A Great Conversationalist

A day passed, then a week. It went by in a blink. Or was it a crawl? It was hard to tell when the days blurred together the way they had been. The six of them hadn't been together since that night they all had dinner in the infirmary.

The brothers seemed busier than the ladies. Randall had only visited once since their little game night, coming to inform him of the state of the war with the demons. Later that same night, August came by to say goodbye before setting off for his oasis-side mansion in the Glass Desert, telling Foster to swing by when he was less magically crippled. 

Monica came after her lectures at the academy were done for the day, often staying the night and then leaving early in the morning. Regina came by at least once a day to check up on him, and Aurora practically never left his side, often in full panther form as opposed to her humanoid one. She was content to curl up on his throw rug before the door, taking it as her personal mission to guard Foster's feeble, magicless form.

It was endearing, if a bit annoying at times. But as long as he'd known her, she'd always been like that. Even back when they were both slaves under a cruel taskmaster, Aurora did what she could to care for the other slaves. She'd use that non-existent presence of hers to sneak out and steal food and always found ways to make sure punishment fell to her before others. Even to this day, Aurora couldn't help that instinct to care, protect, and serve—not just Foster, but all six of them. The Black Griffons were often the target of her mother henning as well.

What was left of them, at least.

Foster rolled from right to left, dragging the duvet with him as he looked out the artificial window next to his bed. Light from an illusory sun poured through in shafts that illuminated the occasional waltz of a dust mite. He had the window set to mimic the mountainous region of Kal'dal, home of the snow elves. From his perspective, he was situated on the peak of a massive mountain, overlooking a valley of conifers and a trickling stream. Far in the distance were more mountains where the indigenous white wyverns circled the peaks in search of breakfast.

For all the traveling Foster had done in his short life, he'd been to staggeringly few places. That was mostly thanks to repeat trips to and from the frontlines of the war with the demons. Still, even though he'd been through this valley numerous times to get to whatever fresh layer of hell waited for him, the view from this mountaintop always offered perspective Foster suspected he'd never find anywhere else. 

He arose from the bed and groggily leaned against the window sill, looking at the valley below. The trees were so small from this height that, combined with the snow covering, they were almost completely invisible.

 A thought came to him seemingly out of nowhere: If this were the real valley, someone could be hiking through it, and Foster would have no earthly idea. They could be a lost hiker or an ancient immortal on a grand quest. But to Foster, the one observing the valley with impunity from on high, the valley was as snowy and empty as it always was. Was this how a god would feel? An anonymous watcher from the summit? 

Foster wished he could keep this anonymity for his task of the day. Today, along with Aurora, Foster was to visit the bereaved families of his fallen knight order.

Aurora approached on silent paws from her sleeping spot in front of the door and nuzzled his thigh. Foster's hand found its way to the soft fur between her feline ears and scratched softly. It was a bit difficult to remember there was a person inside that panther's body when she acted like this—the animalistic shows of affection really threw his mental image of Aurora, the stoic and chivalric knight. Then again, it was entirely possible she was only stoic in humanoid form because she was more comfortable like this. 

Kneeling down, Foster looked at her in her golden eyes as he scratched under her chin. "Are you ready for today?"

"…"

"I did this all wrong, didn't I?"

"…"

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you something ever since that day. Why didn't you blame me for leaving you all?"

"…"

"And why is it that the lack of blame makes me feel more guilty?"

"…"

"Has anyone ever told you you're a great conversationalist?"

A tongue of sandpaper slapped onto his nose. Then Aurora let out a low and rumbling purr before padding off for the door. Things that were so hard to say seemed to come so easily when the listener couldn't speak. Of course, just because Aurora didn't look human at the moment didn't mean she wasn't, but putting her in the body of a jungle feline still somehow made her so much easier to talk to. How strange.

She looked to his closet door, then back to him, seemingly telling him to 'hurry his ass up and get the day started'. 

"Yes, ma'am."

She huffed and stood on her hind legs to paw at the door handle. When it swung open, she fell back to all fours and wandered into the hall, swatting the door shut with her tail behind her.