Tuktu Weir nothing like a big bad bridge

"henryk," he tests the name on his tongue, eyes wandering as he considers the rhyming potential.  whenever he learns a new name, his first instinct is to do this.  his mind is a myriad of unchained tunes and fragmented couplets.  all he has to do is find the links that will put them together. "valiant and keen, fled a horrible regime / daring, young henryk watches beavers by the stream!" the melody is fanciful and fun, an upbeat start to what he surely intends to be an epic tale.  he sings out the lyrics he creates on the spot, much to the fright of the beavers they had once been observing.  they don't appear to be fans of ravinger's booming tenor as the beasts startle and upset one of their dams.  the bard takes no notice.

"ha! how about that?  i think i have just found another muse," he leans closer to henryk with a conspiratory smirk. "never to displease, doth stinky rodents bewitch / and thus ends our hero upend'd in a ditch!" convinced he has just composed a grammy-worthy verse, he flashes his fellow packmate an absolutely shit-eating grin. "ah, what can i say, my darling? when it comes to me, it really comes to me." ravinger, you are so cool and so brilliant, you little rascal, you. his moons over himself via inner monologue, nearly forgetting that he had been hitting on henryk.

"so you aren't spoken for? good to know! neither i am. i am what many call a free bird," cue suggestive eyebrow wiggle. "i fly from tree to tree, mingling with all the other free birds, invite them back to my nest, and... well... see what happens. the birds and the bees, and all that, you know, henryk."