such small hands

For a moment again they were one, three hearts alone and in pain until they came together and the world seemed to right itself around them. Then Rory fell away and Amalia turned towards him, capturing his hand and all her wounded pride and pique seemed to shatter into mirrored shards that reflected back the pain and guilt she had been hiding. ”It’s alright, Ama, I promise,” he sought to reassure her, and meant it. The pain her words had caused him could not be forgotten so soon, but her apology and her honesty and her care were all balms upon the frostburn her anger had caused him, and he squeezed her hand tightly for a moment, relieved that he had chosen right in hiding his pain away. ”You are like a sister to Isuma… and to me,” he continued, voice gentle as he brought his now-freed arm up, attempting to pull her into an embrace that was growing slowly less awkward as he practiced it. ”And I have no intention of being lost.”

Not to her… and not to the hunter he felt so dangerously, wonderfully drawn to. He shifted his weight and, if Amalia would let him, he would pull her down with him as he lay carefully back beside Rory, feeling the cold dampness of the earth like a shock against his back. There would be grass in his hair, and it would be hell to clean later, but for once he ignored his appearance as he wrapped an arm around the hunter’s shoulders and pulled him close as well so that he had a friend on each shoulder.

A shiver went through him, not at the cold of the ground but at the strangeness of reaching out to others, of letting himself be touched again when he had spent so long avoiding it. It felt unsettling and unfamiliar after so long, frighteningly vulnerable… as he always felt with these two, who could wound or heal him with a silent glance or a handful of quiet words.

But, gods most fortunate, he wanted to protect them with every fiber of his being.

”Only when you’re ready,” he spoke gently to Rory, biting back the endearment that hesitated on the tip of his tongue. It was far too soon for such, and entirely the wrong situation, but still he wished that his friend had stayed in the circle of his arm a little while longer.

Sister, he calls her, and Amalia is not sure what to do with the wave of emotion that the statement evokes, threatening to envelop her, drown her, fill her lungs and veins and heart. So she smiles shyly and looks away, the things his simple affirmation meant scrawled clearly across her angular face. She has never been called a sister before. It is a strange and precious thing, one she dare not risk damaging again with words. Rory pulls away from them, letting his body sink onto the soft, damp ground- and in not much time, Jigano follows. For a moment Amalia only watches, the feeling of being outside coiling again at the base of her belly, cooling the warmth she so keenly felt. It is good that they cannot see her face, nor the ugly, jealous thing which briefly flits across it, threatening to douse her happy glow. She may be a sister, but they are a pair, and she will always fit a different role in their trio: welcome, perhaps, but not needed. With a shake of her head and a quiet sigh, Amalia pushes that doubt away, forcing it to coil and curl and retreat as something stronger takes hold. Without a word she begins to change, silently shifting into her better form, the last body a warm insulation against the chill of a frightening world. Rising onto four legs, the girl draws near her supine friends, ready to rejoin their embrace. With a gentle wuff she nudges the hunter, indicating that he and Jigano should raise their heads and place them back upon her. She slides beneath them easily, her tail landing on Jigano's tail, her head resting by Rory's face. Dark, feline eyes peer into his blue as a steady rumbled purr begins to rise from her chest. Reaching out with her cold nose to touch his cheek, Amalia silently urges the man to continue, letting her head return to her paws as she waits for the other shoe to drop. a m a l i a You were young and you'd stare With a reverence unimpaired Searching in your dark eyes to find the stars already there

(A sister—)

He had begin to think of her like that, too. Someone he was always happy to see, always willing to help, someone he wouldn't hesitate for: someone he chose to give his time to. Someone he would do the difficult things for. He said nothing, though, just watched his hand against the sky. This wasn't his confession, and she knew that he (had) had a blood sister.

Amalia couldn't fill the Karlia-shaped hole left in his heart, but he had opened a door to another room and put her in there. She fit there.

No, it wasn't his time to talk about sisters, partially because he wanted it to mean something, more than just an echo of Jigano's love, and partially because he did not want to invite questions about Karlia. That wasn't his bad news.

