Lost Creek Hollow goldeagle

Pale eyes stared over dark muzzle, watching, wary. He gave her distance, and for that she was relaxed, every wiry muscle loosened.

Slowly, Tinúviel flicked her tongue out to curve over the pink of her nose, running down the side of her lips. Then back into her mouth with the dew collected from her whiskers.

Well. Yourself? Came the surprisingly deep float of her voice from toothed maw, and she startled at its rasp. Had it been that long since she’d spoken?