So he kept himself landlocked, tagging along with the foraging group in search of... was it feathergrass? Or culver's root? Despite his best intentions, it was hard for him to focus on plants. There were so many subtleties that he just didn't care enough about, and it was difficult to discern feathergrass from eulalia grass when they were both so terribly boring.
So naturally, the birds steal his attention too. There are subtle insinuations in the motion of their wings, messages in a language that he is learning, always learning. He watches those dark wings beat against the crisp winter air, each flap striking a different note in his head. A song takes form: sweet, symmetrical, and repetitive. He does not have words for it yet; he might not ever have words for it, which saddens and frustrates him. He has not yet learned that sometimes the greatest of songs do not have lyrics-- that sometimes they do not even have sounds.
His feet wander in time to the song in his head, away from the group in a swaying, dancelike walk like someone who's had a little too much wine. He's looking intently at the ground now but his mind is still far above them, up where dark wings flap and a song continues to unfurl. From the corner of his eye, a stillness catches his attention just as much as a sudden motion would. He lifts his head and finds himself looking into amber eyes, each with three blue dots beneath like windows to the bright sky his mind soars through.
She is short, almost as short as him, and surely if they've met before he would have remembered it. He extends a wing in greeting, waving cheerfully before tucking the appendage neatly back to his side. "Hey there!" His voice is clear and golden on the cold, still air. "What's on your mind?" He thinks he is being entirely polite and not at all intrusive.
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@Reckitt <3
