No Promises

"A moment, friend." Roscorro's voice is a chain. The lash of a cruel whip. Seiji could run through it, but he pauses. Held. He does not wish to part on ugly terms, but he wishes to part. Roscorro cannot hold him forever. They cannot converse until his voice returns from wherever it has been taken. It will never do so on its own. Seiji knows this. Still, he waits, his gaze wary and curious at the same time. Surprise glints in his eyes as Roscorro reaches up to pluck the bead — those talons! — and begins to explain. It's a cruel thing. Friendship — can Seiji call what is between them friendship? They barely know each other, and yet there is such deep kindness in Roscorro, Seiji knows he would defend it if the need arose. His ears tilt back, a strange expression crossing his closed features. Sorrow, maybe, but also the bittersweet joy of farewell. Of caring enough for someone to make farewell sting. How strange; he should not, but he does. Maybe it's a flaw in his nature. He can't turn the gift away, so he nods and steps nearer, waiting for Roscorro to place it in his much sparser mane with those taloned hands. The gift of words Roscorro gives afterward is almost as good: like a blessing. Seiji does smile then. He nods wholeheartedly, and reaches out once more to bump Roscorro's shoulder with his nose. Same to you.

img by Tildae @ flickr

@Roscorro