His hiding place might have allowed him to hear, but he could not see and the frustration of it was enough to make a slender fox squirm in the confines of stone and plaster where he had tucked himself, safe from notice by those who wouldn't understand. Some voices he knew - Edy, Isla, the pup - others were unknown to him, new and strange. And there were more bodies moving and breathing than speaking in the large area. They spoke of assault, of magic and weapons, a glorious battle to make the bards sing--
Except the bards tended to leave out the screaming of the wounded. The stench of spilled bowels, the slip of filth beneath weary boots. The twisted limbs and broken bodies, slack faces and empty eyes that accompanied such things. No one wanted to hear about that. But he had seen enough destruction to know the price of such grand gestures.
And, in the end, maybe that's what it would come down to. A grand melee, an overpowering force of mortals against the Spire's single defender, relying on sheer number of bodies to slow it, even stop it, so some lucky few might gain the supposed entrance of the key to their cage. But... perhaps there were other ways. Violence tended to be the first thought of the strong, he'd noticed. Those used to winning with it rarely considered that there might be another way, using other strengths than the merely physical--
Rory's voice didn't ring out so much as fall, leaden, into the momentary silence, and the little fox froze, ears pricked but holding his breath. So much pain--
He'd heard enough. He had enough to redouble his efforts in the library and perhaps be Remi's kind of fool, as well. For now, though, there was something he needed to do. Squirming, twisting, he managed to back himself out of the dead end he'd wedged himself into and back into the night. It was cold, overcast still -- dark, with neither moon nor stars to light the way.
No one should spend such a night bleeding and alone in the dark.
Ghost-silent and blending with the snow, Jigano trotted back around to where a black horse had been hitched. He approached cautiously, raising his nose to sniff hers in greeting before trotting around to her side and gathering himself. He jumped, springing high enough to catch himself on the saddle and find his balance as he curled down there, a lovely white foxfur with two eyes slitted mostly closed, to wait for Rory's return.
Except the bards tended to leave out the screaming of the wounded. The stench of spilled bowels, the slip of filth beneath weary boots. The twisted limbs and broken bodies, slack faces and empty eyes that accompanied such things. No one wanted to hear about that. But he had seen enough destruction to know the price of such grand gestures.
And, in the end, maybe that's what it would come down to. A grand melee, an overpowering force of mortals against the Spire's single defender, relying on sheer number of bodies to slow it, even stop it, so some lucky few might gain the supposed entrance of the key to their cage. But... perhaps there were other ways. Violence tended to be the first thought of the strong, he'd noticed. Those used to winning with it rarely considered that there might be another way, using other strengths than the merely physical--
Rory's voice didn't ring out so much as fall, leaden, into the momentary silence, and the little fox froze, ears pricked but holding his breath. So much pain--
He'd heard enough. He had enough to redouble his efforts in the library and perhaps be Remi's kind of fool, as well. For now, though, there was something he needed to do. Squirming, twisting, he managed to back himself out of the dead end he'd wedged himself into and back into the night. It was cold, overcast still -- dark, with neither moon nor stars to light the way.
No one should spend such a night bleeding and alone in the dark.
Ghost-silent and blending with the snow, Jigano trotted back around to where a black horse had been hitched. He approached cautiously, raising his nose to sniff hers in greeting before trotting around to her side and gathering himself. He jumped, springing high enough to catch himself on the saddle and find his balance as he curled down there, a lovely white foxfur with two eyes slitted mostly closed, to wait for Rory's return.
