His hand is in reach and then it's not, pulled away in increments so she needs to chase him through the sky, pursuing him with her own wingbeats as they glide upon the wind. She can feel it now, identify it better, the shifts and changes that she was so familiar with when she took an owl's shape. Each feather tells a story, informing her of what to expect before it happens.
She's grinning as she beats the wings a little harder, spinning slightly and laughing as she adjusts to catch her balance. [say]"Someone has to actually think things through,"[/say] she shoots back, reaching out to try and snag at his feathers or feet. [say]"You're it!"[/say]
And then she folds her wings and drops, opening them up again only as she nears the surface of the sea.
She's grinning as she beats the wings a little harder, spinning slightly and laughing as she adjusts to catch her balance. [say]"Someone has to actually think things through,"[/say] she shoots back, reaching out to try and snag at his feathers or feet. [say]"You're it!"[/say]
And then she folds her wings and drops, opening them up again only as she nears the surface of the sea.
