Firefly Glen a cathedral

lorcan watches her, his golden eye sharp but not unkind, tracking her every movement as she shifts closer. when she produces the feathers, the soft iridescence catching in the dim light, his gaze lingers on them, then flicks back to her face. he lowers his head, sniffing them briefly before nudging them with his nose, careful not to damage their fragile edges.

they’re not just feathers, dove, he offers elowen, then, a nudge to the cheek with a cold nose. you wouldn’t have carried them this far if they were. a smirk settles on his face. his paw shifts, brushing the feathers closer to him, though he doesn’t pick them up right away.

thank you, elowen. shortly thereafter, he laughs, as if embarrassed. a rough, but all the same soft, sound that lilts from his timbre. why don't you join us, hmm?