As of late, I've been developing a bit of a soft spot for birds and avians and whatnot. Well, it was always there to begin with, but a whole bunch of friends have been helping make it a billion times softer. Like  Ifra, for example; this may or may not be why their Kori came to exist... and how could I resist writing something involving them?

Totally not self-indulgent at all, honest. :3c

The Rito race and BotW in general is copyright Nintendo; both Kori Silverwind and the thumbnail belong to  Ifra.

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In His Care

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Cold. Mind-numbing, all-encompassing cold, all you can feel and as far as you can see in this relentless, seemingly endless blizzard. Not a pole nor banner in sight... let alone a single sign of salvation. Just frozen rock and deceptively soft snowbanks. Shivering, you trudge onwards, hardly able to hear the crunching of snow underfoot over the snowstorm’s howling gale.

This series of unfortunate events had started with an innocent hike up into the mountains near Lake Totori for another adrenaline-pumping shield-surfing trip. The snowy banks on this side of the mountain were always fantastic for the activity, and, after enough trips under your belt, you had found the perfect arrangement of supplies to make sure you were prepared but still lightweight: a warm doublet with matching pants and boots, a couple bottles of homemade heat-producing draught, and your trusty shield! A lucky find, that last one; designed like those of the long-past knights of Hyrule, it gleams as if it were still freshly forged. Well, used to gleam; enough surfing over ice and harder stuff has left it rather scuffed… but still totally usable, right? It wasn’t like you were planning on getting into any scuffles with it anytime soon, and something soft like snow wasn’t going to ruin cold, hard steel... right?

If only. You never were an expert with these kinds of things, understandably leaving the tools of war to people who knew one end of a sword from the other... and, unnoticed by you, one of those seemingly innocuous scrapes was actually a hairline crack, weathered in by the constant abuse and bitter cold... and nearly running from one end of it to the other, lengthwise. No, such a small, forgotten detail was the last thing on your mind as you raced the wind down the Hebra mountainside, the first of your spicy elixirs coursing through your veins as otherwise frigid wind buffeted your body. Weaving around trees and carving furrows through freshly fallen snow, it was everything you loved about surfing this frozen wave... and then, at that moment, your adrenaline-addled mind decided to go for a natural ramp halfway down the slope. Everything went weightless as you launched up into the air, snow and frozen brush rushing by below... only, as you touched back down, it just so happened to be over a poorly placed stone near-totally buried in the white dust.

Crrrack! Your entire weight slamming your well-worn shield down into the outcropping was just enough to turn that hairline crack into a catastrophic cleave, the no-longer-smooth underside of your makeshift board having caused enough friction to pull your feet out from under you in under a second. With a startled gasp that shocks your lungs with frigid chill, everything becomes utter chaos; cartwheeling down the slope, your concept of “up and down” rapidly flailing between the mountain and the darkly clouded sky, all you could do was hope and pray that you didn’t crash into another traitorous rock or entirely too-solid tree trunk. Mercifully, neither happened, your disoriented self instead rolling straight into a thick snowbank; aside from some bumps and bruises, nothing immediately felt broken... aside from your shield, that is. One half of it was still strapped to your foot, the other lost to the mountain forever. Pausing to kick the useless hunk of metal away, you let out a groan before rising to your feet, dusting yourself off. While lying there, you had a small, indistinct fear nibbling at the back of your mind... and now that you were looking out into the whipping fury of a sudden blizzard, it bit down. Hard.

You were lost, and, even now, you are lost. Initially, you figured the closest mountain trail marker was only a short ways away, but, as another chill-induced clumsy stumble makes both empty bottles clink around in your pack, it’s becoming increasingly clear that you got turned around somehow. Your thick clothes are probably the only reason why you haven’t frozen already, but even they are slowly but surely absorbing the cold; in the end, your body heat only holds up a matchstick to the beast that is the Hebra Mountains. Each blade of icy wind that slices through your doublet practically bleeds the remnants of your last elixir out of you. Shuddering violently, your muscles trying in vain to generate some last scraps of warmth, you shuffle aimlessly through the snow and towards where you hope is civilization.

