“It is good, now and then. The plumage will make soft down for your bed.” She leans her cheek against one wing to trace the velvet feathering. The girl’s tail stirs and a smile ghosts Iglux’s lips. It is hard not to endear herself. She studies Fa’liya’s fawn-colored claws, frost-brushed at the tips and stares into her eyes. A shade identical to Cen’s
“I do not see much of you.”
