⌜፠⌟ Initially, Tyvek'ki had planned on getting him to come out into the yard and pouncing on him, but the moment she sees him, is washed over by that negativity, instead she kneels, her wing bending around him to rest the wrist on his far shoulder. That’s all of how she touches him, though, even she not daring to get any much closer than that, and it is a brief touch.
While she is no bigger, her patterns have changed drastically. If she looked like a sunset before, now, he’s sure if she flew up into one, she’d melt into the clouds like a stroke of watercolor. Her eyes meet his, wholly unafraid of contact. “I had hoped this would be a መልካም ህብረት, a happy reunion, but you are not happy at all.”
Her head slowly cranes down until it’s level with him, which wouldn’t be very far if he weren’t so minimized. “የቀድሞ ጓደኛ, what troubles does the wolf have? Should I let the wind return me to you another time?”
Oddly, he doesn’t shy away from the contact, but he doesn’t welcome it, either. He just looks…empty. Numb. Like he’s been told the worst news of his life, and he’s still in shock.
Which…isn’t far from the truth.
He takes quiet note of how she’s changed, but her smell and her signature were the same. Not hard to recognize someone when their scent doesn’t change a lick in three years.
“Lucky guess,” he growls, his sarcasm, rather than playfully stinging, bites like the bear trap his jaw so resembles. “If I told you the whole list, we’d be all day with it. Just come in. It’s a relief to see a friendly face come back to me after so long, young Flyer. I can’t offer you anything but my company, but you’ll be a welcome distraction.”
⌜፠⌟ When she closes her eyes and breathes in his heartbeat, she nearly has to recoil, his energies are so misaligned. His memories don’t come to her, she won’t pry like that, but he worries her. And so she coils around him again, tucking either wing over his sides.
“I won’t come inside, this day is beautiful. You should enjoy it as I do.” Her tail shuffles across the ground, feathers sweeping aside any dirt or dust on his porch. “When was the last time you’ve eaten, ተኩላ? Nay, hunted? You smell all wrong, friend, it is unlike you to fall to a negativity outside of fury.”
The very tip of her snout, beaklike, preens through a lock of his hair without much use, but as a gesture. With all the feathers, it feels like she’s mother henning him. “If you want a distraction, perhaps spearing birds from dragonback would suffice?”