You wince as another flurry of snowflakes bites into your face like a million tiny daggers... or, you think you wince, at least. It is getting hard, if not impossible, to feel slight actions like those; cold has long since given way to a subtly burning numbness. Who did you have to royally piss off this time to have this happen to you? Mythical Naydra? The Goddess herself? It’s hard to not feel bitter; while the weather up in the Hebra ranges was always erratic, this blizzard was perfectly mistimed. It’s as if the mountain itself wants to freeze you solid out of spite, meaningless spite. Each step drags on longer than the last, as if you’re wearing solid lead shackles; your muscles, feeling like they’re made of nothing but white chu jelly, struggle to put one foot in front of the other... yet, you have to. There’s no other choice. Crunch... shift, crunch... shift, crunch... shift... nothing.

... nothing? Your foggy mind takes precious moments to realize that there is no ground underneath your boot... and this realization only hits as your heart rises up into your frosty throat, everything becoming weightless while free-falling down the cliff you were unwittingly walking towards. Internally screaming at your limbs to work properly, you try to grab ahold of the rock face nearby... only for your foot to connect too hard with a rocky hold, the painful shock sending you nearly spinning into the snow below. A massive cloud of white is kicked up as you crash-land, yet, luckily, this bank wasn’t harboring any potentially deadly stones like the one that’d got you into this mess. Weakly coughing and groaning, you flounder like an overturned turtle until you reorient enough to shakily rise back to your feet. You don’t think your leg’s hurt after that collision, but, with everything so horribly numb, it’s impossible to be sure.

Down here, the snowfall is noticeably less aggressive... which lets your blurred vision make out a sight that you’d normally shed a tear for, if you weren’t frozen through. The circular cliffs surrounding Lake Totori, the massive spire of Rito Village... One step, two steps, and the third step sees you slumping against the trunk of a nearby pine tree for support. Four steps, five steps, and the sixth has your foot catch on a buried root, sending you crashing back into the snow. You pant as hard as your lack of energy allows, not a hint of mist leaving your lungs anymore. Another trunk being your helper, you rise to a knee, then upright once more. Seven steps, eight steps. It’s so close, signs of a well-beaten footpath cutting through the pine copse... but, while the air at this elevation is only terribly brisk at best, it still doesn’t offer any warmth to replace what you’ve lost.

Vision blurring further, you trip over your own boots and topple like a falling tree, the ground’s wintry embrace claiming you yet again. This time, however, it doesn’t let go; as much as you will your body to move, commanding it in futility, your limbs don’t obey. It’s as if you’re pinned under a hinox’s foot... yet it’s just a thin, gradually thickening layer of fresh snow. Almost painfully slow, one arm pushes through the snow, tugging down to pull you forwards. Is there snow covering your eyes, or did it suddenly become nighttime? You can’t see. You can’t move. You can’t... think. You can’t...

...

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Darkness. You don’t know how long you’ve been floating in this motionless void, floating with nothing but the sound of wind blowing through pine needles to keep you company. It could be seconds or minutes, hours or even days. Time is a meaningless concept when your body is slowly succumbing to the cold, after all. What was that saying again? “Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer,” or something along those lines...? If only you packed more supplies. If only you checked your shield before the climb. If only you hadn’t gotten turned around. If only...

Crunch... crunch. Until now, the background noise filling that dark, cold void was nothing but that accursed wind. Crunch... crunch. There it is again, though; heavy footfalls carving through snow, each one sounding closer than the last. Maybe it’s just your imagination... or maybe it’s a cold-blooded lizalfos or something, opportunistic and hungry. While it’s rather hard to focus on much of anything at the moment, imagining not being able to feel it happen due to just how numb you are is a dread-inducing train of thought.

