Two Rivers Isle broker no argument

for Magpie de l'encrier.

Every starting was terrible - pain echoed up and down his leg regardless of if the limb touched the ground for more than a second. He had still been fuzzy; from the trauma, from the exhaustion, he didn't know - just aimlessly walking, jostled and pushed by a dark voice and shape. He had refused to move, at first. Teeth agitated his scruff, started pulling him across the swamp without care for his comfort.

Cormorant had risen to his feet then, coaxed by honeyed words - briefly swept by a willowy frame. He didn't know where they were going; just knew the discomfort of walking across freezing gravel, and then standing there, like a wraith drifting in the wind, waiting. The river was more like slush, but it was still bubbling loud enough to make him pin his ears and grimace. He began to sink down into a morose sit, reality setting in.

He didn't know where they were going. He was sure neither of them did. How long had they walked? There was still mud on his fur, dried and re-agitated by damp snow and cold wind. He wanted it gone, and he didn't want to move any further.

Though it wasn't planned, and far more trouble than most would say is reasonably worth, Magpie would do just about anything for Cormorant, wounded or not. This is to say, anything within reason of what he thought acceptable, and lucky for the shuddering thing, dragging him along to dryer, cleaner ground was well above that.

Magpie stopped just short of the river's edge, eyeing the water critically, as if it were able to alter itself at any moment. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but look he did, for far too long, until a pathetic sound trickling over his shoulder pulled him away. Hm? His spine twitched in an irritated rhythm, still sensing the phantom weight of his muse over sore withers. He winced, brushing it off callously — swiftly turning and taking in an eye full of the wretched lump behind him.

His agitated expression, however, quickly melted into something satisfied, a sense of warmth bleeding into his lungs. He felt needed, even better, a need without desire — a necessity. Sweet thing, you look so tired. Magpie tilted his head, eyeing Cormorant down like some frumpy squirrel. I expected a little more effort from you, Corm. I’m disappointed.