Chapter 87
So. Not so much a man at all, then, really.
“Hello, Tarquin,” he said. He had a nice voice. His wings twitched, and a shower of iridescent scales drifted off them like blue daisy petals. They sparkled. Most of the bed was covered with sparkling wing scales, Tarquin now noted. He suspected this person had been sitting there for some time.
“Hello,” Tarquin said dubiously. Then, “You’re a firu,” because that seemed to be the most obvious conclusion to come to, what with the pointy ears and the matching colors of his wings and eyes. The small, blue sparkles all over the place weren’t normal for a firu, though. Neither were the scales. Or the tail. Tarquin hadn’t noticed the man’s blue tail until it curled over his lap.
The firu’s eyebrows leaped up his forehead, and then he ducked his head as if he was embarrassed. His tail flicked back and forth on his legs, like an agitated cat’s. “Um, I’m not exactly firu,” he said. “Or, I mean, not entirely a firu.”