Jigano took the handkerchief ruefully, nodding his thanks to his considerate friend and turning aside to blow his nose with as much delicacy as was possible.
"Not necessary, no," Jigano agreed cheerfully. "But that's the joy of it." He settled into the indicated chair, sighing with relief as some of the warmth began to soak back into his bones. The day spent in fox form had been almost comfortable, but the trudge back in man form had been more than a bit chilly.
Samuel's home may have been small, but it was cozy. The books in particular had Jigano relaxing with the comfort of the familiar, and his eyes roamed the titles on the spines - as well as covertly examining the knickknacks and ornaments. And then, of course, there was The Painting.
"Hmm? Ah, to steep, yes," the bard agreed absently, picking out the similarities in the children. The richness of the mother's clothes - the grim austerity in the father's face. And the boy... he looked from the painting of the child to his friend with a raised brow, finding the resemblance and remembering how, at their first meeting, Samuel had said his family didn't like to talk to him. About anything.
The fools.
"I've been fine," he reassured his host, speaking gently. "The book was unexpected, but it didn't hurt us, aside from giving a good scare. Those damned and damnable gourds did me worse damage, in fact." He chuckled ruefully, giving his nose another surreptitious wipe. "I got a bruise on my leg that took a week to fade, thanks to them. But I've been learning my way around, meeting some new people... reading a few new books. I quite liked that one you recommended, the romance with the warrior. It had some wonderful poetry in it." He tilted his head at the man across from him, blue eyes narrowing shrewdly with concern. "And how are you? I've wanted to give you time to recover, but... with the way you left, I admit, I've been worried. Is everything alright?"
"Not necessary, no," Jigano agreed cheerfully. "But that's the joy of it." He settled into the indicated chair, sighing with relief as some of the warmth began to soak back into his bones. The day spent in fox form had been almost comfortable, but the trudge back in man form had been more than a bit chilly.
Samuel's home may have been small, but it was cozy. The books in particular had Jigano relaxing with the comfort of the familiar, and his eyes roamed the titles on the spines - as well as covertly examining the knickknacks and ornaments. And then, of course, there was The Painting.
"Hmm? Ah, to steep, yes," the bard agreed absently, picking out the similarities in the children. The richness of the mother's clothes - the grim austerity in the father's face. And the boy... he looked from the painting of the child to his friend with a raised brow, finding the resemblance and remembering how, at their first meeting, Samuel had said his family didn't like to talk to him. About anything.
The fools.
"I've been fine," he reassured his host, speaking gently. "The book was unexpected, but it didn't hurt us, aside from giving a good scare. Those damned and damnable gourds did me worse damage, in fact." He chuckled ruefully, giving his nose another surreptitious wipe. "I got a bruise on my leg that took a week to fade, thanks to them. But I've been learning my way around, meeting some new people... reading a few new books. I quite liked that one you recommended, the romance with the warrior. It had some wonderful poetry in it." He tilted his head at the man across from him, blue eyes narrowing shrewdly with concern. "And how are you? I've wanted to give you time to recover, but... with the way you left, I admit, I've been worried. Is everything alright?"
