That morning, the sun rose on the short, last day before the Long Night. Rory had been up before it, making sure everything was prepared. He checked his food stores, located in the cold storage adjacent to the house. He made sure the Long Night outhouse had all the necessary supplies. He filled his small tanks up with water from the well, and used Talys to haul them up to the house. He made use of his sheepdogs and moved the goats and ponies into the barn, and he made sure they had adequate food. He double-checked every door and shutter to make sure they were secured. He made sure there was hay left out for the Luxere.
And whenAmalia and Wessex arrived, he ushered them into the house, showing them the doors that led to the outhouse and the cold storage, and left them to possibly fight over whoever would get the larger of the two empty bedrooms. Then he put up the blackout covers for the windows, since he was already in the house.
He went through his rituals, so when the sun descended towards the horizon after a brief, brief day he called the dogs into the house. They disappeared into it, but Rory remained in the open door, watching as the Luxere came walking in.
There were so many of them, more than he had ever seen fill the yard before: their antlers glowed and their kind, dark eyes fell on him for a moment, before they took up their positions, some munching on the hay, some browsing the snow for the brown grass buried beneath.
The sight of them all took his breath away, and he hovered where he was, watching the shadows lengthen and the sky darken as he sang softly under his breath in thanks. He was just about to close the door for the Long Night when movement caught his eye; his heart lurched sickeningly, his first thought being that it was a monster, simply because he wasn't expecting anyone else.
It wasn't a monster.
It was the white fox, with the gryphon on its back, but it wasn't heading for the house.
"No," Rory said, suddenly understanding what was going on: the Attuned was going to seek shelter elsewhere, but nowhere else on the farm was safe for a human and it was out of fucking time so what was it doing— "Hey, fox!" He didn't dare raise his voice. Just hoped the vulpine hearing would be good enough. "You have to come up to the house, it's not safe—no, wait—what are you doing?" One hand gripped the thick door, one hand grasped the frame; one foot was outside, one on the threshold. Rory leaned out, watching the white creature as it headed towards the barn.
He felt sick. His heart was pounding and his mouth tasted of terror. What was the fox doing? Why wasn't it coming up to the house? Why was it going away, despite what Rory tried to tell it?
"No, stop," he pleaded with it, his voice too soft in the deepening darkness, but he daren't raise it. The darkness was too deep, even though the last of the sun still colored the western sky a deep, deep blue.
Blue wasn't black.
"Please don't," he whispered, but the fox disappeared into the dark, around a corner.
He leaned forward, his heart fighting with his mind; the weight left the foot he had on the threshold, but he didn't lift it. Couldn't. The Luxere watched him with patient eyes.
Part of surviving in Caido was knowing when to let go.
"Watch over them," he whispered to the Luxere before stepping back inside and closing the door to the darkness and monsters of the Long Night.
He locked it. He locked the fox out. His heart was heavy in his chest and his eyes burning as he put his back to the door and slid down into a sitting position, hands balled into fists pressed into his eyes.
He was sick of watching the people he cared about die, but there was nothing he could do.
And when
He went through his rituals, so when the sun descended towards the horizon after a brief, brief day he called the dogs into the house. They disappeared into it, but Rory remained in the open door, watching as the Luxere came walking in.
There were so many of them, more than he had ever seen fill the yard before: their antlers glowed and their kind, dark eyes fell on him for a moment, before they took up their positions, some munching on the hay, some browsing the snow for the brown grass buried beneath.
The sight of them all took his breath away, and he hovered where he was, watching the shadows lengthen and the sky darken as he sang softly under his breath in thanks. He was just about to close the door for the Long Night when movement caught his eye; his heart lurched sickeningly, his first thought being that it was a monster, simply because he wasn't expecting anyone else.
It wasn't a monster.
It was the white fox, with the gryphon on its back, but it wasn't heading for the house.
"No," Rory said, suddenly understanding what was going on: the Attuned was going to seek shelter elsewhere, but nowhere else on the farm was safe for a human and it was out of fucking time so what was it doing— "Hey, fox!" He didn't dare raise his voice. Just hoped the vulpine hearing would be good enough. "You have to come up to the house, it's not safe—no, wait—what are you doing?" One hand gripped the thick door, one hand grasped the frame; one foot was outside, one on the threshold. Rory leaned out, watching the white creature as it headed towards the barn.
He felt sick. His heart was pounding and his mouth tasted of terror. What was the fox doing? Why wasn't it coming up to the house? Why was it going away, despite what Rory tried to tell it?
"No, stop," he pleaded with it, his voice too soft in the deepening darkness, but he daren't raise it. The darkness was too deep, even though the last of the sun still colored the western sky a deep, deep blue.
Blue wasn't black.
"Please don't," he whispered, but the fox disappeared into the dark, around a corner.
He leaned forward, his heart fighting with his mind; the weight left the foot he had on the threshold, but he didn't lift it. Couldn't. The Luxere watched him with patient eyes.
Part of surviving in Caido was knowing when to let go.
"Watch over them," he whispered to the Luxere before stepping back inside and closing the door to the darkness and monsters of the Long Night.
He locked it. He locked the fox out. His heart was heavy in his chest and his eyes burning as he put his back to the door and slid down into a sitting position, hands balled into fists pressed into his eyes.
He was sick of watching the people he cared about die, but there was nothing he could do.
