For a moment again they were one, three hearts alone and in pain until they came together and the world seemed to right itself around them. Then Rory fell away and Amalia turned towards him, capturing his hand and all her wounded pride and pique seemed to shatter into mirrored shards that reflected back the pain and guilt she had been hiding. ”It’s alright, Ama, I promise,” he sought to reassure her, and meant it. The pain her words had caused him could not be forgotten so soon, but her apology and her honesty and her care were all balms upon the frostburn her anger had caused him, and he squeezed her hand tightly for a moment, relieved that he had chosen right in hiding his pain away. ”You are like a sister to Isuma… and to me,” he continued, voice gentle as he brought his now-freed arm up, attempting to pull her into an embrace that was growing slowly less awkward as he practiced it. ”And I have no intention of being lost.”
Not to her… and not to the hunter he felt so dangerously, wonderfully drawn to. He shifted his weight and, if Amalia would let him, he would pull her down with him as he lay carefully back beside Rory, feeling the cold dampness of the earth like a shock against his back. There would be grass in his hair, and it would be hell to clean later, but for once he ignored his appearance as he wrapped an arm around the hunter’s shoulders and pulled him close as well so that he had a friend on each shoulder.
A shiver went through him, not at the cold of the ground but at the strangeness of reaching out to others, of letting himself be touched again when he had spent so long avoiding it. It felt unsettling and unfamiliar after so long, frighteningly vulnerable… as he always felt with these two, who could wound or heal him with a silent glance or a handful of quiet words.
But, gods most fortunate, he wanted to protect them with every fiber of his being.
”Only when you’re ready,” he spoke gently to Rory, biting back the endearment that hesitated on the tip of his tongue. It was far too soon for such, and entirely the wrong situation, but still he wished that his friend had stayed in the circle of his arm a little while longer.
Not to her… and not to the hunter he felt so dangerously, wonderfully drawn to. He shifted his weight and, if Amalia would let him, he would pull her down with him as he lay carefully back beside Rory, feeling the cold dampness of the earth like a shock against his back. There would be grass in his hair, and it would be hell to clean later, but for once he ignored his appearance as he wrapped an arm around the hunter’s shoulders and pulled him close as well so that he had a friend on each shoulder.
A shiver went through him, not at the cold of the ground but at the strangeness of reaching out to others, of letting himself be touched again when he had spent so long avoiding it. It felt unsettling and unfamiliar after so long, frighteningly vulnerable… as he always felt with these two, who could wound or heal him with a silent glance or a handful of quiet words.
But, gods most fortunate, he wanted to protect them with every fiber of his being.
”Only when you’re ready,” he spoke gently to Rory, biting back the endearment that hesitated on the tip of his tongue. It was far too soon for such, and entirely the wrong situation, but still he wished that his friend had stayed in the circle of his arm a little while longer.
