It has been something slightly more than fifteen years since he finally buried Gregor. It had been difficult between them since he'd begun edging up to fifty, had only gotten worse over time. Petty fights about worthlessness and age and beauty and, mundanely enough, money and infidelities, things that... simply did not concern Jast. His lack of
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Perhaps Jast lets that flatter him, though perhaps he shouldn't. He reaches up to stroke Niarkhos' feathers, laughing softly, happily, under that tickling greeting.
"Hello, old one, I'm glad to see you had company to keep."
Perhaps he also should not crack about the bird's age, but he means it endearingly, of course. He tilts his head into the bird's touch, cheek brushing sleek feathers.
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"Company, yes. Though they'll be leaving soon, I imagine. My stories are rather tiring. What brought you here?" Niarkhos drops from the boy's shoulder, curling into a form that can stand straight and be at level with his friend, smiling with a shred of sleepy mischief.
"Not that it isn't a lovely morning surprise, of course."
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"Your stories aren't tiring," he objects, vacillating a bit, perhaps. He doesn't recall birds being known for their clarity.
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