"Band?" Cormac could feel his chest expanding, each rib dislocating itself to accommodate the way his curiosity bloomed. He felt full of it, the seams coming undone, heart in his throat and attempting not to show it. "I've...never left Ridge Harbor. Honestly, didn't think there was much of anything left out there anyway--" It was what they'd been taught: that the rest of the world had succumbed to destruction, that the Cailleach had protected them, that this was the only land blessed and whole. Indeed, there had been...cracks in that thinking. How could that be true if their families had come from away to this place? Most of them, anyway. And what did it mean for the rare (but non-zero) few -- like Jericho -- who passed through?
His curiosity shifted as Jericho's eyes fluttered shut. It took new shape, sinking lower, though Cormac was no less affected. Fingers curled over the edge of the countertop, tensing, his other hand pausing as he cupped the bowl of stew. "Family recipe," Mac murmured.
But Jericho seemed unphased, clueless of the effect of his presence, of the turmoil he was putting Mac through. "Not quite an, uh, issue--" He shrugged, smiling more naturally, for any mention of the Cailleach seemed to sober him, to ground him (or was he tangled in her mysterious roots?). "We worship late," he said, as though that were explanation enough. Jericho didn't seem like the type to be terribly interested in knowing more, and Mac wasn't sure he could provide it without dancing a dangerous line of devotion. "When you come back, just, uh--" Brigid would be home, and there was no way she'd let an outsider into their house. "Knock on the..." He gestured down the hallway, to the left, to a room they hadn't passed yet, "the window, yeah? I'll let you in."
dededos
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turnnoffyourmind
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