The thing with winter coats was that you had to dig your fingers in to their skin to get to their heat: the insulating layers were cold, cold, cold, trapping the precious warmth close to the surface. Had he dropped a snowdrift on the fox it wouldn't have melted, so he twisted his fingers through fur that did not want to be twisted and lifted, hunting for the heat it protected and finding it deep within. Barely more than his fingertips lay against the fox's skin. He could feel the vibrations of its pulse.
The animal body twisted under his touch, silken hairs slipping between his fingers as muscles bunched and shifted. Their eyes met, again, blue and blue—if he saw those eyes in the face of a human, would he know them? Part of him thought that there was no way he wouldn't—that he'd know them anywhere—but how could he be sure?
He couldn't. So he sat there with his mysterious, anonymous friend, smiling gently and sadly as the cold nose brushed against his wrist. One of his hands slid along the fox's ruff and then cheek, then to the empty space in front of it's face. His smile grew a tad more lopsided and mischievous as he tried to boop the fox on the snoot.
Weird animal friends. The best cure when feeling a bit down and blue.
The animal body twisted under his touch, silken hairs slipping between his fingers as muscles bunched and shifted. Their eyes met, again, blue and blue—if he saw those eyes in the face of a human, would he know them? Part of him thought that there was no way he wouldn't—that he'd know them anywhere—but how could he be sure?
He couldn't. So he sat there with his mysterious, anonymous friend, smiling gently and sadly as the cold nose brushed against his wrist. One of his hands slid along the fox's ruff and then cheek, then to the empty space in front of it's face. His smile grew a tad more lopsided and mischievous as he tried to boop the fox on the snoot.
Weird animal friends. The best cure when feeling a bit down and blue.
