Whitefish River Lay your eyes, look up upon me for the better

With Dulce having retreated from patrol, the crow took leisure to preen his moonish hide, which retained its tousled look regardless no matter how much he laved. Only when he was certain he’d groomed away any unwelcome scents upon him, Vonn arrived to the meeting with all the humility of a rooster.

Shoulders held with a bold indolence, the crow loftily winged his way past each female by way of flattering greetings — and did the same to males, because praise should be lifted to everyone, in his mind. He did all of this with a raised chin to brandish a scarred, sanguine smile: brushing flanks with timid Chai and frivolous Fern, canting his pallid head for Speedy and Deimos.

​On and on it went, and he lavished in it, until he reached the front of the congregation. And then, because it was completely unnecessary of anyone to do, he bowed before the Count with a flourish.

“You are looking as brawn as a bear as ever, my Count. Who better to preside over these riverlands, though?” his own humor wrying his lips as he peered up to Ira, then, from beneath dark lashes. “I will never forget this day, my lady, for it is your beauty that gleams into the places of my heart where not even the sun dares to venture.” Whoever she was, she certainly blessed them all with their presence, no?

...But it was Vonn, so of course he would.

Then, thinking it a good moment to excuse himself, the crow rose, unashamedly preening inside, and feathered away to settle among the front row. Whoever sat next to him would be set upon with a roguish simper; to suffer whatever sweet-talk he’d patiently save for their next encounter. But otherwise, he remained quiet, listening to the leaders speak.