Talyndre Ama'thas

He was careful not to make a sound as he crept from the amber-streaked shadows of the tavern into early morning’s mottled grey. The ever-present give of damp earth lead him to the stables with ease, a familiar enough pathway winding through the ragged wooden gate, where the wet sound of his footsteps gradually faded into the straw beneath his feet. Silently, he tripped the latch and slipped inside.

The previous morning he’d risen early as ever, yawning and stretching into pre-dawn moments from another fitful night’s rest. River had been at his heels from the start, whining at the crack of the door well before the crack of drawn, and bounding about noisily enough to wake his neighbours. So he’d taken the lot of them, padding quietly into the hallway, only to spy the small package left there sometime in the night. 

Suspicion couldn’t help but lend a hand as he’d carefully torn into the note, the pretty package tucked under his arm as he’d meandered down the stairs. The contents had given him pause, however; perched near the smoldering remnants of last night’s fire with warm coals and afterglow in the corner of his eye, he went over it again and again.

Talon had used his full name, though not the surname he could never be sure was really his. But it was anything but formal; an apology shot through with so much guilt and so much anguish. He could almost smell fear in in the dried ink and brittle parchment.

In truth, he’d half thought she might be angry. After all, when she and Shade had started in on one another that night- after Talon herself had already lashed out at Lars- he had simply excused himself, offering a halfhearted smile and an easy excuse as he left the tension of the room behind. But there she was, begging his forgiveness, his… understanding. Asking him to pick up her unraveled threads, as though he knew a thing about stitching them together.

‘You have my heart.’

She was so quick to blame herself, no matter how something started, and that spoke of a guilt he couldn’t quite place. But even he knew these things were more complicated than that. So complicated, in fact, he could hardly stand it- the bickering and the misunderstandings, truths stretched and warped until they were nearly unrecognizable. Maybe there was some arrogance in that assessment, but it didn’t change the fact that he was vulnerable in times like these. He was risking them all seeing right through him as he sat there, caught between his friends and… whatever else he was, his employer and his hollow spaces, begging not to be ignored.

(He’d left it for far too long, he knew.)

His hand had clenched tight around the note, and he felt it crinkling in the empty space behind his sternum. Her gift- the second one offered in the little, wrapped parcel-  was beyond beautiful: an array of colours and brand new charcoals that could have been made for his hand. It was as thoughtful as it was alarming, moving in a way that made his jaw tight and ears feel hot. But if nothing else, he did know what to do with those.  

He’d been carrying around the little trinket of a thing for the past couple weeks, when it finally occurred to him just how he’d like to present it. Now he wondered if he should, if he was making himself out to be something he wasn’t. Just that night, Orli had mentioned her doubts, her questions, after all. He wasn’t sure he had any kind of answers.

But he’d made it for her- had spent the early part of the week etching heated metal into wood just so he could have a pretty box in which to put it. And maybe it was carelessness masquerading as calculation, and maybe he should know better, except…

He didn’t stop to second guess, didn’t dwell for a second on whether he ought to be there, gently pushing aside grooming implements and an old can of found nails, making room on a shelf where he knew she would see. The little wooden box was a relief to set down, its contents both feather-light and weighty at once. He was sure to tuck his own little note in, hastily scrawled in his faint, angular script, ducking out the door before his better judgement could catch up with him.

Soon enough she would swing by the stables over the course of her usual chores, and soon enough she would spy the small, wooden box, no bigger than her hand, with the sharp-eyed fox burnt into its lid. And tucked inside she’d find the sturdy, leather cuff wrought in oil-tanned leather, in the simple, beautiful shape of a delicate feather that was anything but.

Talon,

Of course that’s who you are. A part of you, at least. People are made up of a lot of different parts. It’s what makes them so complicated. But you’re more than one night, or one conversation. And you’re a lot more than I deserve in a friend, or whatever we are. But I’m grateful all the same. Thank you for this (as well as the new paints and pencils.They’re really beautiful).

I made this for you with some of our leather. I hope it fits okay, and that it makes you happy at least a little bit too.

Talyndre