But he likes that she refuses him. It feels very right for her to do it, not just because she must know part of why he's here and every dark thing that must entail, but because she has always been a very particular kind of girl all largely regardless of anyone else's input. And because despite all that determination, she retains some compassion, curiosity, and - most puzzling of all - real kindness. All rare enough traits in even the most optimistic spirit, much less in lower creatures like garden snakes, house spiders and humans.
Not that he really expected her to have changed much in the short time he'd last seen her, but it's always nice to be right.
So he teaches her a few mid-grade curses just rude enough to make a grossmutter frown. He spends far more time appalled at her perfectly average pronunciation, insisting she speak a sampling of her vocabulary so he can correct her through each with painstaking attention. It's only when at last they've finally argued over the finer points of her 'entschuldigen's and 'ich will's that the bird stretches its legs and spreads its wings like a cat rising from an afternoon nap.
Time's up.
"Now," he says. At some point during the discussion, the filament strands of his essence had shifted. The cuckoo now wears dark gleaming feathers, its eyes large and dark, its beak hooked predatively, its talons clacking on the table as it rises. "Is that what you're wearing? Find a jacket, won't you. And something warm for your head if your ears are the type to get cold."
no subject
But he likes that she refuses him. It feels very right for her to do it, not just because she must know part of why he's here and every dark thing that must entail, but because she has always been a very particular kind of girl all largely regardless of anyone else's input. And because despite all that determination, she retains some compassion, curiosity, and - most puzzling of all - real kindness. All rare enough traits in even the most optimistic spirit, much less in lower creatures like garden snakes, house spiders and humans.
Not that he really expected her to have changed much in the short time he'd last seen her, but it's always nice to be right.
So he teaches her a few mid-grade curses just rude enough to make a grossmutter frown. He spends far more time appalled at her perfectly average pronunciation, insisting she speak a sampling of her vocabulary so he can correct her through each with painstaking attention. It's only when at last they've finally argued over the finer points of her 'entschuldigen's and 'ich will's that the bird stretches its legs and spreads its wings like a cat rising from an afternoon nap.
Time's up.
"Now," he says. At some point during the discussion, the filament strands of his essence had shifted. The cuckoo now wears dark gleaming feathers, its eyes large and dark, its beak hooked predatively, its talons clacking on the table as it rises. "Is that what you're wearing? Find a jacket, won't you. And something warm for your head if your ears are the type to get cold."