Except it wasn't a raven anymore.
It was a man.
Rory had missed when it happened, too intent on staring daggers at Amalia until she fell, but now he saw it. Oh, he saw it. He saw all of it. The hair, the face, the arms, the hands—
And he advanced on Rory, and Rory bared his teeth, wishing he could repay him in kind, wishing his shoulders could slide around his chest a little and his teeth lengthen and a wave of gray to ripple down his back—but he was just Rory, and his eyes burned darkly as he watched the human approach.
There could only be one explanation for this shift: now that they were alone, he was going to do away with Rory, but, well, Rory wasn't going to go quietly. "Oh, so now it suits you to shift, you fuck—"
But deftly the man seemed to just flow around him, behind him, and the antler pressed against his wrist. His hand. His elbow. The tines tangled up in his arm, the movement jarring his already strained nerves and the blackness threatened again.
How much longer before what had been done to him actually overpowered him?
The world was silent again.
".. oh," he said, finding himself more or less pressed up against him, an arm wrapped around his waist for support. The ground rattled beneath them, and Esaia stepped lightly on the spot, anxious, just wanting to be free of this place.
The sudden warmth against his back was treacherous. The darkness called out again, sweetly, gently; to simply fall into it... His breaths were quiet and shallow, and the unfamiliar voice washed over his mind like water. "Just turn them loose," he mumbled guilty, with regards to the ponies.
There was food left out for the Luxere... Surely they'd come home, and find it?
Amalia was gone.
Rory swallowed the lump in his throat, and looked up at the perch. It was her monument: she had inspired them, all of them, and together they had achieved this. And now she had.. died..? For it? Impossible. It seemed too unreal, but there he was, leaning against the mysterious Attuned, neither Amalia nor Edrei still around. He didn't even know where they had gone.
Monkeys... Rory had long ago ceased reading, but his mother had been full of stories. She had often taken them to the Atheneum, looking for things; bits and pieces of the old world, bits and pieces of the new. He had seen bestiaries. There were no monkeys within the barrier, but he knew monkeys. Small. Clever.
He closed his eyes, and there they were: two of them, tiny, roughly the size of cats. Dark brown bodies, long tails, clever hands, clever eyes. Chittering and chattering they scaled the perch, without a fear of falling. They hopped this way and that, always clever; dexterous hands finding the loose rope ends and wrapping them around the perch, tying them off, one by one.
Easy. Clever.
If only it'd hold.. Then all that was left was to set the horses free, and go.
Forget this wretched night.
This wretched place.
Tears burned behind Rory's eyelids.
Rory uses Capuchin monkeys to try and secure the perch!
It was a man.
Rory had missed when it happened, too intent on staring daggers at Amalia until she fell, but now he saw it. Oh, he saw it. He saw all of it. The hair, the face, the arms, the hands—
And he advanced on Rory, and Rory bared his teeth, wishing he could repay him in kind, wishing his shoulders could slide around his chest a little and his teeth lengthen and a wave of gray to ripple down his back—but he was just Rory, and his eyes burned darkly as he watched the human approach.
There could only be one explanation for this shift: now that they were alone, he was going to do away with Rory, but, well, Rory wasn't going to go quietly. "Oh, so now it suits you to shift, you fuck—"
But deftly the man seemed to just flow around him, behind him, and the antler pressed against his wrist. His hand. His elbow. The tines tangled up in his arm, the movement jarring his already strained nerves and the blackness threatened again.
How much longer before what had been done to him actually overpowered him?
The world was silent again.
".. oh," he said, finding himself more or less pressed up against him, an arm wrapped around his waist for support. The ground rattled beneath them, and Esaia stepped lightly on the spot, anxious, just wanting to be free of this place.
The sudden warmth against his back was treacherous. The darkness called out again, sweetly, gently; to simply fall into it... His breaths were quiet and shallow, and the unfamiliar voice washed over his mind like water. "Just turn them loose," he mumbled guilty, with regards to the ponies.
There was food left out for the Luxere... Surely they'd come home, and find it?
Amalia was gone.
Rory swallowed the lump in his throat, and looked up at the perch. It was her monument: she had inspired them, all of them, and together they had achieved this. And now she had.. died..? For it? Impossible. It seemed too unreal, but there he was, leaning against the mysterious Attuned, neither Amalia nor Edrei still around. He didn't even know where they had gone.
Monkeys... Rory had long ago ceased reading, but his mother had been full of stories. She had often taken them to the Atheneum, looking for things; bits and pieces of the old world, bits and pieces of the new. He had seen bestiaries. There were no monkeys within the barrier, but he knew monkeys. Small. Clever.
He closed his eyes, and there they were: two of them, tiny, roughly the size of cats. Dark brown bodies, long tails, clever hands, clever eyes. Chittering and chattering they scaled the perch, without a fear of falling. They hopped this way and that, always clever; dexterous hands finding the loose rope ends and wrapping them around the perch, tying them off, one by one.
Easy. Clever.
If only it'd hold.. Then all that was left was to set the horses free, and go.
Forget this wretched night.
This wretched place.
Tears burned behind Rory's eyelids.
Rory uses Capuchin monkeys to try and secure the perch!
