Buoyant are her golden wings

For the first time since noticing that queer colored feline, these distracted, uneasy globes flick attentively in her direction. Thoughtfully, their inner rooms mimic the rehearsal of said idea - allowing the time-consuming notion of trap-making to evaporate without complaint. After a moment, that practical organ found it reasonable enough to stand upon safely. "Aye," I allow, murmuring under the awn of a light, discontented sigh, "we can try." Waterlogged tendrils of milky hair flash softly against these hocks. Irises swivel, making a purposeful gesture toward our right, "I'll circle this way," another burst of heavenly crescendo echoes my intent. The timing of it could be considered a foreboding omen, "be careful." Luckily, neither of us were superstitious. Molten cores level upon her sleek, youthful expression, they linger there...softening fractionally before turning aside, hardening into brittle gems. My damp, feathered arm coils tighter into the carriage it rode.