Fairspell Meadow Keep me running, running scared

Red eyes narrow to calculating slits, observing the brightly colored woman as if he could read her mind simply by body language alone. Last he needs is a sly assassin convincing him to decrease his guard. He’s been through too much to die now.

“Fine,” he says, tone condescending—doing a favor for her, not for him, surely. The red male descends, crossing his bleeding paw over a forearm and laying sphinx-like. Caution clear in the way he watches even the slightest movement. “I am in search of a golden flower that blooms in rings before the petals curl, and begin to resemble a hedgehog.”

“If you even know what a hedgehog is.” He adds after a beat of silence.