Jigano laid down next to him, a sudden warmth he had not expected. An arm wrapped around his shoulder and tugged him close, and without hesitation he let his side press against Jigano's. Part of him wanted to throw an arm and a leg over the other man, but again: it wasn't the time.

If there was one thing he desperately did not want to do, it was alienate Amalia by being.. well, whatever it was he might be if left on his own with Jigano in a situation like this. So he settled for for extracting the arm trapped between them and resting it gently on Jigano's thigh (pretending the gravity of the situation robbed it of all of its electricity), waiting for Amalia to say that she, too, was ready for another round.

Only—he craned his head back at the decidedly animal noise accompanied by a nudge to his person, and instead of peering into Amalia's black eyes in her angular and beautiful face, he peered into Amalia's black eyes set in the monochromatic, pale face of a snow leopard. "Amalia!" he breathed in delight and wonder, for a moment removed entirely from their current predicament by the revelation of this other form. Light and amazement outshone the bitter and envious current beneath.

She had made her choice, like everyone ought to.

Happily he obliged and raised his head, letting the furry feline place her compact and warm body beneath it. He wanted to get up, to get a better look at her, to study her pattern and her grace and the strength and elegance of her body—but he remained where he was, feeling her purrs rumble like thunder through his body, her nose cold upon his cheek as he reached up with his free hand to scratch along her jaw. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, wanted to ask about it—how long ago had she made this choice? What was it like?

But he had promised bad news, and he didn't know how many more beatings his heart could take, anyway.

"I don't know if Jigano found a moment to tell you yet," he began, his fingers still moving through her fur, following the curve of her strong jaw and exploring the shape and texture of her ears. "But Maea sent the two of us a summons. She wanted to discuss founding a Council to govern the Hollowed Grounds." Rory sighed. "I went there this morning, because Gods know I needed to get out of here for a while... Guess who else she had invited? Samuel, Evie, and Roana." And what a great choice that had been, huh? Fucking hell. He laughed, bitterly. "Vervain came in, too. Everyone else was on-board, but I got out of there. Evie and Vai are good choices, but the rest..."

He trailed off into silence. So, yeah. Talk about long, shitty day.

It had taken a bit of time, a bit of awkwardness, and still that occasionally lingered between them, but then there were moments like this, where he and Rory fit together like two pieces of a complex puzzle, sliding together like it was the most natural thing in the world, and a little more of the coldness that he guarded in his heart melted away at it.

Amalia stayed where she was, sitting, not following his gentle tug down to join him on his terms but instead shifting to join them on her terms, and Jigano's momentary pang of loss at her initial refusal melted away to pride as the snow leopard instead curled behind them, offering herself as a pillow for weary heads of silver and gold. The bard accepted gladly, raising his head alongside Rory's and settling back with a sigh of pleasure at the plush fur. He turned to rest his cheek against it, a smile curving his lips for a moment at the feel of Amalia's warmth and breath and slow, even pulse beneath the thick fur. Smiling, too, at the warmth and solid strength of Rory pressed against his side, and the heat that seemed to radiate from the hand on his thigh. It was a moment he couldn't hold onto, but it glowed golden in his heart before the world and its worries intruded again, and the hunter found the courage to continue.

It was... not the best news. Maea, who had changed so drastically in so short a time, making him wonder if he'd ever really known her, or if she'd only shown him a mask those first few times they'd met. Sam, well-meaning but painfully shy and terrified of conflict. Though he had been growing stronger, he was still fragile, and could still be easily bullied by stronger personalities around him - especially his sister. Jigano had no real opinions of Evie, though he trusted Vai. Roana, though...

His sigh was more of a groan as he flexed his fingers against Rory's arm with what comfort he could give his friend. "She chose friends, it sounds like," he said thoughtfully. "People she knows... not necessarily the best ones for the job, but ones she is connected to... ones she wished to reward. Or bribe." His voice held more disappointment and sadness than censure, and though he couldn't shake his head he exhaled a puff of breath across golden hair and snowy fur. "I had thought... well. I think perhaps that I misjudged her. That I do not know her as well as I thought I did," he finished, knowing he was guilty, in this case, of trusting too easily and too far, just as he had accused Remi of, once upon a time.

