Chimera Fields a crime so old as the sky and bone

Both Rian and Rannoch seemed keen to gloss over whatever weird static had intercepted the trio’s frequency, and Cypress shared wholeheartedly in that sentiment. “All right,” he said, relaxing, butting the bridge of his muzzle against the chiseled angle of Rian’s lower jaw and leaning close to his gunmetal brother to preen affectionately at a cowlick of argent fur. “D’you want me to come with you, Rian?” he asked solicitously when the subject of “family” came up. Cypress hadn’t mentioned anything to his cousins and couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken with his aunt, but if it would make things easier on the jade-eyed O’Malley he would push past his comfort zone to offer succor. He realized now that he would have to let go of the Eastmire — let go of everything he knew. “I, uh,” he said, beetling his brow. “I think I’m — ” He worked through the feeling with a typically analytical eye. He wasn’t happy — wasn’t excited —

— what was he?

Stern lips cracked into a lopsided grin that felt like a thickness in his throat, felt like a lump dissolving into tears, felt like laughter and fast running and Alya tucked against him in a winter storm. “Ready,” he decided on. “Guess I’m ready to leave, as long as leavin’ means with you.” His lantern yellow eyes took in Rian and Rannoch in a calm, steady sweep, that uncharacteristically content smile still oddly present.