Duck Lake the long fall

a huff leaves him—half a scoff, half a breath of amusement—as he watches her try to reclaim dignity with feathers still clinging to her chest. his mouth curves despite himself.
princess, he repeats, tone rough but not unkind. an excuse-me of a word. then his chin dips, brief, acknowledging what she is without bowing to it.
uktark, he says. it has been a long time since the name has left his mouth. of grey fangs.
his eyes flick once to the bird at her feet, then back to her face, steady and appraising. approval sits there, unspoken.
you learn quick, little princess.