It was one of those times where Rory did not know what to say, only to realize that he did not need to say anything. Whatever thread of conversation they had spun between them had reached its end, and finding a new one seemed—forced, somehow. Like grasping for straws. So after a couple of seconds Rory sighed, contentedly, trying desperately to slow his heartbeat. Nothing was going to happen. It didn't need to run out his chest in anticipation.
His fingers scratched in between the feathers lining Isuma's face, and he found that he was able to shift some of his attention from the rush of feeling Jigano's warmth seep through their shirts to studying the gryphon's facial structure. Like he'd said, birds weren't really his thing, mostly through lack of exposure to them. The hunger-induced tremble in his hands was almost unnoticeable when he was sitting down, arms tight against his body, fingers merely stroking among the feathers. It was such a strange new feeling...
He felt his attention tilt back towards the other man at the deeper inhalation. It broke the rhythm of the relative silence—the hiss and pop and whisper of flames, the slow bubbling of the stew—and foreshadowed words.
Rory found that he did not mind.
In fact, he found that unless he actually paid attention to Jigano's voice he would merely drift away in the feeling of it.
Fiat Lux songs? Or, rather, any songs?
He caught his lower lip between his teeth, self-conscious in a way he hadn't been when Jigano had just been a fox (he'd never been just a fox) and he'd sung the gryphon's praises. His voice was rusty with disuse, his body faint in a way that bothered him, and he was cold. He didn't much feel like singing, though the emotion fortunately lacked resentment. Besides, he didn't sing much anymore. His house had grown quieter and quieter over the years. He was also strangely self-conscious of the fact that he had a tendency to sing laments, when he sang anything at all.
So instead, he recited a poem. It was sometimes sung as well, and at times he found the melody snaking around the words, like a ghost of the song it was.
Largely, it was a poem about Rae, about new beginnings and thankfulness for the return of sunlight and warmth. When he was done, rather surprised he still recalled it so well, he fell silent, and after a moment, offered a small shrug.
His fingers scratched in between the feathers lining Isuma's face, and he found that he was able to shift some of his attention from the rush of feeling Jigano's warmth seep through their shirts to studying the gryphon's facial structure. Like he'd said, birds weren't really his thing, mostly through lack of exposure to them. The hunger-induced tremble in his hands was almost unnoticeable when he was sitting down, arms tight against his body, fingers merely stroking among the feathers. It was such a strange new feeling...
He felt his attention tilt back towards the other man at the deeper inhalation. It broke the rhythm of the relative silence—the hiss and pop and whisper of flames, the slow bubbling of the stew—and foreshadowed words.
Rory found that he did not mind.
In fact, he found that unless he actually paid attention to Jigano's voice he would merely drift away in the feeling of it.
Fiat Lux songs? Or, rather, any songs?
He caught his lower lip between his teeth, self-conscious in a way he hadn't been when Jigano had just been a fox (
So instead, he recited a poem. It was sometimes sung as well, and at times he found the melody snaking around the words, like a ghost of the song it was.
Largely, it was a poem about Rae, about new beginnings and thankfulness for the return of sunlight and warmth. When he was done, rather surprised he still recalled it so well, he fell silent, and after a moment, offered a small shrug.
