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He doesn’t seem to share in your concern, brushing off mention of his injury as lightly as he would twitch off a teasing fly. “It’s but a scratch, m’lady,” he rumbles, opening his wings as if you are welcome to inspect them. The sight of his full wingspan takes you by surprise, and you shy slightly, dancing to the side like an autumn leaf in the breeze. He certainly looks…strong, so if he says it’s just a scratch, perhaps it really doesn’t bother him. It certainly looks gory though, and you offer, “Maybe so, but you should at least wash the blood off.”
When you look up, his golden eyes seem to be searching for yours, and you fidget under his gaze, folding and unfolding your own wings nervously with a light ruffling of copper feathers. Your eyes are on the ground again, and after a moment, you watch his metallic hooves move toward you through the grass as he steps forward. You head jerks up to meet the brush of something unexpectedly soft as it trails along your cheek, and just as soon as it’s gone, you realize that it was nothing other than Hawkeye’s extended muzzle. You cringe in embarrassment—surely, his muzzle was extended in greeting once more, and you unwittingly turned it into some sort of caress, but your stomach is dropping to the bottom of your ribcage nevertheless. It is not a sensation unfamiliar to you, for you feel as if you are falling out of the sky in midflight, but it has never happened when all four hooves are planted firmly on the ground. “Oh!” you gasp, lowering your head, “I’m sorry…I…I didn’t mean…” To your dismay, you find yourself stuttering, stumbling over your words clumsily. What a mess you’ve made of things—so much for calm, cool, and collected.
OOC: short post is short D:
@[Hawkeye]
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