Her laughter caught him off guard; bewildered him in its eerie delight, made him wonder, made him ponder, if they’d patched things together by the decrees of silence, of isolation, or because of all the things that had happened in between those measures of irritation. He felt like he’d apologized a million times for things he never could understand, too wicked, too engrossed, embedded and enshrouded in hours of vengeance, of ensuring an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, incapable of fathoming her disapproval, her heartache. But maybe they’d tied that off for now, left it simmering somewhere else, low, embers to be rekindled later, perhaps forgotten entirely, mended and molded over in the seams of time and place, of experiences and sorrow. His ears swiveled, there atop the illustrious blue and black crown, listening to the eldritch, siren sway of her giggle, and then the layers of her hushed whispers, as if she was forgoing ancient secrets, giving into primordial tactics. There were a few stretched moments where Erebos wanted to make her smile and snicker again, like days and seasons before, when they’d marauded and joked, played pranks on unsuspecting inhabitants, mocked the world for pure amusement and chicanery; but the jocular schemes were frail, torn, blemished, and the world didn’t seem light enough to throw them into the horizon. So he let the instant sink, only stirred by his convictions, only held aloft by the sheer anchor of his will, eyes watching hers as she studied the egg clutched between his legs, whirling and crackling steadily, the beast contained desperate to make its presence known. “They do more than just bond,” he added, winking, taking the time to study Orsino and his sable outline, the creation of a terrific, terrible infidel who aligned to his whole world – and speared it too, always eager and ready for a chance to squander an enemy, to bludgeon a friend, to destroy everything and anything that threatened them. The kitsune might have even puffed out his chest at the inclination, but Erebos snorted, scoffing at him all the while. “Their thoughts intertwine with yours, and you become two halves of a whole.” One day, perhaps, no one would know how to tell either of them apart (except by the natural order of unicorn versus fox), too uniform, too connected, too whittled and sculpted and carved by the same artisan, melded by contempt, by loathing, by daring, blasphemous audacity.
 
His stare coaxed back to hers for an instant, pretending the ricocheting, reverberating egg wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. “I always wanted one when I was little. I thought they were amazing.” He tilted his head, aimed to examine the creature stuffed along fabric and along her chest, smiling all the while, quiet, gallant, intrepid. “So I went through trials and quests, hoping I’d be favored.” His adventures had been amusing at best and frustrating at the worst; always tossed aside for someone else, for a more stunning infidel, for a more cunning cretin, until one day the dark forest had granted him his desires. “Eventually, I was lucky enough to be granted Orsino.” The fox rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue, hissed a little in response, but Erebos just laughed, a boy all over again. “Who knows what I’ve done to deserve this one.” But he knew exactly what he’d done, forging pretenses once more, ensuing defiance against the world for all its ugliness and allegiance to the damned. He turned to her, regal and noble and then everything else put together – steadfast, bright, twisted, unfurling and uncoiling and damaged beyond all reason, uttering an oath, a promise, because it was his purpose. “You’ll be fine.”
 
Then the egg finally shattered between his forelegs, and his attention severed from the Mender’s to his newly anointed companion, eyes segmented entirely on the beast that could never be heralded as a stranger. Its stare focused on him first – beautiful and black, feminine and wily, and his gaze took in the rest of her – spotted body, long, gangly legs, an illustrious, feline presence accompanied by Stygian (raven) wings and a short beak. “A griffin,” he whispered, remembering the mother he’d saved within the cavern, the egg she’d clutched, protected, despite everything the other kitsunes had done to her. The other bond slowly trickled through his skull, combining with his and Orsino’s, and he was briefly overwhelmed by the third presence there, quiet and unassuming, waiting for something, anything, to happen in this illustrious moment. She squawked, rather indignant, and he laughed once more (Orsino, for all his curiosity, wrinkled his nose), paying credence to a lost father, and to a fellow shield maiden in the making. “I’ll call her Enyo.”