Chapter Text
The days passed as smooth and steady as river water over a glossy stone, yet the goat remained in the confines of the cult. Narinder watched the wretched thing dance around his lamb, alcohol foul and thick on his breath. It grinned and drooled and followed the pretty goddess of death from the drinkhouse, a mug of foaming booze still in his hand.
The Lamb – his Lamb, his – didn’t seem to mind the company, merely guiding Goat from tripping over a fence post with a laugh. Narinder continued to watch, scowl pulling tight over his fangs, until the duo disappeared into the warm glow of her inner temple. Lamb had implied that the two were nothing more than good friends between teasing kisses and the Goat, Narinder noted with a grimace, was clearly obsessed with his oldest sibling …
… and yet.
“you know,” Leshy added, reminding the former god of his presence. “maybe she just has a thing for drunks?” he finished, forever and for always unhelpful. He was resting nearby, the warm early autumn sunshine making him drowsy. Next to him, his mate, a golden cat with softer yellow stripes, sat. The cat made a noise of disapproval before elbowing his husband in the ribs, giving the former bishop a sharp look.
“Brother,” the aforementioned feline started, ignoring Leshy’s dramatic outraged cries over his bruising side. He seemed unsure on how to actually address Narinder.
The former god of death glanced at the other cat, the crimson of his third eye remaining trained on the temple, waiting for a glimpse of the lamb without her dark shadow. “Speak,” he rasped. “speak your mind.”
His brother’s husband swallowed thickly, rubbing his palms nervously across his knees. He glanced at Narinder than at Leshy, who, miraculously recovered, flashed his jagged teeth in a grin.
“Well, my lord,” the cat continued, “...you and the lamb are a couple, no?”
A breeze ruffled the branches of heavy foliage above them, sending the afternoon light dancing in dappled patterns. Somewhere, a child giggled.
Narinder blinked.
The yellow cat – Aurelio, he suddenly remembered – blinked back, confused. Leshy looked amused, leaning heavily against his husband. “Ah, darling,” he laughed, his already wild fur fluffing out more frim his blustering, “you called him out!” he snickered.
Narinder stood suddenly. His tail lashed fretfully. “Forget this conversation ever happened,” he mumbled, turning from the couple. Leshy continued to laugh, a loud belly sound.
Aurelio smiled, gently, “Of course. Good luck, brother.”
Narinder’s ears had been stained pink.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
Inside the temple, Lamb listened to Goat drunkenly rant. Every time the male vassal swayed, his silver bell chimed. The polarity of the two sounds made her laugh, his raspy low voice and the tinkling chime.
“So,” he belched, finally putting the beer mug down. “how is the life going with catnip?” he leaned heavily against her altar, gold coins from her last sermon pressing into his palms.
The Lamb felt herself go pink.
The dark reflection grinned, tongue falling from his fanged maw. “That good, aye?” he grabbed his ale again, chugging the remainder of the golden liquid. With a burp, he slid down the front of the chapel steps, “one of us should have fun with our divine."
He had been moping about Shamura with Lamb, probably the only person - divine or not - that could understand the twisting pit of feelings that went with being in love with the once immortal being that gave you your divinity.
At least Shamura hadn't tried to kill him like Narinder did Lamb. Or at least, this, Shamura hadn't.
He slid further down her holy alter, ending in a heap of alcohol fumes and ruffled fleece, “mine fucking sucks,” he bemoaned. He buried himself in his diseased fleece, hiccuping mournfully into the fabric. "Shamura doesn't even want to spar."
Lamb moved to sit next to her dark brother, her hoof falls echoing in the all-but-empty chapel. She stroked the top of his head, watching the eye of the crown on his brow narrow. It watched her movements, not trusting the likes of another divine being.
“Actually,” the Lamb murmured, straightening her own fleece across her thighs. “he asked me about an egg.”
Goat shot up, his bell rattling and echoing in the large space. He turned to the lamb, eyes wide and bloodshot. “Seriously?” he bleated. He grabbed at her furry shoulder, forcing her to turn to him.
She was pink-faced, eyes flicking anywhere but his face. “...yes,” she mumbled, pushing the drunken vessel away. “just after you got here.”
The Goat snickered, “so I did interrupt something!”
He seemed happy, now. Or at least amused.
Lamb could never get used to how his moods swung. It made for an interesting companionship, crusading or not. She huffed down a giggle as he wiggled his eyebrows, mimicking a lewd act with his fingers. They shoved each other back and forth playfully before the Goat, finally, calmed. He looked at her, something close to concern shaping his features. “Shouldn’t you be happy about this?” he asked, brow furrowing. He craned his neck to look down at his now slumping counterpart.
The Lamb glanced at him through thick lashes, snowy and white and lovely. If wetness gathered at the corners, the Goat would never say. “An egg,” she murmured, quietly. Careful. “A child would just be another chain,”
The Goat frowned. “… aren’t you two married?”
It seemed like such an obvious thing; the correct conclusion. She was always with the cat or the cat with her, a tall glaring shadow. He’d found out as much through her gossipy, needy followers; complaining of the Lamb shutting down proposals for marriage and sex with a polite, if not mildly disgusted, smile.
Lamb bit her lip, shaking her head. Her ears flicked back, her distress at the question souring the air. “No, that too, would just be another chain,” she stood at that, curling a hand around the bell at her throat. “And he’s had far too many of those.”
The silence seemed to stretch on and on between them before the Goat snorted. “… anybody ever tell you you're empathetic to a fucking fault?”
Lamb stiffened, her shoulders heaving to her jaw. She turned to face Goat, the other vassal ooking at the ceiling. His expression was calm, almost thoughtful.
“Excuse me?” she bleated. "I've killed people."
The Goat rolled his eyes at the outrage. "Yeah, and you cry about sacrifices."
The ewe glared at her counterpart who kept looking amused.
"You heard me, Lamby,” he huffed. “Anyway, if you wanna lock down the kitty, lock down the kitty,” he grinned, stupid and still a little plastered. “if ya wanna get knocked up by the kitty, get knocked up by the fucking kitty!”
He swayed in place, watching the Lamb turn interesting shades of darkening pink. “Sides,” he shrugged, “the way he’s been trying to explode me with his mind … he’s crazy about you too,” he laughed at that, all fang and spittle. “Man, it's almost a shame you stole the crown …” he trailed off, snickering to himself.
Lamb said nothing, staring wide-eyed at her dark reflection. She turned away, again. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, twisting into her wool and forever blood-stained fleece. “Actually,” she started, sudden and quiet. “I don’t think he’s ever asked me to be together,”
The Goat rocked in place, humming. “So?”
“So?” Lamb bleated back.
Goat grinned, devious. “Start there, babe,” he laughed. “Give him an out! See other people,” he winked. Or at least, he tried. “Get your man,” he trailed off, shrugging. “Give him a choice, or whatever your worried 'bout.”
“Get what I want…,”
The Goat laughed, “Yeah, Lamby, ‘sides that crown, I mean.”
Atop the Lamb’s head, the crown flickered.