[Even with Roxas's slightly more recent trips to the outskirts of the woods, he can't escape the chill of hearing the laughing children within the forest, some of them playing as if by a record, never in one place. For now, however, his attention was centered on someone else--or a someone turning into a something, which isn't unheard of for the continent of Ryslig. At least where he's visited.
He's met too many of these strays--or maybe they had always been in Vandare or Bavan, and he simply hadn't met them yet? Regardless, they were either coaxed by the mayor or other villagers to come into the forest this late, and they shouldn't be here. Even with his wings, Roxas was risking getting lost, and the further into night they delve, the harder it would be to find a way out. He's just not very good at finding openings for approaching people.
But she's still scratching. Roxas has had firsthand experience of how bad scratching can affect the transformation process. She can't keep doing this to herself. So without seeing an opening, Roxas creates one.
With shorts and a shirt tailored for his wings, Roxas settles on a low branch, though still a few feet from the ground. Gripping another branch, he raises the other one out in front of him, showing his empty palm. Roxas, a full harpy by this point, folds his wings and rests on barn owl legs; his claws are long and sharp, but there's not much he can do to keep them from looking lethal. His canines poke sharpy in his mouth, and his eyes are a pale, nearly glowing yellow. Despite his horrible outward appearance, he's trying to do her a favor.]
two!
He's met too many of these strays--or maybe they had always been in Vandare or Bavan, and he simply hadn't met them yet? Regardless, they were either coaxed by the mayor or other villagers to come into the forest this late, and they shouldn't be here. Even with his wings, Roxas was risking getting lost, and the further into night they delve, the harder it would be to find a way out. He's just not very good at finding openings for approaching people.
But she's still scratching. Roxas has had firsthand experience of how bad scratching can affect the transformation process. She can't keep doing this to herself. So without seeing an opening, Roxas creates one.
With shorts and a shirt tailored for his wings, Roxas settles on a low branch, though still a few feet from the ground. Gripping another branch, he raises the other one out in front of him, showing his empty palm. Roxas, a full harpy by this point, folds his wings and rests on barn owl legs; his claws are long and sharp, but there's not much he can do to keep them from looking lethal. His canines poke sharpy in his mouth, and his eyes are a pale, nearly glowing yellow. Despite his horrible outward appearance, he's trying to do her a favor.]
Listen--you have to stop scratching it.