bear against him.
But it was Amalia’s words that struck the fox like whips of fire, the lean beast flinching in Rory’s arms at each reiteration of ‘them,’ though he held his instinctive whine locked behind his teeth. Ears flat and body tense he held tight to the hunter’s earlier reassurances, and cuddled close against Rory's strength as an unexpected chasm seemed to open between him and the leopardess he held so dear.
