Alwyn was finally able to get some sleep, and, after a time, woke up, groggy and feeling itching all over, wishing to return to that blissful unconsciousness, but being unable to. His breath was a little ragged-he had not been exposed to as much of the smoke and that within it thanks to Theo, but it was an imperfect measure. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, and then glanced around the room. A private, well-equipped one, given his station and the fact his mother was the minister of perhaps the most feared ministry in the Imperium. He was on what would normally be a comfortable bed, there were a few couches for visitors, a cot and a foxkit, refreshments on the table by his bed, a cot and a foxkit, some various medications neatly arranged on another table, a cot and a foxkit, some chocolates, a foxkit on a cot-Finnian!
Poor little fellow.
Painfully standing, he walked over to the sleeping young todd, putting a paw on his headfur. He seemed like a good enough lad, though he was going to owe him as he glanced over his body and gave a pitiful look at his tail, half-sheared, half-bandaged. Still, he seemed to be alive and breathing, which as far as he knew, was a good sign. Glancing down, he noticed a golden chain on his neck, and frowned a little. Kits were known to buy a lot of things, but jewelry was not one of them. Finnian was an orphan-did he still have parents somewhere, or did his own father give him that as some kind of commendation? Curious, he pulled carefully on the chain so as to not wake him up, and then out came a smudged locket, which he soon found in his paw. He froze instantly, breath catching in his throat.
No, it can’t be the same one, no, no, no.
The normally stoic guardsbeast began to shake despite his training, and flipped the locket over-it was halfway smudged on the back, but he could make out Annabelle on the back, and the words of the prophecy struck him. 3 O’clock and 3 O’clock, and I took something from your son. Trembling, he hoped that it was not true, that it was a coincidence, that the locking mechanism would be different, but his paws played over it as they had fifteen years ago. First one button, then the next, then a small, four digit rolling lock came up. He entered in the date, 1753, and then pressed the unlocking mechanism. It clicked open. There, protected from everything, was a portrait of her and a young todd. One that looked suspiciously like a younger Alwyn.
I…
He looked towards Finnian, harder this time. The fur color. The eye color. The shape of his face. An image of Annabelle...and...him. He fell down to the floor, shaking, quickly closing the locket and returning it to Finnian’s chest, panting rapidly from the stress and shock as he did so. It could not be, Finnian had to have just found that and kept it because it was shiny. No, she would not have left knowing that she was...and then kept it from him all these years. No, it, he…
Such thoughts went through his mind as the Lieutenant of the Guard and heir to the Duchy of Westisle pulled his knees up to his legs, anxiety running through his body so much he did not even notice the pain from all of his wounds.
@SwifttailTheFox @FinnianBrightfur
Poor little fellow.
Painfully standing, he walked over to the sleeping young todd, putting a paw on his headfur. He seemed like a good enough lad, though he was going to owe him as he glanced over his body and gave a pitiful look at his tail, half-sheared, half-bandaged. Still, he seemed to be alive and breathing, which as far as he knew, was a good sign. Glancing down, he noticed a golden chain on his neck, and frowned a little. Kits were known to buy a lot of things, but jewelry was not one of them. Finnian was an orphan-did he still have parents somewhere, or did his own father give him that as some kind of commendation? Curious, he pulled carefully on the chain so as to not wake him up, and then out came a smudged locket, which he soon found in his paw. He froze instantly, breath catching in his throat.
No, it can’t be the same one, no, no, no.
The normally stoic guardsbeast began to shake despite his training, and flipped the locket over-it was halfway smudged on the back, but he could make out Annabelle on the back, and the words of the prophecy struck him. 3 O’clock and 3 O’clock, and I took something from your son. Trembling, he hoped that it was not true, that it was a coincidence, that the locking mechanism would be different, but his paws played over it as they had fifteen years ago. First one button, then the next, then a small, four digit rolling lock came up. He entered in the date, 1753, and then pressed the unlocking mechanism. It clicked open. There, protected from everything, was a portrait of her and a young todd. One that looked suspiciously like a younger Alwyn.
I…
He looked towards Finnian, harder this time. The fur color. The eye color. The shape of his face. An image of Annabelle...and...him. He fell down to the floor, shaking, quickly closing the locket and returning it to Finnian’s chest, panting rapidly from the stress and shock as he did so. It could not be, Finnian had to have just found that and kept it because it was shiny. No, she would not have left knowing that she was...and then kept it from him all these years. No, it, he…
Such thoughts went through his mind as the Lieutenant of the Guard and heir to the Duchy of Westisle pulled his knees up to his legs, anxiety running through his body so much he did not even notice the pain from all of his wounds.
@SwifttailTheFox @FinnianBrightfur
