I'm heavy metal, I'm hollow wood
It was one thing to let something be an idle dream, a wish, an intention: quite another to give it shape, meaning, a definite point and a timeline. It was one thing to sit in the sun and say that he wished to leave, to see the world, quite another (cold dread) to be taken seriously and actually think about it—
It was terrifying, but Rory was beginning to realize that to be alive was to be terrified, so you just had to learn to not give a shit about it.
Would a wolf be afraid?
Was fire afraid of burning out?
Finally, he glanced down at Jigano: at the sharp line of his jaw, the sharp lines of his pale ears, the vein-web spread across their thinnest part and gently illuminated by the sun. Rory's hand was coated in oil and dust from Ella's fur, but still he placed his fingers upon one of those pristine, pale ears and gently stroked it to its tip. "Tsk," he responded, giving the ear a slight, playful tug. "You'll just turn into a horse in my arms and squish me."
But Bakshi was a valid concern: Bakshi was steady, Bakshi was loyal, Bakshi was old. Old, but hardy, though Rory wondered how many more winters he would manage—and he feared that the one in which the weight would not stay on him was coming much too soon. Sighing, he looked back at Ella, neurotic, eager-to-please Ella, and bent forward to plant a kiss at the top of her nose. "You're right," he said, as if still speaking to the hound, "he would go, if we asked him, so it is our responsibility not to abuse his loyalty. Talys or Esaia would be much better suited."
It was terrifying, but Rory was beginning to realize that to be alive was to be terrified, so you just had to learn to not give a shit about it.
Would a wolf be afraid?
Was fire afraid of burning out?
Finally, he glanced down at Jigano: at the sharp line of his jaw, the sharp lines of his pale ears, the vein-web spread across their thinnest part and gently illuminated by the sun. Rory's hand was coated in oil and dust from Ella's fur, but still he placed his fingers upon one of those pristine, pale ears and gently stroked it to its tip. "Tsk," he responded, giving the ear a slight, playful tug. "You'll just turn into a horse in my arms and squish me."
But Bakshi was a valid concern: Bakshi was steady, Bakshi was loyal, Bakshi was old. Old, but hardy, though Rory wondered how many more winters he would manage—and he feared that the one in which the weight would not stay on him was coming much too soon. Sighing, he looked back at Ella, neurotic, eager-to-please Ella, and bent forward to plant a kiss at the top of her nose. "You're right," he said, as if still speaking to the hound, "he would go, if we asked him, so it is our responsibility not to abuse his loyalty. Talys or Esaia would be much better suited."
just shy of greatness, ah, ah
