Rory had mostly forgotten about his shin—it had been of the hurts-like-hell-upon-impact-but-two-minutes-later-you-don't-even-feel-it type, and while he'd probably get a bit of a bruise to show for it, it wasn't that bad. It'd be sore if he hit it for a couple of days. So, in a sense, he was a little surprised when the white fluffy creature daintily picked its way over to him, and—nosed his shin. After a second or so his brain caught up, and he wriggled his foot. "Just bruised," he assured the fox, again skirting around the issue of the fox being human, somewhere beneath all that white fur. It was easier to think of it as simply a very clever and empathetic fox, easier to let himself go.
But that illusion was hard to cling to when meeting those blue, blue eyes. No natural fox would engage in such a human behavior.
Rory grew still, watching those eyes. It felt like admitting to himself that the fox was more than a fox would somehow spell the end of something, but he couldn't put a finger on what that was. "Hey," he said gently, almost sadly, holding out a hand out of habit; it was the way he greeted most of his animals, giving them something tangible to sniff, and then they could choose whether or not they wanted to be petted.
The gesture was comforting to him somehow, as if it reinforced the fox-ness of the Attuned in front of him, stripped it of its human traits in his mind—and should his outstretched hand pass the inspection, he'd gently turn his hand palm up to scratch its jaw.
But that illusion was hard to cling to when meeting those blue, blue eyes. No natural fox would engage in such a human behavior.
Rory grew still, watching those eyes. It felt like admitting to himself that the fox was more than a fox would somehow spell the end of something, but he couldn't put a finger on what that was. "Hey," he said gently, almost sadly, holding out a hand out of habit; it was the way he greeted most of his animals, giving them something tangible to sniff, and then they could choose whether or not they wanted to be petted.
The gesture was comforting to him somehow, as if it reinforced the fox-ness of the Attuned in front of him, stripped it of its human traits in his mind—and should his outstretched hand pass the inspection, he'd gently turn his hand palm up to scratch its jaw.
