Rikyn

Glad she doesn’t have any insults this time, I settle in the lesson in the usual way: staring at her mouth. It might seem weird, but some of the sounds involved in this horrible bird language are rare from the normal noises one makes using common, and I’ve found that its far easier to repeat what she says if I avoid the common courtesy of eye-contact, in favor of lip reading. So, when her first word arrives directly in front of my face, a bit of worry steps in that the lack of insults won’t last long - though the worry doesn’t last long, either.

"Chare," I repeat, her warm breath inspiring various tingles, which only seem to grow worse, the more she prods. Though "Riv," nose, isn’t that bad, her serious eyes looming before mine quite suddenly, "Lenta…" and "…Odaya…" make me have to stare at the ceiling, and think about wolves, war, pain, anything other than the feelings that they inspire in my carnal flesh, and the guilt which rises next.

"Torga-ah!" I remark with a chuckle, my eyes suddenly torn from the ceiling to mirthfully appeal to her to not do that again, her lips having touched on a place I’d hoped only my mother and Aithniel would ever know the weakness of. Clearing my throat in a masculine way, and continuing on with the lesson, the touch of her muzzle against my back again draws the warmth to looming, my own nose moving to touch her spine, too, behind her wings, where the feathers won’t touch me, unsure why it is I’ve done so. "…Irge."

Surprisingly, her teeth nip into my haunches, next, and a single hoof does instinctually dart out for her, my mind still that of a warrior, despite being asked to take on the tasks of a scholar, presently. Her laughter sings out behind me, and my ears fall back to catch the sound, and feign anger. I’m currently to distracted with liking her a bit too much to care that she’s just assaulted me, like I might had she not just been touching all over me.

"Hey!" I say, a mock glower rising to my face, as I turn about to face her, that glower fluttering over the smirk looming just beneath, "watch who’s choyo you go biting around here. I might not miss you next time."

The next part of the lesson is not body parts; I eye her quizzically as the sentence is procured, my mind studiously working over each word, while I occasionally mutter an audible attempt aloud, until I’m sure I can repeat it, at least well enough to be understood. That she seems to think the sentence is amusing doesn’t breach my desire to learn, and I miss the flicker of laughter that threatens to overwhelm her while I practice whatever it is in my head. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if it was something condescending towards myself, as a few of the things she’s had me say are, I certainly don’t expect it; she has, after all, mostly taught me useful things.

"Anha hakelat… anna khirrof… jin tawak haji. Uhmmmm, er…" shit, you started before you were ready again… "vikeesa? Vikeesi? Vikeesi! Vikeesi, laz’t fichat me."

Smugly smiling and puffing my chest, I immediately realize that I haven’t a clue what I just told her. It’s about me, of course, anha and anna being words that meant I and mine, and I am of the thought that it’s about a woman. Otherwise, I’m unsure, and the likelihood that I just called myself a pretty, pretty princess strikes me like a ton of bricks.

"What did I just say?" I ask her, suspiciously.