She caws, loud enough to stir Alora.
Damned bird, if she kept this up then I wouldn’t be able to linger in this blissfulness any longer.
I shift Alora’s head to the crumpled pillow and slowly slide out from the sheets.
The cool floor creaks under my weight and I wince, prepared for Alora to bolt awake.
I look over my shoulder and see her form still curled into the ball I left her in.
Sauntering over to where the raven is perched, I pick up a stray fruit that's fallen from the table and bite a piece off for the bird. Oak eagerly accepts it and quickly swallows the small bit.
Seeing a creature as magnificent as this up close is another thing I couldn’t have hoped to do sinceher.
The funny thing is, I don’t think Alora knows how truly unique her white feathered companion is.
A gift from the gods, a messenger.
An omen.
I scratch the top of the bird's head and Oak presses into my hand while making clicking noises.
“She likes you,” Alora says sleepily.
I chuckle, “Something must be wrong with her then.”
Alora’s smile spreads wider as she watches me.
Laughter fills her voice, “Does that mean you think something must be wrong with me?”
“Definitely.”
A pillow is hurled across the room and smacks against the wall.
I watch it as it falls into a heap. Tucking my grin away, I saunter towards the thing before picking it up.
The soft linen fluffs beneath my massaging.
In my best effort to remain serious, I turn back to her and stalk towards the bed.
Coyly I whisper, “You, I’m afraid, have the worst aim imaginable.”
I launch the thing at her and a shriek of laughter fills the small cottage before being muffled as the pillow collides with her face.
She pulls the thing off and her curls gather over her eyes. She quickly swipes the offending tresses back and narrows her eyes at me.
“That’s unfair,” she protests, unconvincingly.
I lean against the wall to the side of the bed and relish in the vision.
Her curls that form a frizzy halo, sleep riddled eyes that make her look softer, and her wicked little lip that currently is held between her teeth.
“You make me want to do unmentionable things to you when you glare at me like that, little warrior.”
She scoffs and rolls over, her words floating out from the sheets, “You’re insatiable.”
“I’m a starved man—famished. And I fear I only have an appetite for you.”
She peeks out from her cocoon of sheets.
