Aubrey nodded his head vigorously, though he didn't think she could see the motion, never mind take it for what it was. Any attempt to explain further was disrupted by her movements -
Flobberchops! Aubrey always forgot what a strange sensation it was to be on a shoulder: more so than a pocket-ride or squirming tight in hand, it gave a wobbly illusion of being human again, seeing the world from great heights. "Great heights", as if this tiny lass was part-giant, psht.
Grateful as he was to be escaping this kankedort - bloody owls and their malversations - Aubrey was more than a little exasperated by her following questions. You're not taking this seriously, kiddo, he put in, with a little hedgehoggy huff in her ear. Don't be daft, he snuffled on, always mildly pleased when a human presented him with the opportunity of a little feigned conversation, as frustrating as it was for his eloquence to go uncomprehended. Hedgehogs are dumb buggers, they can't write. (He puffed up his spines a little at that: he had to take his opportunities for superiority as they came.) He had had limited success in conversing with hedgehogkind, still an awkward foreigner among them after all these years, so he wasn't even sure what they'd make of love... though he supposed even hedgehogs could suffer a little satyriasis here and there. Not that Aubrey would, ahem, know anything about that. (He'd been lion-drunk on overripe fruit a time or two before, and...) Nevermind.
Maybe they'd write letters about the man trapped in their midst, Aubrey put in pointedly. So where are you taking me, scamp?
Flobberchops! Aubrey always forgot what a strange sensation it was to be on a shoulder: more so than a pocket-ride or squirming tight in hand, it gave a wobbly illusion of being human again, seeing the world from great heights. "Great heights", as if this tiny lass was part-giant, psht.
Grateful as he was to be escaping this kankedort - bloody owls and their malversations - Aubrey was more than a little exasperated by her following questions. You're not taking this seriously, kiddo, he put in, with a little hedgehoggy huff in her ear. Don't be daft, he snuffled on, always mildly pleased when a human presented him with the opportunity of a little feigned conversation, as frustrating as it was for his eloquence to go uncomprehended. Hedgehogs are dumb buggers, they can't write. (He puffed up his spines a little at that: he had to take his opportunities for superiority as they came.) He had had limited success in conversing with hedgehogkind, still an awkward foreigner among them after all these years, so he wasn't even sure what they'd make of love... though he supposed even hedgehogs could suffer a little satyriasis here and there. Not that Aubrey would, ahem, know anything about that. (He'd been lion-drunk on overripe fruit a time or two before, and...) Nevermind.
Maybe they'd write letters about the man trapped in their midst, Aubrey put in pointedly. So where are you taking me, scamp?

Formerly known as Davis,