With sudden, rasping breaths, Wren seems to come to life. While not dead before the quietness surrounding him had been far more peaceful and relaxed than these deep drafts of air he’s pulling in sharply. Chall, still not recovered, cowers a little further into the chair, praying his magic comes back to working order quickly just in case this man is upset with him. His feline eyes watch the man closely, his ears quivering in his direction. Despite his instinct for fear, a part inside him whispers softly that there’s no need for it. That there is something, some. . . .Reason, that all of this is happening, and that he needs to open his heart to it.

However, the voice is small, too small. His fear takes precedent and stays put on his face as the large man sits up, making his insides quiver unpleasantly. His ears fall back, his tail coming up to curl around him. Wren finally spots him after a long moment of looking about and Chall finds new definitions of how small he can curl up. He doesn’t understand the question and the man’s confusion is not something he knows how to ease. [i]’Being around people is so hard. . . .At least with my brother, I know what to say, what to do. . .Home. I want home. . . .The servants have learned their place. My brother is there to hear me rant. . .’[/i] He lets out a little whine, regretting it moments later when the big man turns to get up, still looking at him.

He opens his mouth to at least try to begin explaining what he thinks may have happened but his mouth snaps shut with a click as Wren gains his feet unsteadily and lurches towards him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. . .” he whispers, the angry face of the townspeople flashing behind his eyes as the man practically falls to one knee in front of him. The hand on his arm makes him flinch, his finger tips twitching as he feels the urge to scratch to make him let go. 

The urge is countered however. The little voice from before grows a little louder and he realizes the conflict within. It is a silent battle of his lifelong fear and mistrust of humans battling against this new feeling coming from somewhere around the new threads of magic telling him that this, this right here in front of him, is the right thing. His eyes narrow as he looks at the man, the feeling throbbing almost painfully as he sees those bright, blue eyes looking up at him. The color, while a shocking change, isn’t nearly as stunning as the level of worry radiating out of the pale orbs. He’s never seen that much worry for him since his mother, and even then it never seemed so powerful as the concern clear and sharp in Wren’s eyes.

It almost takes his breath away. Unfortunately, as the man’s hand slides down to take his own, he knows the weaver deserves an explanation, [i]any[/i] explanation, to begin unraveling all that’s happened in the past hour or more. 

A shaky hand comes up to settle over the one atop his own and he swallows, trying to keep everything straight even as it endeavors to fly to the four winds. He shakes his head, his ears trembling slightly. “I. . . .I am not hurt, not really.” His voice is weaker than he’d like, but he deals with it. “I was brought here because you were struck ill and the old one, Marge? She believed I could help you.” He swallows again, his ears flipping with irritation at himself. “I was. . . .Doing something delicate at the time however, and it left me a bit weak. I. . .I’ve fixed what was causing you harm, or at least done what I can.” He looks towards the door, making sure the old woman is not about before going on.

“My magic. . .It has mingled with your own. I’m not sure what the full effect will be, but for now it seems to have cured whatever took you down to begin with.” He looks down at their hands, worried, frightened. He doesn’t want to tell him. He doesn’t want to just inform the man that he himself may have been involved with laying him out. [i]’He was cold, and dying, and I am sure the spirit played a part in that, but. . .I don’t know what they means. I don’t want him blaming me, I don’t want that worry to turn to anger. . . .’[/i] 

Beyond his fear of being hurt, beyond his fear of attack from Wren and the other villagers, beyond it all. . .He can feel something completely out of place. A fear he’s never really felt before. A fear that, indeed, in and of itself, frightens him.

He’s afraid of being rejected. Of this kind, peaceful man pushing him away and being alone once more. For some reason, this human has gained something of him and he doesn’t want to have to let it go. The hand atop Wren’s tightens even as he shakes slightly, this new feeling causing his tail to poof out fearfully. “I have not told anyone of the magic. I am sorry, so sorry. . .” His eyes fall to his knees, his ear falling down as his magic flickers, trying to rekindle itself.