He knew that finding joy again was all about the little things. Dragging himself out of the house, tacking up a horse, going for a walk in the woods (or a heart-pounding run in the arid Outskirts at breakneck speed)—a very simple medicine that always left him more awake, more alive, capable of hauling himself out of the hole he'd fallen into. The problem was just convincing himself to do it, getting over the threshold. On the worst days he just put a loop around Talys's neck and rode with neither bridle nor saddle, because if he had to do one more thing before getting away it just wouldn't happen...
So it was with a sense of wonder and gratitude that he played with Isuma's paws, happy to let her noises and her wriggling chase his despondent mood away.
He was also happy to run his cold fingers through her warm fur, close to her skin, digging into it and smiling at her apparent joy and delight. Jigano declared he would like to learn on Bakshi, and the tips of Rory's fingers massaged Isuma's narrow ribcage. He was both mystified and amused by the sudden liking his friend had taken to Bakshi, then laughed gently. "She might," he agreed warmly, gently moving Isuma onto her side so that he could stretch out one of her wings and inspect it curiously. "But I'm probably better off teaching you from the ground at first. Riding can be daunting and difficult, or so I've heard." Rory had practically been born onto the back of a pony, so it was hard for him to tell how true it was, but he could see how it could be a demanding and unfamiliar thing to learn.
Then talk turned to Esaia, his little gray menace. Rory grimaced slightly and folded Isuma's wing back—if she'd let him inspect it in the first place—and put his hands on the cold floor. He lifted himself lightly off it, a whim that seemed almost absent-minded but had his heart racing as he scooted himself closer to Jigano, experimentally starting to lean closer to him, wanting his warmth, wantingto feel his body connect with his, to lean against his side, to be close more. "Just that riding her is usually a prolonged and torturous castration process," he muttered, not sure where to put his hands; the one closest to Jigano ended up on Rory's knee, the other around Isuma again. "Her withers are pretty well-defined and she needs to, well, relax more. Her steps are short and jarring instead of long and smooth and she doesn't understand the concept of 'going slow'. Plus, she's a bit hot-headed and even more stubborn and opinionated than Talys. But she's only four, she'll grow out of it eventually. I just don't have that much time to work on it."
He shrugged lightly against Jigano. In the pot the stew had begun to simmer, but it would be a while yet before it was done. Sitting down, he felt quite okay, but his stomach gave another treacherous rumble.
So it was with a sense of wonder and gratitude that he played with Isuma's paws, happy to let her noises and her wriggling chase his despondent mood away.
He was also happy to run his cold fingers through her warm fur, close to her skin, digging into it and smiling at her apparent joy and delight. Jigano declared he would like to learn on Bakshi, and the tips of Rory's fingers massaged Isuma's narrow ribcage. He was both mystified and amused by the sudden liking his friend had taken to Bakshi, then laughed gently. "She might," he agreed warmly, gently moving Isuma onto her side so that he could stretch out one of her wings and inspect it curiously. "But I'm probably better off teaching you from the ground at first. Riding can be daunting and difficult, or so I've heard." Rory had practically been born onto the back of a pony, so it was hard for him to tell how true it was, but he could see how it could be a demanding and unfamiliar thing to learn.
Then talk turned to Esaia, his little gray menace. Rory grimaced slightly and folded Isuma's wing back—if she'd let him inspect it in the first place—and put his hands on the cold floor. He lifted himself lightly off it, a whim that seemed almost absent-minded but had his heart racing as he scooted himself closer to Jigano, experimentally starting to lean closer to him, wanting his warmth, wanting
He shrugged lightly against Jigano. In the pot the stew had begun to simmer, but it would be a while yet before it was done. Sitting down, he felt quite okay, but his stomach gave another treacherous rumble.