Something digs down into the snow right by your face, something long and cylindrical. A stick, or maybe the butt of a spear? Whatever it is, it presses against your cheek; slow at first, but enough for you to actually feel it by the time it tilts your head to the side atop its snowy pillow. While it seems like a herculean task, you scrounge up enough energy to peek one eye open, peering through blurred vision... at a Rito? Initially looking like little more than a smear of indigo amidst a backdrop of cloudy skies and snowy pines, their more avian features slowly come into focus. Their beak, parted in surprise. Their eyes, widened in shock. A big, feathery “hand” raised to their chest, as if clutching their heart. As you’re taking all this in, they’re already dropping their spear and taking a knee, hurriedly brushing the snow off your back.

“By the Goddess, what happened to you!? You’re not... are you?” The shock in the Rito’s decidedly masculine tone turns to concern, and while he didn’t say it, the message was still conveyed. Thankfully, that in particular wasn’t true... yet. Lacking enough coherence to form any kind of meaningful word, a faint “ghhh...” creeps out from your icy lips instead. It’s all the Rito needed to hear, however; with a renewed vigor, his feathery mitts dust more of you out of your snowy tomb like some sort of still-living fossil. “Oh, thank goodness... but look at you, you’re almost frozen solid! C’mon, up we go...!” Without another moment wasted, the Rito scoops you up into his arms, one under your knees and the other behind your back. Despite them being built to fly, they still support your weight rather comfortably... or, maybe you’re just a lightweight. With your head supported in the crook of one wing, you’re afforded a glimpse at yourself. Not blue or black, mercifully, but... worryingly pale, the sight making you want to shiver again.

Leaving his spear behind for the time being, snow rapidly crunches and shifts underfoot as the Rito hurries through the copse of pines. Searching for something, but that something isn’t made apparent until it finally comes into focus: a crude lean-to mostly made up of a fallen tree. It wasn’t a cabin, but anything to break the wind was a blessing at this rate... though, does it even matter anymore? Despite being clutched to the Rito’s feathery chest, you can’t feel a single scrap of the body heat he no doubt possessed. Normally, you might know why, but... pairing coherent thoughts together is like fishing around in a deep, icy mist. Kicking away some burnt charcoal from a campfire long since extinguished, the Rito gently sets you back down, face-up, before taking a seat at your side.

“Hold on, friend. This is going to burn, but drink it all. Every last drop, understand?” Talking to you like this must be as entertaining as speaking with an ice sculpture, yet you appreciate the attempt nonetheless. The sound of his voice gives you something to listen to, something that isn’t the wind that had been ushering you towards the darkest of abysses. Rummaging around in a pouch at his hip, the Rito withdraws a bottle of fiery red-orange liquid. Bringing it up to his beak, he pulls the cork free, spits it away with a phtoo, and then holds it up to your chin. The smell... makes you cough, eyes watering. Well, “cough” is a strong word; “wheeze” would fit better in your current state. Cracking a slight, sympathetic smile, the Rito cups the back of your head in a feathery palm. “... told you. Extra peppers. Now, drink.”

“Drink” is a strong word, too; more accurately, you open your mouth a little wider as the Rito pours the predictably spicy fluid down your throat. While not warm temperature-wise, you can practically feel the sheer spiciness of the draught sluggishly course through your body the deeper it gushes. What of it you taste is... a fair deal harsher than your own preferred recipe, yet beggars can’t be choosers. That, and the burning fire in your gut is real, honest-to-goodness burning; warmth, a sensation that you very nearly forgot what was like. Setting aside the now-empty bottle, the Rito... brushes an errant drop of elixir from the corner of your mouth, chuckling, before feeling for something at his hip. “... now, what did I say?~” With the peppery mixture having breathed a little more life back into you, you’re able to return fire with a faint smirk... and, after a moment to collect yourself, a raspy, “... wh- who...? ”

