He cannot help the slight ruffling of his feathers as her gaze freely trails his large appendages, ’There are many large things about me, sweetheart,’ but his overtly flirtatious words died on his lips as a question fell out hers.
And he laughed, a loud, bawdy guffaw came out his dark muzzle as his yellow eyes danced in amusement. He had been complimented on his prowess and experience before, but never (even in intimate matters) had he been accused of godliness. “No, sweet Elspeth,” his rough voice came from between chuckles, “I am no god,” he paused assessing the mare’s nervous apprehension and softening his outright roguish words to a simple, “Just a man looking to enjoy the company of a woman.”
It was then that he realized she was at a disadvantage for his name. Though, to be certain, there were many women who had known the vulture but not his name, the mare’s hesitant and worried demeanor strongly hinted that this woman was not of that sort. So, his rough voice sounded again, “Forgive me, lovely, I am Graasvoel. But call me Gaal.”
He took a few, long strides in the water, feeling the alluring play of water on his feather legs. To distract himself from such a pleasing sensation, he asked, “Are you new to Helovia, then? I just recently passed through the Threshold.”
@Elspeth