it's not what it looks like
Once Remi was safely on his shoulder, Ianto scanned the riverside for anything he might have forgotten or anything left lingering on the banks, before turning on heel with the fishtank and beginning to march out of the village. He hummed tunelessly under his breath, nodding at a few fae that knew him (and knew better than to ask what on earth he was doing) and glancing at Remi. His nervousness was almost palpable, the fox turning his head to nuzzle at wet fur and twitching whiskers.
"Hey," he soothed, "it's okay. C'mon." The words probably wouldn't have been out of place even if he was a real raccoon, and the merchant soon had them back in the relative safety of the trees. Cocooned in a canopy of branches, he let out a breath of relief. "There. One whisperfish. Where'd you want it?"
"Hey," he soothed, "it's okay. C'mon." The words probably wouldn't have been out of place even if he was a real raccoon, and the merchant soon had them back in the relative safety of the trees. Cocooned in a canopy of branches, he let out a breath of relief. "There. One whisperfish. Where'd you want it?"
