Stone Circle le petit prince

In no time at all, a woman came to greet him. This was perplexing for multiple reasons. Primarily it was her roundness that brought a blush to his face, a bashful shift of his attention from her approaching figure to the ground at his feet, but when she spoke he looked up again. The woman's introduction and stated title made his heart flutter with a flare of anxiety — a matriarch! A queen! She was clearly so blessed.

It was the boy's turn to speak. He found himself tongue-tied for a few moments, shivering despite the warmth of the humid spring air around them. Anxiety hung about him like a cloak. His voice, when he does finally speak, is quiet like a whisper and well enunciated, except there is a clear accent.

Hello, miss. I... I wonder, is there room here? Was he being too presumptuous? His tail curled against his haunches as he sat down, swallowed a lump in his throat, and then realized he hadn't introduced himself properly. I—my name, I am—I am Oiseaux. Had he already messed up? Oh dear, what if he had offended her?