Some nights were too beautiful to stay shut up in stone, locked away beneath the ground. As comforting a den as the Guildhall could be, there were times when Jigano wanted the stars above and the wind ruffling his fur as he slept, and on those nights he curled up in a hollow beneath his favorite stone in the Glade shrine. Isuma was tucked against his side, covered by his tail and peeping dreamily in her sleep when the call drifted through his dreams, coaxing and cajoling, whispering and promising, inviting and demanding his presence.
On unsteady paws he rose, and shook himself as he looked up at the stars. He was being called, to where he did not know, nor to what purpose. Was it Ludo? Safrin? Or something else? He glanced down to nose at Isuma, soundly asleep in her little gryphonish dreams, and with a lick to her forehead he trotted out across the glade, into the outskirts, and over the scar the barrier had left in the earth. White paws flashed over the loam of the wildwood, silent as the wind, a ghost among the branches; nearly a will-o-wisp himself, foxfire given form.
There were scents in the midnight breeze as he neared a rushing river he’s not yet found before. Familiar scents, of friends and not-friends and strangers gathered. He paused in the shadows before he came too near, shifting smoothly from white-furred fox to white-haired man before he crossed the final stretch of trees to witness the river in all its glory, and upon its waters…
Oh.
Maea and Phoebe and Remi and Are were there already – the alchemist with his unicorn but without his baby, the bard noted, grimly amused and no little relieved. But his attention for them was limited, drawn almost immediately as he was back to the play of fire and water and a spirit as beautiful and dangerous as the elements she so casually embodied.
Entranced, and wary because of it, he hung back in the shadows, blue eyes gleaming in reflected fire like those of a beast as he watched and waited for her to reveal the reason for her call.
Waiting, too, to step forward should the call be a trap, and his friends nearer to the water find themselves in danger.
On unsteady paws he rose, and shook himself as he looked up at the stars. He was being called, to where he did not know, nor to what purpose. Was it Ludo? Safrin? Or something else? He glanced down to nose at Isuma, soundly asleep in her little gryphonish dreams, and with a lick to her forehead he trotted out across the glade, into the outskirts, and over the scar the barrier had left in the earth. White paws flashed over the loam of the wildwood, silent as the wind, a ghost among the branches; nearly a will-o-wisp himself, foxfire given form.
There were scents in the midnight breeze as he neared a rushing river he’s not yet found before. Familiar scents, of friends and not-friends and strangers gathered. He paused in the shadows before he came too near, shifting smoothly from white-furred fox to white-haired man before he crossed the final stretch of trees to witness the river in all its glory, and upon its waters…
Oh.
Maea and Phoebe and Remi and Are were there already – the alchemist with his unicorn but without his baby, the bard noted, grimly amused and no little relieved. But his attention for them was limited, drawn almost immediately as he was back to the play of fire and water and a spirit as beautiful and dangerous as the elements she so casually embodied.
Entranced, and wary because of it, he hung back in the shadows, blue eyes gleaming in reflected fire like those of a beast as he watched and waited for her to reveal the reason for her call.
Waiting, too, to step forward should the call be a trap, and his friends nearer to the water find themselves in danger.
