He had done what he could, helping the man to find proof of who had fallen victim to the demon. He could do nothing more-- but wait, and give Rory time to work through his grief. To come to terms with something that never got easier. And to be by his side while he did, so he, hopefully, didn't feel quite so alone.
And to keep watch, to make sure that the same thing didn't happen to his friend, brave and foolish and desperate as Rory was.
The slight weight of the hand on his back was... good. It was better than the stoic silence and mournful sighs, at least, and Jigano's ears perked up as he shifted his eyes to his companion's face to see what had changed. When there was nothing more he went back to watching the Spire, guarding, in spite of his size, the much larger man at his side.
When movement started he didn't react at first, letting the gentle petting soothe him as much as his friend. It was strange, being touched in fox-form, but... there were none of the memories, either. It was new, untarnished by his past, and Rory's gentle strength and quiet ways - his smile when they'd fought the gourds, and his courage in lingering near the spire to identify a victim he may not have known - made Jigano feel--
Safe.
When the mitten came off and bare fingers slid into his fur the fox sighed and nestled closer, turning his head to look up at Rory once more with mournful blue eyes. The man looked... better. Not well. Not even alright. But not as lost as he had been. He had had a chance to calm himself and recover, as much as he could in the short time they'd had. White ears swiveled at the thanks and again he licked his nose - a bashful gesture, as much to get a bit of warmth back into it after the cold wind.
He raised his head reluctantly, a soft sigh escaping as Rory said he had to get going. It was for the best, really - the man needed friends around him. People he trusted, who might know what to say. Who had maybe known poor, lost Wessex and could share in their friend's grief. The names of the men earned a curious tilt of his head - Remi, in particular, was a name he'd heard before. Isla had spoken well of the man, though 'Ronin' was an unknown quantity.
He closed his eyes, pressing up into the parting scratch and following Rory up with a shake to settle his fur as he regained four feet. Looking up at his friend's question he glanced at the Spire - he'd gotten far closer than he'd intended, but had at least gotten his fill of observing it - then back to the nearby woods. He was getting hungry after the burst of activity and then lying so long in the cold - though his side was nice and warm from where he'd been pressed against another living body. There should still be plenty of autumn-fat rabbits and not-quite-quick-enough squirrels there. Or, barring that, a winter mouse-hunt was a good way to cheer himself up, as much for the silliness as the squeaky snack at the end of it.
But the gravity of the afternoon lingered, heavy and oppressive with a sadness that he empathized with in spite of all his attempts to numb his heart the last few years. Perhaps... he would simply return to the Atheneum, and his studies there, now that he'd seen the Spire and the demon's handiwork close up. He would give Rory plenty of time to be on his way back to his home before venturing to the Rathskeller for his meal.
With an encouraging bark he began to trot back to where the black horse was tied. He'd accompany his friend to the edge of town, then leave him when he was sure Rory was safely in the hands of what passed for civilization here.
The demon's handiwork had left him wanting to know his friends were safe and sound before he let them out of his sight, at least for today.
And to keep watch, to make sure that the same thing didn't happen to his friend, brave and foolish and desperate as Rory was.
The slight weight of the hand on his back was... good. It was better than the stoic silence and mournful sighs, at least, and Jigano's ears perked up as he shifted his eyes to his companion's face to see what had changed. When there was nothing more he went back to watching the Spire, guarding, in spite of his size, the much larger man at his side.
When movement started he didn't react at first, letting the gentle petting soothe him as much as his friend. It was strange, being touched in fox-form, but... there were none of the memories, either. It was new, untarnished by his past, and Rory's gentle strength and quiet ways - his smile when they'd fought the gourds, and his courage in lingering near the spire to identify a victim he may not have known - made Jigano feel--
Safe.
When the mitten came off and bare fingers slid into his fur the fox sighed and nestled closer, turning his head to look up at Rory once more with mournful blue eyes. The man looked... better. Not well. Not even alright. But not as lost as he had been. He had had a chance to calm himself and recover, as much as he could in the short time they'd had. White ears swiveled at the thanks and again he licked his nose - a bashful gesture, as much to get a bit of warmth back into it after the cold wind.
He raised his head reluctantly, a soft sigh escaping as Rory said he had to get going. It was for the best, really - the man needed friends around him. People he trusted, who might know what to say. Who had maybe known poor, lost Wessex and could share in their friend's grief. The names of the men earned a curious tilt of his head - Remi, in particular, was a name he'd heard before. Isla had spoken well of the man, though 'Ronin' was an unknown quantity.
He closed his eyes, pressing up into the parting scratch and following Rory up with a shake to settle his fur as he regained four feet. Looking up at his friend's question he glanced at the Spire - he'd gotten far closer than he'd intended, but had at least gotten his fill of observing it - then back to the nearby woods. He was getting hungry after the burst of activity and then lying so long in the cold - though his side was nice and warm from where he'd been pressed against another living body. There should still be plenty of autumn-fat rabbits and not-quite-quick-enough squirrels there. Or, barring that, a winter mouse-hunt was a good way to cheer himself up, as much for the silliness as the squeaky snack at the end of it.
But the gravity of the afternoon lingered, heavy and oppressive with a sadness that he empathized with in spite of all his attempts to numb his heart the last few years. Perhaps... he would simply return to the Atheneum, and his studies there, now that he'd seen the Spire and the demon's handiwork close up. He would give Rory plenty of time to be on his way back to his home before venturing to the Rathskeller for his meal.
With an encouraging bark he began to trot back to where the black horse was tied. He'd accompany his friend to the edge of town, then leave him when he was sure Rory was safely in the hands of what passed for civilization here.
The demon's handiwork had left him wanting to know his friends were safe and sound before he let them out of his sight, at least for today.
