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I ruffled my wings mildly, trying to contain the heat lingering in my chest and creeping along all over my body, and modestly did I downcast my eyes upon my audits hearing the deep inhales and exhales of him breathing in my scent, and flippantly did I wish I could leave somehow, make way politely and withdraw. His eyes still seem to linger on my lighter form, a fact that, truthfully makes me quite shy, but still soon it will come to an end, I'm sure, and if it does not, I'm not quite sure what I will do. For him just staring at me makes me distinctly uncomfortably for extended periods of time. Perhaps a nice flight would ease my frivolous mind.
I am not Gaucho. To a degree, I am more similar to him than our different intelligence capacities would compare. In a way, my modesty turns out to be very like his peace of mind. My composure and quiet, short words, and typical facial expressions, are rather like his difficulty with forming syllables. I wonder if he wishes he could speak easier, if he could coherently form the words better, or maybe even the thought train. A slight crease marks my forehead. Well, that was just incredibly mean of me. Who knows why he was this way? He was made to be this way.
My head tilts subtly as I listen to him. I remembered him boldly declaring his entrance, and I consider this carefully. Somehow, I'm not sure how he would do as general. Certainly he is an able fighter, but the general also needs wits...
Somehow I feel my mind is running and circles, and I puff out my cheeks in mild annoyance. "Would you like to practice? Spar with me?" I ask nonchalantly.
[[ It's tremendously short, terribly sorry!]
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[O] soldiers lined up like knives in a cutlery drawer [gaucho]
