Puck is hardly afraid of the dark, his kin being betimes more familiar with it than the sun. However, there is little love among the fairies of the wood for metal cages.
His breath sounds loud to him on this descent, huffing off the close walls. Even the gearish creakings don't seem enough to mask it. Havelock is near and alive, and his own breathing clearly audible; Puck resists an urge, childish if he had ever been a child, to bury his face in his chest.
Admittedly, in the dark and the close, that particular tangent offers its own distractions.
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Puck is hardly afraid of the dark, his kin being betimes more familiar with it than the sun. However, there is little love among the fairies of the wood for metal cages.
His breath sounds loud to him on this descent, huffing off the close walls. Even the gearish creakings don't seem enough to mask it. Havelock is near and alive, and his own breathing clearly audible; Puck resists an urge, childish if he had ever been a child, to bury his face in his chest.
Admittedly, in the dark and the close, that particular tangent offers its own distractions.