( the little chirrup makes him smile. she has a lot more fox mannerisms than he does crow ones, and sometimes he wonders if he's been going about shifting wrong his whole life. she has such a warm, genuine love for her fox form — and while it's not like he dislikes flying, or any of the other wonders being a crow has given him, he's always seen it as more of separate entity, almost, from himself. a kindred spirit that inhabits the same body, wants the same things. something he calls on. he has nothing of a corvid's habits, and the few commonalities between them could be passed off as quirks of personality.
he settles into the recliner, knees spread to either side of her shoulders, and he sets that bottle down beside him, doling out a generous handful of it in the meantime, so he can warm it up before putting it on her skin. )
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he settles into the recliner, knees spread to either side of her shoulders, and he sets that bottle down beside him, doling out a generous handful of it in the meantime, so he can warm it up before putting it on her skin. )
So what's your tattoo about?
( yes, he saw that. )