It had been a day filled with light.
The sun had come down from the heavens to walk beside him, and he had turned his face towards it as eagerly as any flower. Warm and solid against him, Rory’s quiet presence had been blessing and balm and cause for joy, not just chasing away the shadows of his past but giving him strength to grab the present with both hands and, for once, to not worry about the future. They had shared beer and grilled magna vermis, met with friends, and nibbled sugary confections from Amalia’s booth. They had walked, and watched the other festival-goers, and let their clasped hands do most of their speaking for them, and if they leaned against each other whenever they stopped for a little while, well, they were quiet interludes that they had earned the right to enjoy.
The musicians had come for him eventually, and he had been reluctantly dragged away to join the largest field of dancers and music-makers, joining in with his harp for some songs, and his flute for others. Isuma had stayed on Rory’s shoulder, purring contentedly to keep his spirits up until the sun had begun to set and Jigano had been released from his duties for the day. He came hunting partially along the feel of his bond with the gryphon, but mostly with his own eyes, using his height to scan the throngs of merrymakers in search of a braided-and-befeathered head.
Vain as ever, he paused to fix his appearance in a barrel of rain water, smoothing his hair and straightening his tunic, trying not to think too hard about the flutter in his stomach as dusk slid gentle fingers across the Hollowed Grounds and coaxed the many lanterns scattered around the festival to life. The stars were beginning to blink sleepily overhead, called from their beds by the sun’s final rays before Jigano found who he was looking for, at a familiar booth from which tasty aromas still wafted. The day had come full circle, it seemed, as he returned to the beer booth and the familiar blond head that stood near it, a small gryphon on his shoulder dozing tiredly after such a long and exciting day. For a few moments Jigano stood tucked out of the way of traffic moving through the aisles, allowing himself the simple joy of drinking in his friend’s appearance. The lean body, muscled from a lifetime of work on the farm, the hair he wanted to run his fingers through, done up today in braids and feathers on one side and flowing temptingly on the other. Though turned away from him, he could imagine the eyes as blue as summer, but far more gentle. Like the Oasis they were dappled at times with shadows, and other times with light. The scar that traced the left side of his jaw and cheek was a reminder of his courage, a physical badge of his determination that disappeared into the embroidered neck of his festival shirt…
He could stand there all night, the bard realized a tad ruefully, enumerating the many good qualities of his handsome friend. Or he could do more than just look…
With a dangerous recklessness he slid back into the crowd, crossing the short distance between them on silent feet until he could reach out to brush his fingers over the soft cloth covering a pale shoulder, the scars he knew were there currently hidden beneath. ”Hey stranger,” he murmured, his voice low but holding laughter in its depths. ”Care to share another drink with me?”
The sun had come down from the heavens to walk beside him, and he had turned his face towards it as eagerly as any flower. Warm and solid against him, Rory’s quiet presence had been blessing and balm and cause for joy, not just chasing away the shadows of his past but giving him strength to grab the present with both hands and, for once, to not worry about the future. They had shared beer and grilled magna vermis, met with friends, and nibbled sugary confections from Amalia’s booth. They had walked, and watched the other festival-goers, and let their clasped hands do most of their speaking for them, and if they leaned against each other whenever they stopped for a little while, well, they were quiet interludes that they had earned the right to enjoy.
The musicians had come for him eventually, and he had been reluctantly dragged away to join the largest field of dancers and music-makers, joining in with his harp for some songs, and his flute for others. Isuma had stayed on Rory’s shoulder, purring contentedly to keep his spirits up until the sun had begun to set and Jigano had been released from his duties for the day. He came hunting partially along the feel of his bond with the gryphon, but mostly with his own eyes, using his height to scan the throngs of merrymakers in search of a braided-and-befeathered head.
Vain as ever, he paused to fix his appearance in a barrel of rain water, smoothing his hair and straightening his tunic, trying not to think too hard about the flutter in his stomach as dusk slid gentle fingers across the Hollowed Grounds and coaxed the many lanterns scattered around the festival to life. The stars were beginning to blink sleepily overhead, called from their beds by the sun’s final rays before Jigano found who he was looking for, at a familiar booth from which tasty aromas still wafted. The day had come full circle, it seemed, as he returned to the beer booth and the familiar blond head that stood near it, a small gryphon on his shoulder dozing tiredly after such a long and exciting day. For a few moments Jigano stood tucked out of the way of traffic moving through the aisles, allowing himself the simple joy of drinking in his friend’s appearance. The lean body, muscled from a lifetime of work on the farm, the hair he wanted to run his fingers through, done up today in braids and feathers on one side and flowing temptingly on the other. Though turned away from him, he could imagine the eyes as blue as summer, but far more gentle. Like the Oasis they were dappled at times with shadows, and other times with light. The scar that traced the left side of his jaw and cheek was a reminder of his courage, a physical badge of his determination that disappeared into the embroidered neck of his festival shirt…
He could stand there all night, the bard realized a tad ruefully, enumerating the many good qualities of his handsome friend. Or he could do more than just look…
With a dangerous recklessness he slid back into the crowd, crossing the short distance between them on silent feet until he could reach out to brush his fingers over the soft cloth covering a pale shoulder, the scars he knew were there currently hidden beneath. ”Hey stranger,” he murmured, his voice low but holding laughter in its depths. ”Care to share another drink with me?”
