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Laying down beside her, he tried not to read too much into the way she curled her body against his. He had added many treasures to his well-hoard over the years, but hope was seldom one of them.
Tira woke groggily,needing to scrub the sleep from her eyes and blink a few times before everything came rushing back to her. An experimental peek beside her showed that Moss wasnot, in fact, a figment crafted by too much ale. A hand slid between her thighs came up with cool daggerleaf gel on her fingertips - a thoughtful explanation as to why her feminine wiles didn’t feel like a carriage had run through them. Had Moss really cleaned her up and treated her after giving her that much pleasure?
Perhaps human men were overrated.
Looking around the rest of the well to find Moss had somehow magicked both a small indoor privy and a wooden table with fruit and cheese while she slept, it was decided.
Human men weredefinitelyoverrated.
Taking her time in the luxury of an indoor privy - she’d only ever spied one on jobs, and never gotten to use one - Tira finished her morning routine. Cleaning herself up a bit, she wrapped herself in one of the soft swaths of linen at the edge of the nest, eating an apple as she waited for Moss to wake.
He eventually did at the sound of her teeth snapping through the skin of the crisp fruit - sweeter even than Western Barrett’s finest. His subdued smile only showed a hint of fang. “Good morrow, Tira. I’m pleased to see you here, still.”
“What, I should slip away in the night like a tavern girl? Take your gold with me?” She laughed as she took another bite, sobering as she caught a strange look on Moss’ face.Oh gods, he really did think she’d be gone.
“Oh! I’m - I’m sorry, Moss. I didn’t realize I’d overstayed my- if you could just, you know, just-” She gestured at her pile of damp, ruined clothing, trying to ignore the strange, dejected pang in her heart.
He rose sinuously from the nest, his powerful tail glistening like jewels in the daylight coming down the well as he joined her at the table. “You mistake me, Tira. I’m pleasantly surprised. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
He used a talon to carve off a bite-sized piece of a wheel of cheese, holding it to her lips with a soft expression, the edges of his eyes crinkling with pleasure when she took it. She was becoming fond of that expression. “I like you here. With me. And you’ll need to formally wish your clothing back together, else I’d have done it already. I can use my magic for potentially-helpful things, but for anything personal, I’ll need the words.”
Tira’s eyes nearly rolled back at the delicious bite of cheese he’d fed her, leagues finer than any molded hunk she’d had in a tavern dinner. Tira stifled a laugh as she chewed, clocking the heat in Moss’ gaze at her expression. She’d probably looked much the same last night while they were together, but she wasn’t about to apologize for loving cheese.
“Moss-” She swallowed, immediately resolving to have more of that cheese once she was dressed. “I wish for my clothes to be whole again. Oh! And - clean? Can I wish that?”
He laughed, tilting his head nonchalantly, the linen around her dissolving as her clothes appeared back on her body, neat, clean, and smelling freshly of lavender soap. The old tears and stitching she’d had to apply over the years were gone, her favorite traveling clothes now fitting like she’d ordered them from the king’s tailor.
“You certainly may. How’s that?” Moss brushed off her shoulder lightly, his touch lingering on her arm.
Tira lifted her hand and laid it over his, squeezing gently, thumb pad tracing one of his talons as she met his eyes. “Perfect. But- what if I tear my shirt, now, after I leave?”
A flash of pain darted through his beautiful blue eyes before he blinked it away. Moss rolled his shoulders in a shrug, but tension lingered at the edges of his eyes. “Then you can simply come back and make another wish, little sovereign.”
“Direct me tothe nearest field of thorns, then.” Her quiet, earnest response caused his pupils to flare, a smile sliding back to his face as he let fragile formality fall away and gathered her into his arms again.
“Tira.” He breathed her name reverently, gratefully. A quick, joyful nuzzle against her neck caused her to giggle and squirm at the way it tickled.
“But before I ruin your work, will you help me up, Moss? I just want to get my bag from the clearing in case it rains.” She nodded towards the well opening. “I’m…a bit sore to be climbing, still. But once my bag’s safe, if it’s alright with you, I’d like some more of that cheese.”
He chuckled, draping her across his arms again, just as he had when she was injured, her hands lacing together behind his neck. “Anything you desire. Now hold tight, little sovereign.”
She gripped him a little tighter than she probably should have, but the travel up the well chute was surprisingly fast and smooth. Tira marveled at the way his powerful hands gripped this stone, or that one, with practiced ease. How long had he been down here, alone, in this well?
Her eyes drifted to his tail, sunlight glittering off the damp, iridescent surfaces of it as he made his way up with her. He’d cause a panic in town - one outcast to another, she’d adjusted to it rather quickly despite herself, but townsfolk were small-minded. Lords would want to keep him like a prize canary too, no doubt. Tira frowned with worry as they crested the well’s edge together. They needed to talk about how to keephimsafe, as much as her, if they were going to be keeping company.
The worn brown corner of her pack was far across the clearing, slumped into what was hopefully dry grass. Tira quickly kissed Moss’ cheek in thanks before climbing over the well wall and making a beeline for her discarded belongings. As her fingers closed on the strap, she looked back to find a smiling Moss, elbows folded over the well edge, fingertips touching his cheek where she’d kissed.
“Found it!” She held the bag aloft triumphantly before crouching and shoving her meager few possessions back into its sueded confines. Grateful the cap hadn’t gone missing from her flask in all of last night’s furor, she squinted at the ground dejectedly. Those assholes had probably fled with her recently reacquired flip-knife, and that had been a very tidy - and expensive - bit of weaponry.
As she turned, a glint of silver caught her eye, far up the path, almost beyond sight. Could she really be that fortunate? The two of them hadn’t sounded like they’d made a slow - or graceful - exit from the clearing, so perhaps Sam had dropped it after all.
She cupped her hands over her mouth and called back to Moss, still watching from the well. “I think I see my flip-knife! I’m going to grab it, I’ll be right back!”
He answered with a wave and a smile and she sprinted out to where she’d seen the flash, eager to return to Moss. And cheese. But mostly him.
A strange wave of warmth washed over Tira’s limbs as she got closer to her destination, the green of the trees and brush blurring all around her. Confused, she turned, the roof of the well smudged, as if she was looking at it from the bottom of a lake. Moss’ voice rang out in an anguished cry of her name before silence crashed down, bringing with it a wall of greenery on all sides.
Tira spun, panicked, seeing nothing but the forest and the faint edge of the main road just behind it. She frantically surged in all directions, flailing her arms and bag to knock branches aside, calling loudly to Moss, but it was no use.
