ain't no tiptoe through the tulips here

"I dont know how to answer that" he admitted as she felt along his wing, getting her nose into the base of his feathers. He stiffled a giggle as she tickled the tender under parts of the appendage. Using her interest in his wing to steer her, he tried to lead her a few safer steps back from the sticker mud patch.

What was magic, anyway? It wasn't a word he had heard thrown around often. He had heard it to describe beautiful things, things that surprised or pleased the eye. Is that what she meant? Well... not pleasing to her EYES of course.

He shrugged, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't see. Through maybe she could feel it through the shiver of his wing. "Uhh.. My da has a theory. Where you here when the volcano erupted? Dad said it put out ash that coated most of the world for a long time. Everything was buried in ash. Prey was harder to come by, because the good grass was buried. Anyway, dad says that after that the next born litters - not just his - came out weird. You know? wings, serpant tongues, bear shaped paws." He shrugged again, nonchalant. For him it was just the way of life. Not some strange oddity that needed a reason. "Why are you in a bog, Anyway?"