A Salve of Moonlight

The garden, late, so very late.
 
His heart was paining him. It took some time to get home but they did and bed was a desperately needed comfort. They had talked some little while, holding each other. Hurts began to fade but the events of the night were still too present. The wave of healing from Riley fixed his body but not the memories of the way his flesh was no longer his. It did nothing at all to soothe the wounds in his mind.
 
Sleep came. For her, anyway. Aloysius lay a long time listening to Peg's breath and the snores of half-grown cats. He rose quietly, not touching her, though he wanted to. This sleep was hard earned and too much had been taken today. Bare feet on woven rug, the rustle of his robe.
He kneels to the pack of blink dogs, whispering. "Roni, Fay, please watch over her. Kagh, you can come with me if you want.", so grateful he can touch their essence and they can understand one another. Quietly down the stairs he goes, Kagh passing him through the in between.
An Autumn quarter moon greets him in the garden, high walls and a sleeping city granting space for his troubled soul. His feet whisper on the flagstones. This garden is a holy place for him. He's never said the words out loud. It's not a secret, really, but more than herbs and flowers have grown here; he has. The work of his hands and heart have shaped this island, a sanctuary for both of them. Love and laughter and the life they've shared have made this ground fertile.
The air is barely warm enough to keep his breath from pluming as he closes his eyes to the sky. His robe drops to clean-swept stone. Naked to the night, but for a vining tattoo and the promises on his hand, tears streak his upturned face. He's not a villain but Haarkon had so easily set him upon that knife edge, had so cruelly used him. Close, so close to murder on the say so of alchemy and malice whispered in his ear. So easily ripped from his path of love and justice, empathy and caring. Tears bitter with failure.
Hands and feet move, hips with them in the proper line. The first steps of a killing dance... but it's not just for killing. Breath and motion... a rhythm of life in him. Balance.
Nude and supple as a cat, he fills the space with motion. An exuberance with no room for faltering or doubt. His body cuts the air then connects to the ground, his passionate heart is expressed through power and grace. There is nothing out here that he can't break, but this is a place of growing. Life waxes and wanes here with the seasons and it's a place of loving. He lets it fill him, a balm for healing wounds.
 
In time he slows, stops. The heat from his body steams in the cool night, skin as pale as the moon.
It's a healing of sorts, the wounds on his soul no longer weeping.
 
He collects his robe and pads silently upstairs under Kagh's watchful eye. A pause to wet a cloth and wipe himself clean before sliding in behind Lady Esch, clad as he was earlier, his cares just a little lighter.