The Songbird and the Wolf

[ XVIII ] A Bleeding Dawn

The quiet that envelops them afterward is a bristle thing, something Quinn doesn't fear the bite of the spurs as he breaks it quietly.

He stands again, shoes scuffing on the dirt as he turns and makes for the unconscious man again.

Astor moves - largely on instinct, to intercept the Wolf. Putting his body between his brother and the newcomer without even realising he's moved.

His steel grey eyes slice across Quinn, and when he speaks it is with a voice somewhere between accusation and surprise.

"You're coming?"

Admittedly this gives Quinn reason to pause - he hadn't thought that far.

His words are half-formed at his lips, when Elodie doesn't give him the chance.

Her voice is gentler than Astor's, gentler yet firmer.

"You have done too much for us already, stranger," her voice is a gentle melody. She moves between Astor and Quinn, her slender shoulders bumping against both of them as she goes.

She pauses only when her thighs hit the makeshift bed, and when she speaks again, she doesn't turn to look at them.

"The road ahead is dangerous, I suggest you find your way home while you still can."

Home is a word that sends a dagger cleaving through him, but he withstands the blow she doesn't even realise she's delivered.

Elodie turns back to him, the remnants of her dress swirling about her, wings glittering in the pale light of their little den. She sets her gaze on him, expectant.

Expecting him to pay heed to her warning, to turn and run.

But he doesn't move an inch.

"I have no home to go to," the admittance comes unprompted, the simplicity of it heartbreakingly honest.

A usually withdrawn man, baring his heart on his sleeve.

His gaze drags across the floor now, shame something that pools from him. "I've not had a home in a long time," the words almost come as a chuckle.

He's not sure what he smells next is guilt, not true guilt. But the mere suggestion of it has him speaking again before either of them can interrupt him. "If you don't want me, I can go," the words come hurried, half panicked from his lips. "I just don't know what to do next."

It was a lie, and he hopes they don't smell it on him.

He knows exactly what he will do next, what at this point feels inevitable.

But he will not weaponize that.

"If I can help you - I will," his eyes lift from the floor for the first time. Fixing to Elodie's gaze and holding it, "I would be honoured if you let me."

If it were the last thing he did, he could only pray to the Gods that it was good.

He can feel their eyes on him again, studying him top to bottom in silence for a moment.

They don't mean to, but their gaze feels red hot, a thing that slices through to the skin, a skin that itches until he has to resist the urge to claw it clean away.

Skin, and the plethora of scars in the clean open.

He can almost convince himself that they can see them now.

Elodie seems to sense that he is uncomfortable, and she pulls her gaze away from him with a sigh. Looking back to Sam, fitfully sleeping now where he lies.