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Summary
There, in the early morning sun, stands Scar—still shirtless, his back to Grian. His wings have dried out during the night, and Grian was right, those feathers need preening—but they're still stunning. Scar’s wings are massive, his wingspan stretching out what looks like almost twice his length.
At first Grian thinks they're yellow, like a canary. There's a joke at the tip of his tongue. Then he steps closer and they shimmer golden underneath the light. Grian stares at them, fascinated.
“Damn,” he breathes out, and Scar startles and spins around. His wings get in the way and he stumbles, almost falling to the ground if it wasn’t for Grian holding him up.
“Oops,” Scar laughs sheepishly. “Hi, Grian.”
“Hi, Scar,” Grian smiles, exasperated but fond. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Scar says, and his wings slowly flex. “I, uh. Might have wrecked our home a bit. Thrown some furniture around. Accidentally. These are so unwieldy, I don’t know how you don’t walk around constantly knocking things over.”
“You mostly get used to it,” Grian says, amused.
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Bookmarked by Fwuyy
12 Nov 2024