The man was upset, Jigano could see that immediately. He didn't like his friend being so near the Spire, but it quickly became clear the blond wasn't there for any foolish reason. He was searching, digging in the snow-- and that could mean no good thing.
Worried for him, this stranger who had helped him, had laughed with him and stroked his fur and ears, the fox bent his head to sniff the proffered hand, reading from it what Rory had been doing. Horse sweat, and wool from the mittens, and the bright tang of freshly worked leather were all reassuring, even homely scents.
The fear, though, was not. Not the sharp spike of the hunted, but a softer, subtler scent. Fear... of what he would find, digging in the snow?
He didn't even think of pulling away, tilting his head into the scratch that Rory offered. He remembered - oh yes, he remembered - the lovely smile on the man's face when he had first touched white fox fur, and if a simple touch could bring some comfort again Jigano's pride was a small price to pay for it.
He wished that it could have lasted longer, in fact, but whatever was driving the man wasn't allowing him to rest for long. The cloth he offered was old to Jigano's senses. Older than the snows that had arrived so swiftly and in such force. A woman's scent, but a stranger's, and stale with the passage of time - though the cold snows had somewhat preserved it. He sniffed it thoroughly while Rory talked, taking in as much information as he could get.
He sat back when the man went back to digging, watching curiously but his mind working at a furious pace. The blond - the horse breeder? The leather worker? - was trying to find out if someone had died... when he didn't even know if he knew them? There was a kindness in that quiet soul that would be badly wounded by the world. And a strength to continue anyways, that Jigano had abandoned when he'd started selling pieces of his soul to lesser evils in the name of the greater good.
He couldn't stop himself - it was always so much harder to control his instinctive reactions in fox form - and whined again, worried as Rory unearthed the leather. He didn't want the man to find what he was looking for... but it was clear that he wouldn't stop until he did. The weather - and the demon that apparently was a very lethal threat - be damned.
Hopping to his feet Jigano paced a short circle anxiously for a few moments as Rory stood up, worried and conflicted. He should go, maybe bring back help for the man but... what if his friend was attacked or hurt while he was gone? It would be his fault for not staying. His fault he lost another friend. And even if he was too weak to fight the demon - if it came - he was still fast, agile. Maybe enough to distract it and let Rory escape.
And the sooner Rory got out of there, the less danger he'd be in.
He had the scent of the cloth. He took the scent of the leather, just to set it in his mind. Shaking himself to settle his resolve, he put his nose down and trotted over the snow, moving ahead of Rory's sweeping feet but keeping both ears cocked towards the Spire. He'd barely gone a few paces when something tickled his nose, faint as a ghost's trace and buried deep, but he gave a soft bark to get Rory's attention and started digging furiously with dainty paws. They were smaller than his human hands might have been, but though he moved less snow he moved it far faster as he kicked it back between his legs in a sudden shower, digging down to set his teeth into a piece of worn cloth and tugging at it futilely as the weight of the snow around it kept it pinned.
Worried for him, this stranger who had helped him, had laughed with him and stroked his fur and ears, the fox bent his head to sniff the proffered hand, reading from it what Rory had been doing. Horse sweat, and wool from the mittens, and the bright tang of freshly worked leather were all reassuring, even homely scents.
The fear, though, was not. Not the sharp spike of the hunted, but a softer, subtler scent. Fear... of what he would find, digging in the snow?
He didn't even think of pulling away, tilting his head into the scratch that Rory offered. He remembered - oh yes, he remembered - the lovely smile on the man's face when he had first touched white fox fur, and if a simple touch could bring some comfort again Jigano's pride was a small price to pay for it.
He wished that it could have lasted longer, in fact, but whatever was driving the man wasn't allowing him to rest for long. The cloth he offered was old to Jigano's senses. Older than the snows that had arrived so swiftly and in such force. A woman's scent, but a stranger's, and stale with the passage of time - though the cold snows had somewhat preserved it. He sniffed it thoroughly while Rory talked, taking in as much information as he could get.
He sat back when the man went back to digging, watching curiously but his mind working at a furious pace. The blond - the horse breeder? The leather worker? - was trying to find out if someone had died... when he didn't even know if he knew them? There was a kindness in that quiet soul that would be badly wounded by the world. And a strength to continue anyways, that Jigano had abandoned when he'd started selling pieces of his soul to lesser evils in the name of the greater good.
He couldn't stop himself - it was always so much harder to control his instinctive reactions in fox form - and whined again, worried as Rory unearthed the leather. He didn't want the man to find what he was looking for... but it was clear that he wouldn't stop until he did. The weather - and the demon that apparently was a very lethal threat - be damned.
Hopping to his feet Jigano paced a short circle anxiously for a few moments as Rory stood up, worried and conflicted. He should go, maybe bring back help for the man but... what if his friend was attacked or hurt while he was gone? It would be his fault for not staying. His fault he lost another friend. And even if he was too weak to fight the demon - if it came - he was still fast, agile. Maybe enough to distract it and let Rory escape.
And the sooner Rory got out of there, the less danger he'd be in.
He had the scent of the cloth. He took the scent of the leather, just to set it in his mind. Shaking himself to settle his resolve, he put his nose down and trotted over the snow, moving ahead of Rory's sweeping feet but keeping both ears cocked towards the Spire. He'd barely gone a few paces when something tickled his nose, faint as a ghost's trace and buried deep, but he gave a soft bark to get Rory's attention and started digging furiously with dainty paws. They were smaller than his human hands might have been, but though he moved less snow he moved it far faster as he kicked it back between his legs in a sudden shower, digging down to set his teeth into a piece of worn cloth and tugging at it futilely as the weight of the snow around it kept it pinned.
