nonvenomous | Inbox

There are his daggers to collect, also -- the remaining haunches pried off to cool on a flat rock.

“I’ll see to the dishes first.”

Silas is eminently reasonable -- surely there’s no need to restart conversation just before he’s due to step outside. There is plenty of clean snow out there with which to scrub away any residue. He stops for his gloves and hat along the way.

Thot turns her head one-hundred and eighty degrees to watch him go, feathery stockings let to hang loose through Ellis’ fingers. There’s nothing rigid about her, clawed feet easily bunched up or left to dangle, the tucked felt flaps of her ears easy to fold one way or the other.

It feels like a reprieve.

One which Ellis spends gathering and repacking the last of his equipment into his pack. Thot remains pinned over his thigh, benefiting from the slow drag of Ellis' fingers and the soft burr of his voice as he murmurs softly to her. It's low enough not to carry, and it tapers off as Silas returns.

"Alright?"

As in, there's nothing outside this cave that's going to wake them in the middle of the night.

He’s gone for a long time.

But Thot would fuss, surely, if he was in danger, and she spends the span being handled without so much as a peep of complaint (or much other sound, for that matter). Her feathers stay as they’re ruffled up by the passage of his fingertips.

When Silas does return -- “Alright,” -- it’s to swap the bowls and their spoons for the remaining rabbit so that he might bind it up in a cloth before he sets to rolling his bedding out.

There are the fastens of his cloak to see to after that, his coat and his breastplate.

For as long as she’s there, Thot will watch one stage progress to the next from Ellis’ thigh like a broken furby.

Alright.

Watching Silas' preparations, it occurs to Ellis that he might go through similar motions himself. But the only concession to that thought is one hand lifting to the laces cinching his cloak round his shoulders, tugging at the knot as he speaks.

"We can sleep, if you wish."

If Silas is finished talking, and has no appetite for Ellis dredging up a fable to fill the quiet.

“Yes, I think that would be for the best,” Silas says, with a particular kind of confidence. He does wish.

The breastplate is set across the back of his pack, the coat and cloak can serve as extra cover with a blanket he’s already fished out and dropped aside. He gives Ellis his back while he sorts through the rest, some clear thought dedicated to sleeping in his boots

and so on.

Good talk.

Inbox - Fade Rift

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject