The fox did not shy away where others of his kind would have, should have. Ducking his head and tensing instead as the man came for him, arms so soon scooping him up from cobblestone and dirt; He focused on little else, body all but going limp and curling in on itself temporarily amid coat sleeves and buttons, forelegs propped then on the man's shoulder, adjusting slowly, carefully avoiding the blackthorns all the while. Permission was not given, but the fox had frequently broken all his own rules, and often for much less.
He didn't struggle, didn't kick or claw or bite. No need, no need, none at all. This man would help him, yes, remove the thorns from his hide and wash the oils from his fur - wouldn't he? Head lowered, narrow chin tentatively resting between his paws on the man's shoulder. Listening to very little, only to what little words were spared to him and the eerie creak and groan of haunted wood and stone, though he hadn't quite thoroughly ignored the birds or their concerns as it might've seemed. Saved for later, an apology to make in the wee hours of a morning no eyes would see a different man, now scorned as much by Kouto as it had itself.
Carried away, he watched from over the man's shoulder as the buildings began to shift and change. Some were perhaps stranger and creepier than before, more downtrodden, abandoned, condemned... but others stood as monuments to a lost if recent era of extravagance and prosperity, illusions of power and grandeur by nobility painstakingly kept. Blood and disease ran through the streets, and there were too few willing to do what leadership would not; Perhaps this man was the same. A healer, now, he was certain of (without further evidence), but what had that entailed? Even doctors could be cruel to the dying, and often were.
Loux knew where the burn pits were, and now, so close, he could scent ash in this man's sweat, on his skin.
Guilt, of a different kind, he reminded himself. Distinct, its own, but not quite tainted with malice. Sorrow. There was pain, here, not the desire to cause it without warrant. Yes, yes, he chose right - the proof would reveal itself in time.
He flexed his paws when they rounded a corner and passed through a doorway, dark and grim, dulled claws gently digging into the man's shoulder as stormy eyes adjusted to the differences in lighting. Gas lamps and steamlights powered on, so jarring a change from darkest, shadowed night - he closed his eyes, letting his head tilt into the crook of the doctor's neck.
