skilll:

It wasn't until Foxglove was much closer that he was able to see her clearly, and there was no way he might have missed her strikingly unique coat. She had taken more of Archon's coat than Fable's, he thought, but there were still little hints at her Goldencourte heritage. For a moment Foxglove thought about turning around and fleeing back to Avon, hoping he'd be fast enough to outrun the ghosts of awkward past. Instead he took a second to draw in a deep breath and tried to settle the wave of nausea. She was certainly more grown than when they had last seen one another - which he thought was about directly after Fable and Archon had separated.

He didn't begrudge the cutting gaze she'd given him or the bitter tone of Kyros; the complexity of the situation and its emotions were so much for such little children. Hell he'd been fully grown, and it was a lot of emotions for him. He'd been pinning away but hadn't made anything known, trying to stomp down as much feeling as he could, actually. After the tournament, things hadn't been quite the same, but he'd tried to avoid any pitfalls lest he snap an ankle or two. Wouldn't that have been awkward, his stiff hip in winter and strange gait from breaking a leg. He would hope his luck would be better.

It was different than with the girls he'd seen grow day by day. They'd been in human bodies, though, and seeing them suddenly as adults was something that Fox struggled with. Especially now with Aisling the fresh mother. Two little tiny babes nestled at her side was a foreign sight but one that did tug at his heartstrings. He hadn't realized how quickly life would fly by - he and Fable had barely had time as newlyweds before they were also new grandparents. He stopped a ways from her, head bobbing politely in greeting before he set the bundle of purple flowers to the side.

Perhaps it was some of their pollen, or some strange sudden control of his emotional state, or perhaps a stroke. But Foxglove had managed to ingest some of the flower when he licked his lips, and the haze of their effect had softened his anxiety. Guard hairs had still bristled some, the fur at the base of his neck standing on edge. Hello, He answered, not wanting to address her directly by name and coming off like some prophetic creep. I'm Foxglove, from the Kingdom of Avon. Maybe she might have a flash of his name in a memory; maybe being neighbors would register him neutral.

Maybe there was still time to take off and run - but he'd given her his name, and he'd given his soul to the Goldencourtes. Their blood was her blood; she was a sister to his daughters; she was a daughter to his wife - he was outside that circle, but not bitter at all. Just.....well. Scared.