Cedar Sweep Say something awful

He says no more on the matter of her art and Pixie offers no more than what she's given him on the subject. 

"The sky." she repeats doubtfully, knowing that the tree's limbs - and those of its neighbors - blocks out most of the cerulean blue. "I don't imagine it would but then, if that's how you sleep best," Pixie shrugged a single russet shoulder, as if to say it was his decision. 

He descended from his perch - revealing himself to be a male of average stature and foreboding coloring - prowling closer as he introduced himself. 

"Ethos," she drawls, " tell me, are you an ethical man?" There's a teasing twist to her lips as she says it, for if he is then he's most surely in the wrong company. 

"They call me Pixie," she whispers daintily, knowing that the sweet name doesn't fit her in the least.