The Bench Grew Cold

He did not yet have the energy to rise and emerge from the den. The small alcove that held his body remained much too comfortable for any movement; it was a selfish indulgence, yes, but Raheerah allowed himself to enjoy it in his moments of rest. The beast watched her take notice of his words, the creeping intone that bled from the darkness of the den into the air and wormed its way to her ears, as if a visible rope was cast around the woman and pulled her back into his grasp. She spoke and turned to him, some humor in her voice. Nothing tugged at his expression - he was serious about wanting her to rejoin him, and if agreeing with her humor lightened this fact, he would refrain.

But she would abide by his request. Without moving, he observed her return, dropping low to linger near him. She was right in that the beast failed to notice any occurrence in the middle of the night - he was always so worn, he could not possibly know of her departures, though she implied that they happened frequently. That fact alone made him frown and hover his head a couple inches from the earth to peer at her. And then she reclined down before him, and Raheerah placed his head back in the dirt between her paws, gaze darkened with sleep drifting along her features.

Frankly, he didn't know much of what she spoke. Their relationship in his eyes had remained the same as it always was - she his light, and he her shadow, and together they protected this Vale. There was not much more he could ask for, so long as her presence remained near his. Yet he feared upsetting her by presenting the wrong answer, as the sadness that lingered in her tones was difficult to ignore. "Yoouu no loonnnger speeaak so quiieetlyy." He gruffed, as his own voice failed to take its usual volume. This was something he had come to notice, whether it be by renewed confidence in the female or some kind of happiness given to her by living in the Vale's ranks, he didn't know.