“Priestess, would you mind showing me what you have in those arms of yours?” The Priestess’ smooth steps slowed to a halt and her grip on Orfen tightened. Trying not to shake like a newborn kitten on a cold winter night, Orfen hugged his tail to his chest and flattened his ears as much as he could.
The Priestess bounced him slightly to readjust her grip, turning his head into her chest and smashin his tail between their bodies. She also moved one of her hands to cover the base of his ears. It was an awkward way to be held and Orfen’s abs burned with the effort of keeping himself still and ‘relaxed.’
The Priestess turned to face the man who called after her. Orfen wanted to look, wanted to see if the man was a soldier or civilian. But even if he was stupid enough to turn his head, he couldn’t with the way she was holding him.
In a tone that was soft and gentle, like a mother who had just finished rocking her baby to sleep, she said, “ a poor child who wandered into the temple, seeking shelter. He prayed with me all night. I want to bring him back to my quarters to rest.” Her voice was so incredibly fond and Orfen couldn’t help but curl up and try to press himself in closer to her, hoping the man wouldn’t notice.
“Ah... you truly are a kind soul, Priestess.”
Why did he sound disdainful when he said that? Orfen dug his claws into his own arm to keep himself from shaking.
“I am merely a shadow of Vasara’s goodness.”
“Hmm... Well, I’m here to inform you that the trail of a fugitive was lost around the temple. We are searching for a young, blonde werelion... Not unlike the one ‘sleeping’ in your arms.”
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Marisol slowly sunk down onto the foot of the bed, her hands automatically coming up to tug at her braids. She winced as Racqein threw his body against the door. Onceand then again. She tucked her knees up under her chin and tilted her head to press her eyes into her kneecaps.
That was a mistake.
The image of Orfen bleeding and fleeing into the tall grasses flashed in her mind. She hugged her legs tighter to herself, unable to stop herself from imagining Orfen bleeding out in the grass, soldiers hunting him down.
Racqein didn’t tend to yell or curse too much so it startled Marisol into standing up when he shouted, “fuck!”
He was standing with his back to her, clutching one of his shoulders. “What happened?” Marisol asked, walking around Racqein so she could face him.
His eye flashed purple and Cruxion’s smooth exasperated voice answered, “the idiot dislocated his shoulder.”
Racqein’s eye settled back into gold and his whole face tensed, “aren’t you a god... get us out of here.”
Cruxion’s response was only for Racqein to hear but it made his face unpleasantly screw up even more.
Marisol watched and waited for a few moments as Racqein’s expression continually shifted, clearly having an argument with Cruxion. Eventually he seemed to forget about the pain and let go of his shoulder. “At least fix your arm.”
“Right,” Racqein’s eye flashed purple again and Cruxion took over in order to force Racqein’s arm back in its socket but the hiss of pain that came out was Racqein’s.
Panting slightly, Racqein rolled his shoulder a few times then stood up straighter. He jerked his head to the side, “get out of the way, Marisol.”
Marisol stood up straighter as well, unable to match her brother’s height at all. She balled up her skirt in her fists, “what? No! I’m not going to just step aside so you can keep hurting yourself!”
“We have to get out of here!”
Marisol flinched as her brother raised his voice at her for the first time. “There has to be another way!” she lowered her voice to make sure anyone guarding the door couldn’t hear her, “they’ll have to open the door to give us food at some point. We’ll escape then.”
Once more, Marisol watched the subtle shifts in Racqein’s face as he argued with Cruxion. Finally, Racqein sighed, shoulders slowly going down, “fine.”