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“Fisher?” I call as I head outside, my boots tapping on the stones. I expect to find him in the sparring ring, prepping the weapons he expects me to master. Instead, the sparring ring is empty, a few random weapons laid out to the side, clearly abandoned.
“Fisher?” I feel a stab of worry in my gut but do my best to keep myself calm. We are in no immediate danger. He’s completely fine. I’ll find him. Still, my eyes sweep the area, but there’s no sign of him.
My voice quivers as I call again, “Fisher!”
“Osha.”
His voice is quiet, distant, but I turn in the direction of it immediately. He says it again, “Osha,” the nickname I once loathed now an instant balm to my soul. And when I finally find him a few hundred yards from the sparring ring, he’s doing nothing I would have expected.
He’s sprawled on the grass with Onyx curled up beside him, his little head resting on Fisher’s chest.
Instantly, my heart melts at the sight, and I can’t help the little crooning noise that escapes me. They’re beyond adorable, especially when the man lying before me once claimed he hated my little fox.
Fisher, whose eyes had been closed as he ran firm, comforting pets down Onyx’s back, snaps to attention at the noise, glaring at me briefly before breaking into a half smile as he continues to lavish love on our pet.
“This doesn’t look much like sparring,” I say as I sink to my knees beside them.
Onyx makes a little chirping noise and snuggles closer to Fisher, making room for me beside them.
I waste no time in getting comfortable, my head pillowed on Fisher’s arm. I rest one hand on Onyx’s back, petting lightly over his silky coat.
“This was not my idea,” Fisher grouses, and I can’t resist leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Oh, yeah?”
“I told him to stay in the house, but he somehow managed to get outside with me.”
“He’s very crafty like that,” I agree.
“And I decided the best course of action would be to ignore him and set up what we needed for sparring. But the little monster kept chirping and weaving between my feet whenever I would start to move around the ring.”
I make a noise to let Fisher know I’m listening, but I don’t add anything to the conversation. Instead, I roll onto my side so I can leave one hand on Onyx and thread the other into Fisher’s hair, petting softly.
“Finally, I asked him what he wanted, and he started chirping louder and running this way. I looked but saw nothing alarming, so I went back to the sparring ring. But he did it again and again. Four times!” Fisher pretends to glare at Onyx, but I can see the fondness in his expression. “Bastard,” he mutters under his breath.
“Poor thing,” I say, still petting at Fisher’s hair. He loves the contact, the feeling of gentle pulling and tugging against his head, and his eyes are dangerously close to slipping shut where we lie. “I still don’t understand how you ended up flat on your back, cuddling my fox.”
“He tripped me. Wound around my feet one too many times when I tried to walk away, and I fell.” He looks bashful as he admits. “And it was rather comfortable, I realized. Then he curled up against me and… Well, I didn’t have the heart to move him after that.”
I chuckle. “I knew it. You secretly love this fox.” This time when I lean in to kiss him, Fisher turns his head so our lips brush instead. The kiss is nothing like the heated, needy kisses we so often share. It’s soft and sweet and pliable, as if this is our everyday life, lying in the grass beneath the trees, the sparring ring in the near distance.
For Yvelia, it’s an unseasonably warm day, and it just adds to the lazy feeling, the careless gentle passing of time that the two of us so rarely get to experience together.
Both Fisher and I adjust slightly to get a bit more comfortable, but neither of us make a move to get up. Instead, we just lie together, enjoying the quiet solitude, the cuddles, the day without demands and worries.
Eventually, Onyx stretches, rises, and trots away, perhaps to hunt or do his business or simply play.
Immediately, Fisher pulls me in closer, pressing more kisses to my lips, my cheeks, the tip of my nose. “Should we get up, Little Osha?” he asks me eventually. “Try to salvage what is left of our afternoon to train?”
“Perhaps. Or we could decide to just stay right here. I’m rather comfortable. And feeling a bit tired.”
He squeezes me then, the kiss he places on my temple feather-light, barely there. “Rest, Osha. We have time.”
I cuddle in closer, my head on his chest right over his heart, the heart that so often betrays his feelings for me. I feel right, at home. Safe.
Fisher responds by tucking me in close and whispering sweet nothings into my hair until I am no longer conscious to this world.