Perking at the sound, the Rito pauses in drawing his feather-pommeled belt knife to head-tilt down at you. Likely pleasantly surprised you had managed that much compared to just a short while before... but, eyes mirthful, he soon replies, “Ah, I’m Kori. A shame we’re getting off on the wrong talon, but... Shhh, save your strength.” Gesturing to your body from the chest downwards with the tip of his knife, he adds, “... now, we need to get those clothes off you. They’re practically frozen as they are and warming you up through them would take too long.” Not wanting to needlessly jostle you around, Kori slips the blade of his knife into the doublet over your shoulder and begins slicing, peeling it away like some kind of fruit casing. It’s impressive just how stiff the fabric has become; without it, you likely would have been the same long ago. Looking at you from the corners of his eyes as he works, Kori smiles again. “... and don’t worry. I have a plan.~” It’s still hard to think clearly with how cold you are, the mild boost of energy given by that glorified pepper juice being converted near-entirely into shivering, but... was that a tease?

Tease or no tease, it’s still surprising just how little of a difference it makes between being clothed and being... mostly stripped. Kori hesitates for a moment at your underclothes, but then goes about cutting the thicker, more-frozen stuff away. Probably too thin to matter... or, was it more out of politeness? Both, maybe? While the chilling bite of the wintry air does get a smidgen more noticeable, your snow-caked clothes weren’t doing you much favors either; the fact that you struggled to even melt the snow off of yourself is concerning, but, given the dire circumstances, rather understandable. Teeth weakly chattering, a mixture of being freed from your stiffened clothes and mildly revitalized by the spicy drink gives you the willpower to cross your leaden arms over your chest; an attempt to clutch at yourself, if it weren’t for the near absence of strength, the crippling lethargy. Meanwhile, Kori straightens back up... before shuffling over to straddle your legs, his feathered hands now undoing his shawl/shoulder-pad combo. Setting it aside, the Rito finally notices your confused look. “That will... also get in the way. Need to warm you up somehow, and... hrph...” Hunching back down over you, your mostly numb body can still feel his... rather ample belly come to rest over your legs and lower torso alone. Elbows resting in the snow to either side of you, letting you look into his eyes; still mildly concerned, but much better than before. “... without blankets or flint for a fire, this is the only other thing I could think of on so short a notice.”

That said, your vision goes dark as Kori lies down overtop you, his much bigger frame easily burying almost every bit of you in some part or another of his bulk. He’s clearly not putting all his weight on you, though; otherwise, you don’t know if you’d be able to breathe as well as you are, if at all when this weak. As he slips his wing-arms underneath your back, you wiggle a little to better let them separate you from your doublet-turned-floormat. You hardly even thought twice before doing that, but there was good reason for it. First, all that feathery softness made for an excellent windbreaker from the breeze... but, more importantly, Kori feels warm. Initially dampened by the chill soaked into his overcoat of indigo feathers, it’s like being carefully flattened underneath a living, breathing weighted blanket. A comfortingly warm one at that, one you try to lean up against just to steal some of it for yourself. No doubt ruffling the down on Kori’s chest with your slow, shallow breathing, every huff helps spread a little heat over your frosty cheeks... and, tucked so close, you can practically feel a gentle thrum as he muses, “... well, more the second thing I thought of. One step at a time, though.~” There it is again, that playful tone. Maybe it was just your slowly rekindling liveliness lifting his spirits?

