I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
Jabs about his personality aside, Jack kept his full concentration on Jiao and let Saiden get on with whatever it was he was planning to do. The cook left the range of his telepathy, only to return a few moments later, and he arched an eyebrow over his shoulder as if just having realised he'd been carrying something. A bag of stolen clothes, apparently. Anyway, back to the one who could fly.
"And what d'you think of it?" he asked about the ocean, nodding at a few of his men as they meandered to and fro, as if to tell them not to mind the small woman with wings who looked as though she might fall into the sea. "I'll confess, the only things I know of the Greatwood are from tales and myth. Your folk are a secretive kind," he said.
"I asked because I wondered if you might like to learn."
"And what d'you think of it?" he asked about the ocean, nodding at a few of his men as they meandered to and fro, as if to tell them not to mind the small woman with wings who looked as though she might fall into the sea. "I'll confess, the only things I know of the Greatwood are from tales and myth. Your folk are a secretive kind," he said.
"I asked because I wondered if you might like to learn."
