Page 72 of Whisper Woods

“Anything you wish, my kushinavya. Anything you wish.” He whispers, kissing my shoulder and settling himself more comfortably against me.

If only, I thought, as we slipped into sleep. Maybe. Hopefully.

Soon.

Rafe

Carefully cradling two cupsof steaming rivosh, I make my way from the dining room to my office. After our incredible night together, it pains me, physicallypainsme to leave Seff in my bed this morning. Well, leave Wolf. He made an appearance at some point during Seff’s sleep.

It’s no matter, because the point is the same. After years of tiny flashes of time together, and the intensity of this past week, he’s become infused into my essence.

The house is quiet in the early morning; the staff have disappeared to complete their duties. Opening the door to my office with my elbow, I am not in the least shocked to see Brydon already there at his desk in the corner.

“Morning.” He grumbles around a pencil stuffed in his mouth, not looking up from his work. There are towers of books on either side of him, his fingers tightly locked in his hair.

“Have you slept at all?”

He was working when we returned from Vansh’s last night. I tried to insist that he leave the work for the morning, but he insisted he would only be “five more minutes”, which we both knew was a lie.

Brydon shakes his head violently, grunting when I place his cup on his desk in the only free space. “No. Translating.”

He still doesn’t look up, but does let go of his hair to turn a page and have a sip of his drink. His tail flicks agitatedly against the floor as he snatches up a book, quickly flicking through the pages, mumbling to himself.

This sort of fixated behaviour is not unusual for Brydon while he’s working, whether it be with his dragon glass work or translation and valuation work forme. But my instincts are concerned. Leaning against my desk, I sip my drink and watch as he furiously scrawls notes on several sets of paper. I spy my Tavisher’s journal in the mix on the desk, which is not unusual. He often goes through my notes, re-recording them to make sense. But the pages bearing the High Council seal were certainly not here when we returned from the dragons yesterday.

“Is everything okay?” I finally ask, when he knocks his cup with his elbow, almost sending it flying over his work. He manages to save it just in time, cursing in anger and muttering.

With a deep, exhausted sigh, he slumps forward for a moment, then turns to me. There are grey smudges under his eyes, tight lines of frustration around his lips.

“It will be Rafe, it will be.” He punctuates his words with a nod and turns back to his desk.

“That is not as comforting as you think it is, Brydon.”

He snorts a laugh, and that, at least, makes me feel a little better.

“What is going on?” I ask, and his shoulders tense up around his ears, his tail flicking sharply.

“I… I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

It grates my nerves how his words echo my own to Seff only days ago. Apart from the niggling guilt still gnawing at me over the whole incident, it adds to my instincts sounding a warning for my pseudo-ward. After all, no one knows better than I that the sentiment can mean nothing positive.

“Are you in danger, Brydon?”

Another shake of his head, but he doesn’t turn to face me again.

“No. But you need to trust me.”

There is an edge to his voice. It’s the tone he takes with his father, or with the Tathissians who turn on him. I don’t like it. I place my cup on my desk, and take a step towards my old friend. He flinches at my movement, waving a hand over the papers on the desk to obscure what he’s working on.

“Seriously, Rafe. Like I said. Trust me.” This time he turns to me, his tired face imploring me to listen.

Something is undoubtedly wrong. Indecision rages within me, making mefeel ill. I want to shake him, force him to tell me what’s wrong so that I can fix it for him. But I don’t, because I do trust him. I nod, once, my jaw clenched tight to hold my tongue. Brydon relaxes marginally when I resume leaning against my desk.

“You have a message.” He says, turning back to his work, picking up another book. “From your parents. They wish to meet with you urgently.”

My parents? Frustration coils through me. My parents live in the foothills near the Tathissian borders in the eastern Woods. It’s several hours' ride there at the very least. I cannot possibly leave Seff for that long. It’s unthinkable.

But by the same token, I cannot very well deny a request from my parents. They would never request for me to visit them if it were not urgent—what if something has happened?

---