No matter how much the both of you tried, however, there wasn’t quite enough wing available to keep you from touching the ground at all. The frosted, snowy ground separated from your back only by your already compromised outfit... and with your body now relearning what being warm is like, it makes you shiver even more. In an attempt to soothe this, Kori slowly brushes his arms up and down your back, occasionally reaching your thighs as he spreads that coveted warmth as best he can. Eventually, you’re simply hugged up against his front, half-buried in his thick down... and the pudge underneath it. Kori wasn’t just a blanket; “pillow” or “mattress” seemed more befitting, if a pillow or mattress still just slim enough to be capable of flight. Nestled this close, you can just barely manage to eavesdrop on the inner workings of the Rito, ranging from the slow rushing of air through his lungs, the steady beating of his heart, and... deep within that well-cushioned belly, a faint, empty-sounding grrooan. For all you know, his dinner plans might have been interrupted by stumbling across your half-frozen self... though, you’re given plenty of time to ponder this. With your thoughts still half-muddied, blurred as if observed through frosted glass, it could be seconds or minutes spent lying in Kori’s wing-arms; all you know for sure is that you don’t want it to end, because that would mean having to brave the dreaded cold once again. Without anything in the way between you and Kori, upgrading from freezing to merely deeply chilled had been made possible... but, conversely, now you don’t know how you’re going to make it to more-permanent shelter alone.

A discomforting thought, one you try to smother away by pressing your face a little deeper into that downy layer with trembling muscles. It helps you make out another quiet glrrnnn rumbling up from Kori’s pillowy gut, and, soon after, his grip around your back tightens a little. “Okay... Going to need to lift you upright for this. One, two...” Simultaneously grateful for the warning and dismayed at the prospect of the freezing wind licking at your unprotected body, you can’t help but groan into the Rito’s feathers as you’re made to sit up. Fogged up memories of just how rough your trip in the mountains has been are coming back, much like the very real aches and pains you accrued; without adrenaline or numbing cold to help mask it away, the afflicted areas were beginning to throb like silent drums. Dull now, but slowly climbing in intensity. Kori hears your groan, that much is clear, but he still lifts you up to his chest, an arm behind your back and the other under your rear. “Really making me wish your coat had been made with proper down... but, since I still need mine, how’s about we share?~” You meet his eyes a third time, and now there’s an undeniably smug, mischief air to the Rito... but, more eye-catching is just how wide he’s letting his beak yawn open, his lolling blue-black tongue practically guiding your gaze into that dark-fleshed, glistening cave like an unfurled carpet. Kori’s breath rolls out in deep, slow huffs now, that humid, steamy fog hot on your face... as he ushers your still-weak form up and upwards, closer and closer to that parted beak. Your beleaguered thoughts struggle to keep up with reality; surely he wasn’t going to...!? “Ahhhhh...”

“Nnmph.~” For a second time now, Kori steals your vision; every last hint of glare from the surrounding snow is cut off in exchange for the inky darkness inside his beak. The beak whose upper hooked tip now gingerly carves a furrow through your hair, closer and closer to the back of your neck. The wet, squishy interior, though, is what sends another hearty shudder up your spine, your shoulders reflexively tucking in as you tense. It took a while for Kori to remind you what being warm felt like, but this is something else; it took a sledgehammer to the thin layer of ice still locking the memory away. While Kori takes a moment to simply suckle on his frozen Hylian treat, you are very nearly scalded by just how hot that inner beak-flesh is, every swish or lap of his tongue painting trails of nerve-tingling heat over your skin. It’s a shock for sure, but not quite one that strays into painful territory; comparable to diving into a mountain hot spring without acclimating first, if slightly worse. It’s not hard to imagine it being worse, however, if the Rito hadn’t made his first attempt to warm you up some. Lessening the difference in temperatures, minimizing the chance that this “idea” would cause more harm. Not all the overwhelming heat in your face is being stolen from Kori, though; cheeks flushing red, you remind yourself that it’s either this or freezing, now. This last chance was given through sheer luck, when you were teetering on the brink of oblivion... but...

