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Ithiel is by Raze!
The dusky hybrid struggled to retain his grip on the flailing animal, all while trying to inspect the wing of the creature. Perhaps it could be rehabilitated -- perhaps it would eventually even come to speak, as Zedekiah could? The vulture only murmured words, repeating them and interspersing his few clear words with grunts and little wheezing noises. Most of what he said was unintelligible -- but when there was something important enough, Ithiel learned to truly listen, and the bird seemed to strain to be understood.
The hawk -- Ithiel assumed that was its species, anyway -- seemed to possess none of the civility of the huge black bird, and Ithiel glowered down at it with frustration as he tried to look at the twisted wing at a better angle. He did not hear the coyote behind him, so great was their struggle. As she spoke, he jerked a little. His spinning around was quick, though he nearly lost the bird in the process. Ithiel was lucky to have possessed relatively good control of his face and features, then -- a coyote with less strength in this area might have looked disappointed or perhaps even a little afraid.
And it was fear, Ithiel knew. It was not a foreign emotion to the hybrid, though it might have seemed so at times. He was afraid of this woman and his body's reaction to her -- disgusted by his body's reaction, really. Yet, as much as he wanted to shout and stamp that it was her fault, her fault for being a harlot and temptress, he knew this was false. She was true in faith, truer than even Ithiel. That, at least, was apparent to him now, and he mourned the loss of this easy defense and knew the fault was his own.
I did, he said, evenly and without elaboration. I was trying to see if its wing might be saved. Bound up for a few weeks, maybe. You don't think it can be saved? If he could only speak on normal conversation, and keep his eyes level with her shoulders, he would not be tempted.
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