In truth Jigano was grateful when Amalia let the topic of Rory drop. It had torn his heart in half to leave his mate on LongNight. Half of it still beat within his chest, but the other half remained in the farmhouse, trembling in his lover's strong, competent hands. To have that pain thrust back at him was perhaps only karma for how he had hurt her, but fear and despair were not so far beneath the surface that she wouldn't find them if she dug a little deeper, and there was no one here now who he would turn to for comfort if she tore the illusions off those wounds and exposed them to the world. So he was relieved that it did not come to that, and that she was willing to turn to Kiada instead. A sensitive topic, entwined as it was with the choice to leave the farmhouse, but a safer one in general.
He shifted his hip against the desk, nodding thoughtfully as she echoed some of what Kiada had told him. Some, but not all. So she really didn't know, and he felt a little of the tension in his shoulders ease as he followed her gaze briefly, then reached up to push his hair back, the silver mane no longer corralled by human ears as his furred fox's ears twitched towards her attentively. "Not just the lantern," he said quietly. "She told me that Ludo said she needed me, specifically. Me... and the song that it placed in my head last year, the one that doesn't have words but does at the same time." He glanced down at his hand, flexing it in reminiscence of when he'd held the quill in it. "I tried writing it down once, to add to the guild Chronicle. It's not... it's like trying to catch moonbeams. Something you can see but can't quite catch hold of."
He looked up at his friend again, someone who could heal him and hurt him, tear him down and build him up with little more than a look and a few words. "I don't like it either," he said softly. "But sometimes... sometimes there's no right answer." Amalia knew that, he knew she did. He just hoped that eventually she'd find it in her heart to understand why he had made the choice he had.
He shifted his hip against the desk, nodding thoughtfully as she echoed some of what Kiada had told him. Some, but not all. So she really didn't know, and he felt a little of the tension in his shoulders ease as he followed her gaze briefly, then reached up to push his hair back, the silver mane no longer corralled by human ears as his furred fox's ears twitched towards her attentively. "Not just the lantern," he said quietly. "She told me that Ludo said she needed me, specifically. Me... and the song that it placed in my head last year, the one that doesn't have words but does at the same time." He glanced down at his hand, flexing it in reminiscence of when he'd held the quill in it. "I tried writing it down once, to add to the guild Chronicle. It's not... it's like trying to catch moonbeams. Something you can see but can't quite catch hold of."
He looked up at his friend again, someone who could heal him and hurt him, tear him down and build him up with little more than a look and a few words. "I don't like it either," he said softly. "But sometimes... sometimes there's no right answer." Amalia knew that, he knew she did. He just hoped that eventually she'd find it in her heart to understand why he had made the choice he had.