Rather conveniently for Kori, your shoulder-tucking makes it that much easier for the bulky avian to go from sliding his beak down your neck to right over the beginnings of your body proper... or, it will once he finishes slurping down that far. Lap after slobber-slathering lap sllcks at your throat, reaching a little further each repetition as you’re fed into range. Misconstruing your tucking’s intent (or lack thereof), his deep chuckle reverberates around your increasingly slickened head. All Kori needs to do is press the crown of your scalp to his gullet’s upper end now that you’re satisfactorily lathered in steamy, lubricating drool... and gllrk. A carefully measured, yet clearly experienced gulp tugs your head into the smothering embrace of his throat, no doubt showing through his neck-feathers as an indistinctly round lump. That muscular, yet pleasantly lush chute’s peristalsis immediately gets to work, wave after fleshy wave running under your jaw and over everything else in tug after gentle, inexorably downward tug. Glllurk. Kori’s beak-tip now grazes its way between your shoulders, then upper back; the line of snug, slimy heat crawling down your body brought with it the same shudder-inducing transition from cold to hot... but, now that you’re expecting it, it lacks the same bite it had the first time. At least, you would shiver, but the combined snugness of Kori’s gullet and beak are already making it hard to move...

Gllck. No longer needing to support your back with a wing, the outer-feathers of Kori’s now-free arm brush against your belly... as he rubs over his throat, feeling how the bumps and bulges of your upper half sink deeper and deeper with each swallow. It’s not something the Rito needed to do at this point, and that only furthers how your heart is weakly fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage. Practically racing, yet to circulate blood... or a slow-burning fluster? The teasing in his voice. The way he had shown off before tucking you in like a salmon. The sheer lack of hesitation in doing something like this, swallowing someone alive and whole. Kori... enjoyed it. Your current predicament had made it a necessity, but... what if this was merely an option amongst others? Would he still have done so? You weren’t expecting to feel embarrassed of all things by someone actively saving your life, you think, yet... with more and more blood rushing to your head, your thoughts are starting to swim. That mild wooziness mixing with the seemingly endless warmth housed within Kori’s frame, warmth actively ground into your bare flesh (and what little underclothing you’re still wearing) with every ripple, every gulp. Your heart pounds in your ears... Wait, no, that’s Kori’s. It must be, with how strong each thu-thump sounds. Slow, steady, metronome-like... In your state, very nearly hypnotic with its vitality...

With your alertness slipping through your fingers, you hardly even notice the pressure building at your face until Kori begins gently pushing a broad, feathery mitt over your rump, pushing inwards. The occasional gwrlll or groan could be heard, if distantly, as you descended Kori’s throat... though, now they were so much clearer, so very close. With everything above your waist already either being licked or gulped away from the cold, harsh outdoors, the Rito subtly tenses... before firmly shoving, heavily swallowing as he does. The combined efforts fluidly pop your head through that stubborn esophageal sphincter with a slick schlrp, and, for the first time since this started, you have some sense of... almost personal space. While the wrinkled inner folds of Kori’s stomach don’t immediately collapse in on you, the desire to do so oozes from how they graze your face... and even then, that control doesn’t last long. Once the next, slightly muffled glurck seals even more of your more warmth-starved parts away, your thighs and even lower, your face is promptly smushed down into the pit of Kori’s gut; even as it follows the organ’s curvature so that you’re not smothered in the pool of hot, viscous ooze lurking there, the surrounding flesh reflexively squeezes inwards! While stuffy and near-oppressively humid, the atmosphere in Kori’s stomach wasn’t wholly unpleasant before this stifling, prolonged churn... and not even the eagerly welcoming knead does anything other than render you an even messier hot mess. No tingling, no prickling, nothing of the sort...

