Every one can master a grief but he that has it.
The biting cold didn't mean that training let up. More warm up was required, more planning. But no one was allowed to slack off from their course and that included the tropical born and bred Bob. The bat didn't much approve of the snow and chill but he did enjoy snuggling inside the heavy jackets that they all wore to combat the bitter weather. Robin used that as much as he did the stored fruit that they were rationing out as treats.
The forest was a changed place since the second week of the month and Bob tended to keep his playtime down to a minimum, accomplishing the tasks he was set to with greater diligence than he ever did in the warm seasons, the better to return to his jacket-formed cave. It was nice there, safe and warm and cozy. The white-cold was horrible stuff, had covered all his food, all the bright things that were his by right. Bob screeched his displeasure at the white-cold which stubbornly refused to change to suit him. His sharp eyes though spotted something it was trying to hide. Fruit! Mine! Bob dove after the patch of color.
Robin waited, still and patient, while chill seeped into his bones. He was starting to ache when Bob returned, strong wings cutting through the air, a vivid patch of color clutched in his claw. Tim's heart thudded to a painful stop once Bob was close enough to discern the color and shape. Fabric, just a scrap. But that color. That was his whole world distilled down. "Bob, come. Give," Robin ordered, his voice harsh.
Bob screamed back, joyous now that he knew his bright and dark human had noticed him and wheeled about, ready to head back. It was his. All food was his. And his human would retrieve it for him so that Bob could keep it forever and show how strong he was. More than any other creature here.
He cursed as the bat flew back the way he'd come but Robin was smart enough to know when he needed to follow. His grapple caught the nearest tree and he flung himself after Bob. Branches and trunks--white and brown and darkest green--flashed by in blurs. He only could focus on one thing.
There. Caught in a tree. Strong eggplant (for the "he's weak" times), virtuous navy (for the "he's evil" times). On the forest floor, boots polished black and gleaming. (These are my two seasons.) Bob stopped and gloated but Robin hardly noticed.
Spoiler. God, Stephanie. Oh, God, I... God.
Untangling the uniform from its arboreal grip took time. He was sobbing openly when he finally managed it and landed with a spray of snow beneath the tree.
[Bob led him back toward civilization but he's still out past the stage but closer than the prison. The uniform looks like this (well, okay, really more like this.) Tim is in uniform.]
The forest was a changed place since the second week of the month and Bob tended to keep his playtime down to a minimum, accomplishing the tasks he was set to with greater diligence than he ever did in the warm seasons, the better to return to his jacket-formed cave. It was nice there, safe and warm and cozy. The white-cold was horrible stuff, had covered all his food, all the bright things that were his by right. Bob screeched his displeasure at the white-cold which stubbornly refused to change to suit him. His sharp eyes though spotted something it was trying to hide. Fruit! Mine! Bob dove after the patch of color.
Robin waited, still and patient, while chill seeped into his bones. He was starting to ache when Bob returned, strong wings cutting through the air, a vivid patch of color clutched in his claw. Tim's heart thudded to a painful stop once Bob was close enough to discern the color and shape. Fabric, just a scrap. But that color. That was his whole world distilled down. "Bob, come. Give," Robin ordered, his voice harsh.
Bob screamed back, joyous now that he knew his bright and dark human had noticed him and wheeled about, ready to head back. It was his. All food was his. And his human would retrieve it for him so that Bob could keep it forever and show how strong he was. More than any other creature here.
He cursed as the bat flew back the way he'd come but Robin was smart enough to know when he needed to follow. His grapple caught the nearest tree and he flung himself after Bob. Branches and trunks--white and brown and darkest green--flashed by in blurs. He only could focus on one thing.
There. Caught in a tree. Strong eggplant (for the "he's weak" times), virtuous navy (for the "he's evil" times). On the forest floor, boots polished black and gleaming. (These are my two seasons.) Bob stopped and gloated but Robin hardly noticed.
Spoiler. God, Stephanie. Oh, God, I... God.
Untangling the uniform from its arboreal grip took time. He was sobbing openly when he finally managed it and landed with a spray of snow beneath the tree.
[Bob led him back toward civilization but he's still out past the stage but closer than the prison. The uniform looks like this (well, okay, really more like this.) Tim is in uniform.]
