Paying My Respects

A sound so slight nearly slips by me unnoticed as I make an earnest bid to sever my curiosity from the strange, tangible dream before me (when else should the wild possibly become so cosy?). The Gryphon responds to my movement by sliding their narrow hips down into a sit while the white fox already, has withdrawn to the blunt crown of a tree stump to eye me further, whining oddly as they perched. My own gaze softens, awash with indecision, and a similarly ambivalent frown twists the left corner of my mouth. The darkness shifts across my face as I turn it towards the direction home lies and a shaft of murky daylight touches my expression momentarily. When I glance back I am both surprised, relieved and a touch dismayed to find that the larger animal has vanished. The fox. A warm, rogue wind fans the leafy canopy above and around me, and my discerning eye picks out flickering foliage bronzed so subtly by illness; by the poison let to bleed into The Greatwood when those of The Hollowed Ground were freed. I shiver. Turning my interest back to the mythical whelp, a thoughtful smile resumes. “Best you find shelter too.” My voice hums down with the gentleness of morning sunlight. “Neither of us want to see the Cat Sith tonight. Though the words I present titter back into calm quiet between us, there lingers an ominous truth behind them; an invisible whisper through the soil, maybe, as the recently fallen cling to buried lanterns, waiting with growing anticipation for their guide - “That is Isuma…” I startle on the spot, teetering until a blazing surge of adrenaline offers my brain aid. The neck shifts above the helpless slouch of dystrophy, both hidden well in the depths of my covering, and with concern, nay, fear paling a moon-kissed complexion further, I search the surrounding tree-line for the unexpected voice’s owner. My tongue, so brave and forthcoming barely seconds before, now sits paralysed and useless across my lower teeth. “…And I am Jigano.” The exotic names and further explanation spill through the woods’ new stillness to haunt me, wrapped in friendly tone, perhaps even kindness, but confusion spurs my panic on: what Fae has ever befriended wildlife enough to name it? The thought takes a sour turn, escalating dramatically between my suddenly pounding temples: what if the Gryphon is a prisoner?… Troubled, these eyes widen upon the small winged creature and I find that I cannot step, turn or move otherwise (I can barely breathe); I am frozen to the earth and at the mercy of the stranger who lingers in the wings of obscurity - more fuel for the fire. I want to demand: “show yourself!”, as surely would the fabled courageousness of Delah reveal itself, but instead, my bones tremble wildly while my voice breaks in muted waves against the barrier of bewilderment. I stand, still, without breaking character, stupidly, entirely unprepared for whatever Jigano reveals themself to be. Not a Cat Sith at least…