He saw—there was no way he couldn't, he was too used to reading the body language of animals—the fox shrink, as if he thought about leaving, chastised by Rory's grumpy tone and scowling face. It pricked his heart with regret, but he didn't have it in him at that moment to treat the Attuned with silk gloves. He was tired; he was in the fucking Temple; he was worried; he was in pain.
And if the fox chose to leave regardless, well.. Either he'd come around, or he wouldn't, and if he didn't, Rory could probably track him down now. He remembered enough of the lean body, the long white hair, the piercing blue eyes. He'd be able to find him, and sort things out.
But though the touch of a fingertip to a cold, black nose had him sitting back at first, it seemed to anchor him in the moment, for he remained on the bed next to Rory. Rory slow-blinked, most of his face relaxing again. Obviously the Attuned couldn't tell him what was on his mind in this shape anyway, and his gaze was less .. doom-y and gloomy. He almost seemed entranced instead, as he carefully stepped closer.
Rory just kept on watching, tensing his stomach muscles as the fox stepped on them (brutally reminding him that he hadn't peed for gods knew how long). The narrow muzzle hovered over his bitten shoulder, and Rory thought he, maybe, finally, understood.
If he had managed to inflict that kind of harm on someone, wouldn't he feel a bit anxious about it too? "It's alright," he grunted, meaning it despite the fact that he still sounded a little grumpy.
Then their eyes met for a moment, and Rory felt something deep within tighten. It was an old, familiar sensation, one he loathed and loved; he tried to pay it no heed, but it was difficult, when the soft top of the fox's head pressed against his cheek. Rory leaned into the touch a little, gently resting his head against the fox's, and sighed. Without a word he brought his free hand up to gently scratch at the fox's neck and jaws, working his fingertips down to the warm skin.
And if the fox chose to leave regardless, well.. Either he'd come around, or he wouldn't, and if he didn't, Rory could probably track him down now. He remembered enough of the lean body, the long white hair, the piercing blue eyes. He'd be able to find him, and sort things out.
But though the touch of a fingertip to a cold, black nose had him sitting back at first, it seemed to anchor him in the moment, for he remained on the bed next to Rory. Rory slow-blinked, most of his face relaxing again. Obviously the Attuned couldn't tell him what was on his mind in this shape anyway, and his gaze was less .. doom-y and gloomy. He almost seemed entranced instead, as he carefully stepped closer.
Rory just kept on watching, tensing his stomach muscles as the fox stepped on them (brutally reminding him that he hadn't peed for gods knew how long). The narrow muzzle hovered over his bitten shoulder, and Rory thought he, maybe, finally, understood.
If he had managed to inflict that kind of harm on someone, wouldn't he feel a bit anxious about it too? "It's alright," he grunted, meaning it despite the fact that he still sounded a little grumpy.
Then their eyes met for a moment, and Rory felt something deep within tighten. It was an old, familiar sensation, one he loathed and loved; he tried to pay it no heed, but it was difficult, when the soft top of the fox's head pressed against his cheek. Rory leaned into the touch a little, gently resting his head against the fox's, and sighed. Without a word he brought his free hand up to gently scratch at the fox's neck and jaws, working his fingertips down to the warm skin.
