Wheeling Gull Isle below her mouth

Silence persisted between them for several moments, and Komodo tried hard to keep his brain from whirring to life and trying to make sense of this. Logic was not a woman’s weapon — they relied on emotion and passion, which were lovely things, but Komodo figured he would rather wait for the Aralez to speak first, lest anything he said be held against him. He considered it a shame that he could not be entirely truthful with her — when it came to that, they spoke two different languages. There would always need to be a buffer between them, and that was something Komdo was willing and fine with.

Komodo listened as she began to explain herself, her words punctuated with stamps of her feet and the whirling of her facial features, but it was not anything he had not heard from her before. It was almost the same thing she had said to him that fateful night in the labyrinth, sans all the heat-of-the-moment, so Komodo knew she meant it. He meant it, too. The man was most happy with the zany, blue creature that had taken up residence at his side — she was all the things he loved. Canine with a unlearned tongue; the coincidence had not gone unnoticed.

But, in all honesty, breeding season was soon approaching and Komodo was totally certain that he and his raven would breed. Would they be good parents? They both were so wild that at time, he doubted it, but whatever. It had been years since he had sired, and since the prior breeding season’s confusion with the sheepdog before him, the need had only grown — but, Komodo did not want every of his interactions with Coelacanth to revert into an internal monologue about reproduction, so he stopped himself, pulled himself up and relented to the tiny inkspot’s will. 

“That’s nah’ how it werks, kitten,” explained as the man who had been around the sun more than just a few times. “but ah’ll try, fer yew.”