Honey, these arms that once held you are ready to fight
Somewhere in the collective downpour of thoughts there's the appreciation for the fact that it's clear his wing is fully healed now, but it's drowned out beneath the haze of realization that eclipses it. She is easily maneuvered beneath his mighty head, pressing her cheek to the velvety soft vulnerable area at the bottom crest of his neck as she tries to conceal the shakiness of her next inhale. It's easier to transform it into laughter as his blunt teeth nip and pull at her long hair, and she playfully cups her hand over his nose and gives it a little shake.
Heterochromic eyes trace the revealed colors before her hands dare to, but she obligingly steps beneath the canopy of his wing to test the bone structure with delicate, probing fingers. The fine bones are strong and properly placed no matter where she examines them. Gently she takes hold of each wing, encouraging each one to open, testing the range of motion carefully; this type of body had never been hers, ground-bound and ornate as she had been, and Hotaru is reluctant to accidentally hurt him again regardless of how strong she knows these wings to be. Occasionally she gets distracted by the vibrant colors and lets her palms stroke down a warm flank or snag a lock of colorful hair. By the time she has come full circle to his head once more, the buzz of memories has receded and composure has returned.
She can't tell him. Won't. What would it matter? It wouldn't change anything, would perhaps only make him feel worse for not remembering naturally. Convinced, she smiles and presses a kiss to the swirl of hair at the center of his forehead where once a horn would have been for herself. "I'm no doctor, but I think you check out. Handsome and whole." For this form certainly deserves praise for its beauty if nothing else.
Heterochromic eyes trace the revealed colors before her hands dare to, but she obligingly steps beneath the canopy of his wing to test the bone structure with delicate, probing fingers. The fine bones are strong and properly placed no matter where she examines them. Gently she takes hold of each wing, encouraging each one to open, testing the range of motion carefully; this type of body had never been hers, ground-bound and ornate as she had been, and Hotaru is reluctant to accidentally hurt him again regardless of how strong she knows these wings to be. Occasionally she gets distracted by the vibrant colors and lets her palms stroke down a warm flank or snag a lock of colorful hair. By the time she has come full circle to his head once more, the buzz of memories has receded and composure has returned.
She can't tell him. Won't. What would it matter? It wouldn't change anything, would perhaps only make him feel worse for not remembering naturally. Convinced, she smiles and presses a kiss to the swirl of hair at the center of his forehead where once a horn would have been for herself. "I'm no doctor, but I think you check out. Handsome and whole." For this form certainly deserves praise for its beauty if nothing else.
HOTARU
