Grian holds his wing out to be examined, trying to sketch out various schemes for his base with colored pencils while Scar runs his hands through his feathers, carefully preening spots Grian can’t reach. It’s easy to get distracted by how good Scar is at it, how nice it feels to be in contact with someone else for long enough to get his wings cleaned up. (It’s almost embarrassing, getting distracted by it; preening is like, an activity he has to do really regularly, and he normally gets someone to help, it’s a bonding activity or whatever. But still, every time, he finds himself almost surprised by how much the small display of physical affection affects him.)
“You know, I’ve always wondered,” Scar starts. Grian puts down a pencil.
“Yes, Scar?”
“The, the eyespots. I looked it up once, you know.”
Grian rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over that I don’t know what kind of bird I am, Scar. This is a conversation we’ve had repeatedly.”
“Yeah, yeah, but like... the only birds I could find with them either used them to show off to mates or -”
Grian chokes. “I’m sorry Scar, what?”
“Yeah! Peacocks that have their tails pruned so they don’t have as many eyes don’t get as many mates. Don’t worry though, Grian, your weird fake eye spots are very attractive. Why, I’d even say they’re adequately so!”
Grian flaps a wing back to smack Scar with it. Scar yelps. “Hey! See if I keep helping you!”
“You have literally never turned this down,” Grian says.
“I could,” Scar says.
“Sure,” Grian drawls, injecting as much sarcasm into it as possible. Scar huffs.
“Anyway, I looked it up. The other bird I could find with them was an owl that had them on the back of its head to trick predators. And I looked them up in a lot of other animals, and they’re to make predators think they’re stared at. Scare ‘em off.”
“So?” Grian says, settling his wing back into place so Scar can go back to preening it.
“So that’s weird, right? We don’t even know what kind of bird you are, and you have like, spots to scare off predators! What kind of thing even eats a bird as big as you?”
“Nothing, I would hope!” Grian yelps.
“Yeah, but you’ve gotta have the spots for a reason,” Scar says. “And...”
Grian tilts his head and waits.
“...there are things out there, you know,” Scar says, and this time, it’s in the voice of one of those sorts of people who is far too connected to the magic of the world. “I worry.”
“Well,” Grian says, suddenly feeling somewhat uncomfortable. “Well. I have the spots; I open my wings at people when I’m frightened, anyway. If they really are for scaring people, that would scare them off, right?”
Scar is quiet. He cards his hands through Grian’s wing, and Grian resists the urge to shudder into it.
“Right,” Scar says, finally.
“Besides,” Grian says. “What are the odds of finding out why I have those things? Basically none, right?”
“Grian. Grian. Please don’t say that.”
Grian cackles before saying, slowly and cheerfully: “But Scar! What could possibly go wrong!”
“Grian, no, don’t say such cursed words around me! No! Fiend!”
The conversation moves on. Grian doesn’t quite forget about it.
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a very fun hunted hybrids au art collab with @linkito <3
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He curls up, just a little bit—his healthy leg pulls to his chest, while the injured one stays as still as his tremors allow. His head dips, and he’s still keeping his eyes tightly closed, as if that could help him wish all this away. As if that could help him pretend he’s not suggesting this—insisting on this.
“Scar, I can’t— You won’t be able to run from them, if you’re with me.”
He’s saying, please, be reasonable. He’s saying, you should go. He’s saying, I care about you too much to drag you into the depths with me.
He’s saying, please, I don’t want you to be in danger because of me. I don’t want you to hurt because of me. I don’t want you to die because of me. Please. Please, Scar. You need to go.
His heart beats a contrary, frightened rhythm against his ribs: Please don’t leave me.
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