By the time Kori’s beak wraps around just below your knees, he’s already tilted his head back to toss the rest of your legs more easily down his throat. Like a salmon, indeed. With most of your body’s mass already snugly held in Kori’s, each toss’s jostling only bumps your calves against the edges of the Rito’s beak. Inch by inch, gulp after glrrk... and, coupled with gravity, Kori need only relax his neck to slide the rest of your legs down into his very warm, very wet depths in a staggered, otherwise fluid motion. The transition from cold to heat is especially noticeable once his beak clacks shut behind your toes, the sudden and jarring absence of chill making you squirm despite just how utterly grateful you are for that simple fact. With more and more of you spilling down into Kori’s gut, its welcoming kneading relents just enough for you to weakly wriggle upright into a very snug ball. The task becomes significantly easier once you’re entirely packed away in bird-stomach... but, sluggish or no, your stirring soon stirs up a little something extra. An ominous groan rumbles through the thick, humid darkness before the lush, slimy flesh quakes inwards around your form, a hearty “buoorrp!” blasting back up whence you came.

“Mhmm... Excuse me.~” Whatever your flavor happens to be, that must’ve given Kori one last taste of it. That, and add a little extra tightness to the otherwise... comfortable, full-body pressure smushing you down. “... and sorry about that shove. Stress doesn’t make swallowing some Hylian-shaped ice any easier, hah.” It takes you a moment to realize what Kori is doing now, but the overabundance of warmth is doing wonders in restoring your ability to feel, for better or worse. Past the heavy, gooey massaging and viscous, heated slime soaking you through, Kori’s broad, feathery hands stroke slow, relaxed circles over his moderately heftier potbelly. Fingertips and palm-flats alike pressing rounded, indistinct bumps over your head, into your back, against your legs... Admittedly, his gentle touch is becoming more and more soothing the more acclimated you become, aided along by the inescapable rippling of stomach-flesh against shield-surfer. At the same time, though, this is still coming as a bit of a surprise to put it lightly; this is the stuff of childhood bedtime stories or mere rumors, yet... also an oddly fitting conclusion to a rather hectic, extraordinary day.

Precious moments pass as Kori continues rubbing you down, ensuring you’ve settled down comfortably... and not once do you feel a hint of pain that you hadn’t already brought with you. The ooze that clings to your near-bare form is still warm enough to send prickles through your recently chilled skin, but that’s about it. The constant, natural contractions of the Rito’s all-encompassing, folded gut walls handle you with more care than you’d expect; snugly clinging at the worst between stretches of looser relaxation, treatment for a friend rather than food. Speaking of, the air swallowed down with you, while stuffy and mildly stale, only carries the faint scent of fish rather than anything caustic. Remnants of an earlier meal, perhaps? No-longer-muffled gllrrnnns occasionally distract from Kori’s distant heartbeat, his pleased humming... but not from your aches. Rather, your... lack thereof? Pressure that, no matter how measured, would’ve normally spiked pain through your bruised limbs simply wasn’t anymore, and the visceral sensation of Rito-guts sliding against bare flesh meant it wasn’t numbing or dulling your touch. Instead, it’s instilling a mixture of restorative bliss and utter exhaustion, as if you have yet to climb up the slopes at all while also having done so thrice or more over. As everything begins to sway from side-to-side, weighty footsteps making you subtly bob along, you mumble out in pleasantly confused surprise, “H... How...?”

Not immediately coming to a stop, you nearly think that Kori hadn’t managed to hear you until he finally breaks the relative silence: “Just looking for my... ah, there it is. This? It’s just... a talent of mine, you could say. You’d be surprised by how much practice I’ve had.~” As Kori speaks, the all-encompassing pressure keeping you company suddenly doubles down, squishing you into a more compact bundle while the Rito bends over to reach for something. He had a spear with him before your predicament interrupted him, didn’t he? More pressing than his chest over his you-stuffed gut, though, was what he said. Not only heavily implying that this wasn’t out of the ordinary for him, but... was that practice why you were feeling so much better so quickly? Where the blizzard’s fury had near-totally drained you of life, each and every clench or sqllrch of slimy stomach-lining insistently squeezes replacement liveliness back into you. Liveliness... without the energy to do anything with it. While you at least had an excuse for not being able to squirm against Kori’s voracious advances earlier, even now you feel no more energetic than a sleepy kitten. Listlessly swaying from one side to the other as Kori resumes his walk, you let out a long, soft siiigh while the Rito’s insides massage you like a sizable lump of dough. Slow, gentle, tender...

