[ Iorveth ridding the cub of his molted feathers is charming. It brings to mind the way he'd fixed Astarion's hair and clothing after their encounter with that Fist. Grooming as a way of showing care. He runs his hand over the soft feathers on the owlbear's head, enjoying the feeling of something entirely without prickles, something smooth and pleasant. ]
I suppose so. I've certainly smelled all of your blood enough.
[ His mouth had watered ceaselessly at the beginning. A lopsided smile breaks out across his face, and he scritches the owlbear cub behind the ears. They're not too dissimilar. Both of them started out alone and hungry, surrounded by people that they had to remember were friends and not food. ]
I'd know your lovely fragrance with my eyes closed.
[ Not just by blood, although that would surely help. It's the smell of his skin, his hair, his clothing. Comforting, woody. ]
no subject
I suppose so. I've certainly smelled all of your blood enough.
[ His mouth had watered ceaselessly at the beginning. A lopsided smile breaks out across his face, and he scritches the owlbear cub behind the ears. They're not too dissimilar. Both of them started out alone and hungry, surrounded by people that they had to remember were friends and not food. ]
I'd know your lovely fragrance with my eyes closed.
[ Not just by blood, although that would surely help. It's the smell of his skin, his hair, his clothing. Comforting, woody. ]