The leopard purrs happily as Rory scratches her chin, turning her head to give him better access, the feline side of her leaning easily into the act. Her tail, meanwhile, flits to Jigano, trying to wrap around his chest in an inclusive embrace. Pride and relief flood the girl: so far only Jigano has known her like this, and it is a weight off her shoulders to have Rory accept him too, the easy affection and wide-eyed delight soothing some of her fears. That moment of peace is not to last (when do they ever, here?). Amalia cannot help the growl that rumbles in her chest at Rory's next piece of news..She had known about the summons, or course, chased against being left out, but in the end was not surprised. Maea had always been a stranger sort, more isolated even than Amalia. That she would make such a power grab, calling to her only those she could rely on to support, taking advantage of a moment when the rest of the world was distracted... well. It is petty and low, the leopard thinks, but not entirely a surprise. Still, her claws dig into the ground, a nod of agreement accompanying Jigano's words. Curling closer against her friends, she sends a mental message to the bard: Let her have her government. We have each other. So we already win. a m a l i a You were young and you'd stare With a reverence unimpaired Searching in your dark eyes to find the stars already there

The guise of an animal skin erased all barriers, at least for Rory: cupping Amalia's human face in his hands would seem far too intimate a gesture, lest the gravity of the moment required it, as it had in the Infirmary, but with the body of a leopard beneath his hand instead he touched her without restraint or hesitation. Skilled fingers worked at the skin beneath the thick fur, a lifetime of soothing animal itches and charming stray cats and dogs guiding his hand.

It was odd to think that there they were, Jigano a human next to him, Amalia a leopard underneath his head, his hand twisting through her fur and stroking her chin and ears in an echo of the very actions that had tamed Jigano. It felt like ages ago, that Leafchange day in the forest when he had coaxed the uncertain fox close to his fingers, earning his trust with a knowing, gentle hand.

He sighed at Jigano's analysis of the situation, closing his eyes. Through the darkness of his eyelids he felt the motion of Amalia's nod, the possessive curl of her strong body, the rhythm of her heart.

"It surprised me too," he said, content to drift in the self-imposed darkness. Gods, he was so weary... "And I watched her grow up. Her brother..." He paused. Licked his lips. He had had no real time to mourn for Noah Valair and his family, but the loss twinged at his heart all the same. "Her brother was a friend of mine, and we traded much. So I saw her a lot. He, uh.. They all died. During Long Night. Maea only survived because she stayed at the Temple."

So perhaps she was struggling for meaning in her grief.

He sighed, eyes cracking open a fraction to stare at the faraway sky.

He was caught in the embrace of a tail so much longer and fluffier than Isuma’s that he would have laughed if their situation had not been so serious. He reached up with idle fingers to stroke its softness, appreciating the warmth that came with it – not merely from the fur, but the sense of love and belonging in the gesture as Amalia wrapped around them both with an affection he was still learning to accept.

And to treasure.

Amalia’s words were a surprise and a balm, and Jigano chuckled out loud as nuzzled her side. ”Yes,” he agreed softly, then squeezed Rory’s shoulder as the man began to speak. He had known about Maea’s family, but he hadn’t known that they had been friends of the hunter’s, and he tilted his head in a moment of impulsive desire to comfort, pressing his lips to blond hair.

”I’m sorry for your friend,” he murmured, the words soft as the leopard’s fur beneath their heads. ”Amalia said that we have each other, though. And she’s right. We have enough to deal with at the moment. Maybe we can revisit this government issue later… but for now, you should rest. Let Ama and I protect you for an hour or two, before you have to go back out there.” He hesitated only a moment before tilting his head back to watch the play of sky through the branches above them. Strange, to feel so self-conscious offering something he did every night at the Rathskeller, but those nights he wore his masks and performed for entertainment and profit, not to soothe wounded hearts. More and more when he was with Rory and Amalia he felt those masks slipping away. ”Shall I sing for you?”