Hushed Willows My arms are wide

at first she does not seem too happy to have him approach. her scruff bristles up into thin white spines, and caw blinks and slows his approach, still sniffing at the air. close up she does smell like faeries, and very much not like saints, and as soon as he finds this to be the case he relaxes, settling back with a quick shake of his fur and wagging his tail happily when she looks to vrána, who shifts, her claws pricking against his skin.

she does have a very quiet voice, though. his ears prick forward to hear it. caw is not nearly so quiet when he speaks, but then that is not something he thinks about so often.

it is probably harder to speak with someone who also does not know english so well, but nonetheless caw grins toothily at her, glad to see he is not the only one who is having this problem! sometimes it seems like it.

"yes! am caw. this vrána." he noses at her demonstratively before returning his gaze to the new faerie. "am sorry! do not know your name so well. what is?"

the cadence to her voice does not sound like his own, but she is a faerie, so he is hopeful! introductions thus made, he continues, "am from north! came to faerie court only few months ago." a tilt of his head, curious; he blinks before continuing, "an labhraíonn tú Gaeilge?"