Jigano hopped closer to Kiada , rubbing his head against her side in encouragement for the journey she had undertaken, even as his song faltered at the sight of Rory below. He had not expected his lover to brave the Greatwood again, not after the last two times, and his heart ached for the hunter as the last of his notes fell away, leaving the siren to its song. At first he thought the man was enamored of the song, as the rest of them were, but he followed Rory's gaze to the waterfall just in time to catch the shadow that fell into the waters - and then rose from them, a creature of stunning beauty, marred with the blackened kiss of the blight.
The raven croaked a denial, blood running cold in spite of the beauty of her song. He dropped from the branch behind the tree, slipping into his human form as he landed in the protection of the shadows before stepping out to find Rory's side and twine their fingers together, needing the comfort of that touch for a moment as he remembered the fading of the Tulmhainar within the Spire. He shivered, despair tugging at his heart, and offered his friend a sad smile as he reached back into his bag, withdrawing the flute he carried most places and regaining his hand. He had no healing magic to offer, and it would take nothing less then magic to overcome the Blight upon her scales, even for a little while. Instead he offered what he could: music, the flute's quiet, rich tones extemporizing accompaniment for the tragic creature's song, weaving beneath her own notes in an attempt to enhance the glory of her voice.
The raven croaked a denial, blood running cold in spite of the beauty of her song. He dropped from the branch behind the tree, slipping into his human form as he landed in the protection of the shadows before stepping out to find Rory's side and twine their fingers together, needing the comfort of that touch for a moment as he remembered the fading of the Tulmhainar within the Spire. He shivered, despair tugging at his heart, and offered his friend a sad smile as he reached back into his bag, withdrawing the flute he carried most places and regaining his hand. He had no healing magic to offer, and it would take nothing less then magic to overcome the Blight upon her scales, even for a little while. Instead he offered what he could: music, the flute's quiet, rich tones extemporizing accompaniment for the tragic creature's song, weaving beneath her own notes in an attempt to enhance the glory of her voice.
