It was not that Rory didn't want to speak of himself (well, in a sense he didn't), it was just that the time he had spent getting to know the fox had been verbally one-sided. Rory had told him things, had told him of Wessex, of this and of that, had sung that song about the gryphon—had shown him tidbits of his life. And all that Rory had known of Jigano was silly, empathetic fox.
But now he, too, had words, and a voice, and Rory hungered for them.
Just as he hungered for a town called Torch in a distant land called Numeria, a dream away from here: away from this compact darkness, this abysmal place, where happiness and joy grew sparsely on their hard and dusty fields. Some place without the Long Night. Someplace new, where he hadn't walked every inch of the land already, where the things he could discover were benign, not bizarre, a place .. a place that wasn't here, and now that there were Outlanders in Caido, he felt like a traitor for those old, familiar daydreams.
Jigano's fingers moved across his hand again; gryphon feathers and skin, a tingle through his nerves. Not quite a jolt anymore, just—
Something he had no words for. Something he wasn't ready to have words for. Something he had been able to frame as another bizarre and bemusing thing when it had just been a fox, but was so much more dangerous when a man sat right next to him, white hair, fox ears, a sharp, refined face.
".. and between one step and the next I tumbled through a portal between our worlds ..."
Just like that
between one step and the next
Like someone walking down a hallway, disappearing mid-step, never to come back. Utterly, completely gone, leaving nothing but a mystery behind (ghosts), an empty space in the shape of their body. Rory's hand twisted slightly beneath Jigano's, desperate to feel movement again, some kind of friction, reassurance that he hadn't suddenly disappeared in the same way—
And the words turned to that first day they had met, Rory with his greatcoat and pike, Jigano with his four dainty paws: the forest and the whole cavalcade of gourds. A slight, wry smile curled his lips, and he heard the question embedded in the words. Again, there was the fox, nosing for aspects of Rory, and he had to suppose that while he had always had words, it would make sense for Jigano to be curious now that he could ask things...
"After a fashion," he responded, then falling silent for a second or two as his eyes glittered and he smiled cheekily—for like half a heartbeat, before wincing as it tugged on his burns. Still, that day in the woods was still a fond memory, and what he had done before, or after, didn't matter quite so much. It took him a moment to remember. "I was looking for mushrooms, actually."
And I found a fox.
Again, he moved his hand. "I.. can't imagine what it must've been like, just disappearing like that..." No siblings, parents dead—but surely he hadn't been all alone? He thought again of someone leaving an empty space the shape of their body. Had he had close friends? People who wondered where he had gone, mourned him as dead? "Do you miss those that you were taken from?" he asked, softly, quietly.
Thinking that, yes, it was a stupid question, but he had no better way to phrase it.
But now he, too, had words, and a voice, and Rory hungered for them.
Just as he hungered for a town called Torch in a distant land called Numeria, a dream away from here: away from this compact darkness, this abysmal place, where happiness and joy grew sparsely on their hard and dusty fields. Some place without the Long Night. Someplace new, where he hadn't walked every inch of the land already, where the things he could discover were benign, not bizarre, a place .. a place that wasn't here, and now that there were Outlanders in Caido, he felt like a traitor for those old, familiar daydreams.
Jigano's fingers moved across his hand again; gryphon feathers and skin, a tingle through his nerves. Not quite a jolt anymore, just—
Something he had no words for. Something he wasn't ready to have words for. Something he had been able to frame as another bizarre and bemusing thing when it had just been a fox, but was so much more dangerous when a man sat right next to him, white hair, fox ears, a sharp, refined face.
".. and between one step and the next I tumbled through a portal between our worlds ..."
Just like that
between one step and the next
Like someone walking down a hallway, disappearing mid-step, never to come back. Utterly, completely gone, leaving nothing but a mystery behind (ghosts), an empty space in the shape of their body. Rory's hand twisted slightly beneath Jigano's, desperate to feel movement again, some kind of friction, reassurance that he hadn't suddenly disappeared in the same way—
And the words turned to that first day they had met, Rory with his greatcoat and pike, Jigano with his four dainty paws: the forest and the whole cavalcade of gourds. A slight, wry smile curled his lips, and he heard the question embedded in the words. Again, there was the fox, nosing for aspects of Rory, and he had to suppose that while he had always had words, it would make sense for Jigano to be curious now that he could ask things...
"After a fashion," he responded, then falling silent for a second or two as his eyes glittered and he smiled cheekily—for like half a heartbeat, before wincing as it tugged on his burns. Still, that day in the woods was still a fond memory, and what he had done before, or after, didn't matter quite so much. It took him a moment to remember. "I was looking for mushrooms, actually."
And I found a fox.
Again, he moved his hand. "I.. can't imagine what it must've been like, just disappearing like that..." No siblings, parents dead—but surely he hadn't been all alone? He thought again of someone leaving an empty space the shape of their body. Had he had close friends? People who wondered where he had gone, mourned him as dead? "Do you miss those that you were taken from?" he asked, softly, quietly.
Thinking that, yes, it was a stupid question, but he had no better way to phrase it.
