stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Amalia was awake, the fox was doing fox things, and Rory had been put back into isolation by a disgruntled nurse who had wanted to check on his burns, or something.
He hadn't said a word.
He had only stared at the lid that was laid on his world, the unforgivable stone ceiling. It taunted him in the relative blackness of the Infirmary, like a little bit of his own personal Long Night darkness to carry with him.
How long had he been there? How long until the sun rose? How long until he could burst out of the Temple, like an injured bird finally set free?
He had days left to go. Days. Long, unimaginable hours, filled with the noise of all these people—feet on stone, feet on stone, feet on stone, bouncing whispers, snatches of conversations, a stool scraping over stone, stonestonestonestsontetnseotnetnsont
He wanted the hush of a breeze; the sigh of the wind as it trailed around the farmstead.
In all his twenty-seven years, Rory had never been outside during the Long Night. He had never peeked behind the blackout screens on the windows. He had never, ever thought of even cracking open the door to peer into the soulless dark. He had been born into a world that preyed on those who fell out of line. He had been born fearing the unnatural darkness that swallowed even the stars.
But not this year. This year, he had flung open the door of his cabin and ridden into the darkness, bold and stupid.
It didn't end with just him and Amalia.
Wessex was left alone with the two dogs. Would she play nice? Would he come back to his farm and find her gone? Ella and Vaya would be alright, starved, but alright. It'd suit him right if she'd abandoned them, but gods, he'd murder her if she'd died again.
And Esaia and Talys, turned loose in the frightening dark. His heart ached as he thought of them. Even if the monsters didn't attack them, there were plenty of other things that could.
What if they didn't go back to the farm?
What if they died, and he never found them again?
And why the fuck was he hearing hoof beats?
Oh. Because a unicorn was stepping into his room. It was the color of the night sky, lit up by moon and stars, and the eyes watching him intently were sort of strangely familiar. Rory blinked, his face pale and drawn beneath the burns flecking his chin, cheek, and neck.
Next to the random-ass unicorn was Remi, looking like hell. He was filthy and bedraggled and.. well. He looked like he had no idea what state he was in, and he also looked like he was possibly out of his mind. Or possibly back inside of it, if he'd been outside of it before. "Actually," he responded, "what happened to you? And what's up with the pointy pony?"
It wasn't the nicest thing to say to someone who came checking on you, though whatever edge his voice held was more frustration and less aggression, but sometimes they sounded very close.
And pressing Remi for the details of his newfound unicorn and the state he was in kept Rory from having to say oh, y'know, I thought I'd go outside during Long Night and fix the mythical bird's fucking perch.
He hadn't said a word.
He had only stared at the lid that was laid on his world, the unforgivable stone ceiling. It taunted him in the relative blackness of the Infirmary, like a little bit of his own personal Long Night darkness to carry with him.
How long had he been there? How long until the sun rose? How long until he could burst out of the Temple, like an injured bird finally set free?
He had days left to go. Days. Long, unimaginable hours, filled with the noise of all these people—feet on stone, feet on stone, feet on stone, bouncing whispers, snatches of conversations, a stool scraping over stone, stonestonestonestsontetnseotnetnsont
He wanted the hush of a breeze; the sigh of the wind as it trailed around the farmstead.
In all his twenty-seven years, Rory had never been outside during the Long Night. He had never peeked behind the blackout screens on the windows. He had never, ever thought of even cracking open the door to peer into the soulless dark. He had been born into a world that preyed on those who fell out of line. He had been born fearing the unnatural darkness that swallowed even the stars.
But not this year. This year, he had flung open the door of his cabin and ridden into the darkness, bold and stupid.
It didn't end with just him and Amalia.
Wessex was left alone with the two dogs. Would she play nice? Would he come back to his farm and find her gone? Ella and Vaya would be alright, starved, but alright. It'd suit him right if she'd abandoned them, but gods, he'd murder her if she'd died again.
And Esaia and Talys, turned loose in the frightening dark. His heart ached as he thought of them. Even if the monsters didn't attack them, there were plenty of other things that could.
What if they didn't go back to the farm?
What if they died, and he never found them again?
And why the fuck was he hearing hoof beats?
Oh. Because a unicorn was stepping into his room. It was the color of the night sky, lit up by moon and stars, and the eyes watching him intently were sort of strangely familiar. Rory blinked, his face pale and drawn beneath the burns flecking his chin, cheek, and neck.
Next to the random-ass unicorn was Remi, looking like hell. He was filthy and bedraggled and.. well. He looked like he had no idea what state he was in, and he also looked like he was possibly out of his mind. Or possibly back inside of it, if he'd been outside of it before. "Actually," he responded, "what happened to you? And what's up with the pointy pony?"
It wasn't the nicest thing to say to someone who came checking on you, though whatever edge his voice held was more frustration and less aggression, but sometimes they sounded very close.
And pressing Remi for the details of his newfound unicorn and the state he was in kept Rory from having to say oh, y'know, I thought I'd go outside during Long Night and fix the mythical bird's fucking perch.
