[ The grooming isn't entirely altruistic, as Iorveth is keeping the feathers for fletching for his arrows, but he has enough affection for the owlbear cub to give it a scratch of his own, pads of his fingers rubbing the crown of its fuzzy head. Utterly spoiled by all the attention, it chitters dreamily and rests its chin on Astarion's lap, eyes half-shuttered. If they're not careful, the cub might just fall asleep there, heavy and hard to dislodge.
Iorveth smiles, both at the sleepy not-so-little creature and at the comment about his scent. ]
Blade oil and sandalwood, I imagine. [ Maybe a little bit of amber, soft wax. He spends a lot of time tending to his bow, and expects that the scent of it must have diffused into his own flesh by now. ] I must taste like moss.
[ Craning over, Iorveth nudges his nose near Astarion, right where his earlobe meets his jaw. An unruly fox. ]
ーMm. I'm also partial to your scent. [ Something fresh and full-bodied over the scent of earth, he thinks. ]
no subject
Iorveth smiles, both at the sleepy not-so-little creature and at the comment about his scent. ]
Blade oil and sandalwood, I imagine. [ Maybe a little bit of amber, soft wax. He spends a lot of time tending to his bow, and expects that the scent of it must have diffused into his own flesh by now. ] I must taste like moss.
[ Craning over, Iorveth nudges his nose near Astarion, right where his earlobe meets his jaw. An unruly fox. ]
ーMm. I'm also partial to your scent. [ Something fresh and full-bodied over the scent of earth, he thinks. ]