the stories i could tell
It's rare for the owl to make noise. Creature of quiet and enigma that she is. But now, she does; hooting a low sound in Finn's direction. Just the one, mind you. The room isn't overly large and for Finn to somehow not hear her would fly in the face of every time the man thought of himself as observant.
Her eyes, so full of spectacle and grace stare at the Spyglass as he rubs at his curls, his fingertips pausing over a certain book. What her thoughts are on this are impossible to tell. Unlike attuned when they are shifted, Artemide thus far has displayed not a single human-like gesture. Nothing at all to suggest she has ever been anything but an owl. That doesn't mean that her mind isn't sharper than most though. This of course Finn has already picked up on.
Her eyes, so full of spectacle and grace stare at the Spyglass as he rubs at his curls, his fingertips pausing over a certain book. What her thoughts are on this are impossible to tell. Unlike attuned when they are shifted, Artemide thus far has displayed not a single human-like gesture. Nothing at all to suggest she has ever been anything but an owl. That doesn't mean that her mind isn't sharper than most though. This of course Finn has already picked up on.
