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The gypsy's brows knit together at Rosalie's reaction, but Last's little story soon gave her something amusing for a distraction. Oh, she could picture it, indeed. It was almost sad, how wary the twins seemed of poor Macaire. There again, they were acting rather wary of her lately, too. Perhaps it was their natural state.

But then she heard something, and stared in puzzlement as Wellie landed on Last's shoulder. It was not unheard of for the animals to visit a twin not their own, but it did not seem as though Wellie were carrying any particular message. In fact, she was treating him just like...

...Rajani looked closer at the twin before her. It was dark, she had assumed that only Last would be out for an evening adventure with the lady smith. But no. The unusual fear; the Fred's white face; Wellie's suspicious stare; Rosalie's nerves. Realization dawned in her eyes before her entire face went horribly, frightfully blank.

There should be anger, she thought. It had only been a few short days since he had professed to have feelings for her. No, that wasn't quite true. He had promised her that any feelings he might have meant nothing. That must be true, if what she were seeing was real.

There should be relief, too. After all, hadn't she wanted him to move on? Perhaps there should even be amusement. Of all the people to move on to, it was his own twin's lover. Did Rosalie realize who she was with? Of course she did. It wasn't fear for herself that had put that edge in her voice. Even a few scant moments ago, she had tried to put herself between Raj and First. The smith had wanted to protect First, she realized. And Last? That wasn't even a question. First would never go behind his brother's back. Not for something like this.

Were she feeling herself, Rajani might not have taken the time to come to those logical conclusions. She might have taken a knife to one or both of the lovers. But the gypsy had come to the logical conclusions, and she was not feeling herself at all. Instead, there was only this gaping maw of emptiness where something should be.

Loss, she realized in a detached sort of way. Loss and betrayal. It was as though something were suddenly missing from her that she never even knew she had; and she knew, somehow, that there was no way to get it back. The gypsy was familiar with loss. She could certainly recognize it. The source, however, was another matter. What was gone?

When the clarity of her detachment offered no immediate answer, she moved on. "You really meant it when you said it meant nothing," she observed, her voice holding an odd hollow note. Oh, yes. There should be anger.

The knife which Rosalie had been half-expecting would have been better: First's eyes widen as the gypsy speaks, and he doesn't even seem to hear Rosalie beside him. His fingers have gone numb, his expression shot through with pain -- this ain't nothing like a cut or a punch or a stabbing, all've which he's lived through in his tender years. He'd take all of that together over this, this whatever it is.

"Raj," he says, and his voice is hoarse, a dry crackle that doesn't at all sound like him. "It ain't like that," he whispers, "you know it ain't." But like what? Even he doesn't seem to know. "I cain't ferget and I cain't change, but you ain't nivir gonna have me. I always knowed that. That's why I nivir said nothing."

He looks sidelong at Rosa, and there's an apology in his gaze for her, too, before he drags his attention back to Rajani. "Fer jest a few hours, I kin pretend I ain't me, that I'm Last, that I'm worth somethin' and I got somebody. When them wolves come, I'll go off and I'll face 'em, but if you ain't gonna take me on, don't take my pretendin' from me. 'Twixt now and then I ain't got much else to look to."

As much as she doesn't want to, as much as she wants to hide it, the smith is already unbalanced enough by her concern over the two others, and can't help that sudden flash of pain that crosses over her face. Hurt, betrayed, so many words for it all, and she can't seem to throw if away. "...Is that all this is?" There's the slightest bit of a choke, voice much quieter than he's heard from her before. She gives a tiny laugh, one that's just a bit more wounded than she intended. "Well. I guess I've made a fool out of myself for this. For not pretending."

Though those words may very well gain Rajani's ire, she doesn't care, she's feeling too badly to care. She was genuinely enjoying the day, she hadn't for a moment even pretended she was with anyone other than First until they happened upon Rajani, but even then she hadn't outright lied about who she was with. Not mentioned, yes, not corrected, certainly. Without even a second thought, too wounded to feel the need to continue, she finally untangles her fingers from his.

There's a slight flinch when Rajani does slap him from the smith, though she's already shaking, trying to keep a grip on herself. It's the nerves, she tries to tell herself, it's because it's Rajani caught her doing something that wasn't necessarily good in her books. She bites her tongue, trying to just breathe through it all, though can't seem to resist breathing in slowly and making one last comment. "Good on you Raj. I...I think that was well deserved." Her voice trembles, though she's still got enough left in her to keep her eyes off the pavement. Oh he deserves to know how much that hurt, and all the explaining he'll have to do to his brother about why his lady love is upset. And is it starting to rain? It must be, just a few drops, because one is already falling down her cheek, though she quickly tries to wipe it away as if it never landed there.

There's only two people still living she'll ever show her tears to. Neither are him.

Rajani scarcely heard Rosalie's first words - they might sit in her memory until she could listen to them, but just then they were less than unimportant. It was her second comment, however, her congratulation that turned the gypsy's ire onto her. "Don't get me started on you, lady smith," she warned.

There were so many things she could condemn the woman for that she did not know where to begin, and Rosalie's tears seemed to have little more effect on the gypsy than they had when last she saw them. No doubt sleeping with her lover's brother - twin and with permission or otherwise - was only the very tip of the list. However, the gypsy's fury rendered her momentarily incoherent and by the time she was ready to begin, First seemed to have recovered.

His flat, accusing stare struck her and infuriated her all at once. How dare he look at her with those eyes! How dare he think to castigate her while he was the one being so bloody asinine! Why did he have to go and develop feelings for her in the first place? If he hadn't, this whole mess never would have happened!

And why was he sorry?

She didn't want him to be sorry. She wanted him to...oh, she hardly knew what. She wanted to yell and scream and throw things and have a fit like a madwoman. But she didn't. Instead, she fixed First with her most disdainful, accusing stare and spoke, her voice the very arctic chill. "Spare me your apologies," she said. "They mean nothing."

With what rigid, forced composure she had left in her, Rajani turned and left them both behind, never looking back.

There's a moment of uncertainty -- she looks back and forth between them both -- but Unwelcome will land lightly on Rosalie's hand and settle down. She is no mean protection, and First is comfortable leaving Rosalie with only the rook's company the whole of the way back to her smithy. Should someone be fool enough to dare meddle with her charge, they will find themselves the recipient of an attacker with a beak like a knife, and the sure, firm knowledge of just how soft and delicate a man's eyes are ..

He stands where he is, cheek still stinging, chest still tight, and when he speaks again it is softly, in an aching whisper. "No. Ain't never been nobody so brave'n'strong --" He slides his hands into his pockets and turns away, with no particular destination in mind, no direction but to go in the opposite way from them both. Unless Rosalie strains, therefore, she will not hear his final farewell, muttered to the empty air.

" .. s'why he loves you."