Is this tiredness a sign that today’s events are finally catching up to you? Is it some kind of hidden, unspoken cost for so thorough a treatment? Could it maybe even be both? It’s all so very surreal, yet it does little to mask the sheer gratitude welling up in you. With your weak grin hidden away from the dark clouds overhead and the swirling snow they brought, you muffle, “Th- Thank you, Kori. You... you’re a lifesaver.” While you can’t see it, you can still picture the way Kori’s beak turns up into a smile again as one of his feathery mitts rubs down over your head; a careful circling that has you ducking down under it, your already-heavy eyes going half-lidded... “All in a day’s work,” comes the Rito’s reply. “Someone certainly sounds cozy, though. Most times I do this, they usually... struggle a little? Rarely do they go down like a trout might...~” Kori’s semi-muffled voice still positively drips with teasing, his casual, throaty chuckle filling your mind as your heart flutters. Did it get a little warmer in here...? “Mhmm... I can’t blame you. Today must have been awfully rough. Nothing to worry about now, though...” In one breath, he had your breath catching in your throat... and the next, he was reconfirming feelings you were already embarrassedly accepting. You’re safe now; safe, warm, protected... Without even thinking, your head slumps down to the side, cheek nestled cozily against the oozing inner folds of Kori’s lush-walled stomach like you might a pillow.

If you listen closely, you think you can hear the faint thuds of Kori’s taloned feet meeting the ground... but, more often than not, they’re lost amidst the soothing organic chorus of viscous sloshes and curve-hugging glrrrtches, rhythmic heartbeats and muted breaths. Your world has effectively shrunken to this sole Rito-contained pocket, your own personal hot spring... and with how what lurked on the other side of all that flesh, muscle, and pudge was so comparatively frigid, you really can’t say you mind it. Silken stomach lining tenderly grinding over your every inch... By now, Kori’s fond rubbing had eased back into indistinct, down-ruffling strokes. “Can’t say I caught your name in all that, but... I suppose we can save that for dinner. Sun’s already starting to set. How’s some salmon meunière sound?” The mere mention of food makes your stomach growl... or, you think it does, anyways. Kori must be fond of that dish as well if it made his own gut gllrrmmn the way it just did, a hungry rumble whose vibrations only really pulse another layer of mild relaxation into your weary frame. Unsure if you’re loud enough to contest the noise, you still murmur out some kind of wordless affirmative. “Ohhh, good! I could always go for seconds... or thirds, if you want.~” There’s Kori’s increasingly familiar teasing tone again, and with the way he worded that... Chuckling again, the Rito continues, “... what? I already told you I don’t mind sharing! After all, Huck’s snowquill clothes cost a pretty rupee, sooo... If you end up wanting to share my feathers a while longer, I’d love to.~”

Trailing back off into the prior thud- and -gwrrgl-filled silence, Kori scritches his broad fingertips over his somewhat weightier potbelly, felt as several subtle bumps rubbing this way and that over your bared form. That’s not what sends a faint shiver up your spine, though, nor is it what makes your slower, heavier breathing catch. This pause while Kori assumedly finishes his patrol about the lake is the perfect time to speak up, to say anything in protest of his implications... yet nothing comes forth. The words are there, half-formed and hazy, yet your fogged up, flustered mind can’t stitch them together... or won’t. Is it that you can’t wriggle against the ceaseless rubdown of Kori’s gut, or that you won’t? Surely it won’t hurt to take the kind Rito up on his generous offer for a short while longer, right? That’s what you think to yourself as you slowly give in to the encroaching exhaustion, the blissful relaxation, head slumped to the side and face half-buried in that hot, gooey full-body embrace.

... maybe, in the end, this shield-surfing trip hadn’t turned out so bad after all...