[He's lost track of how long the stranger's been here posturing at him, going on and on about paints and colours, and his gaze startles upward at the voice he recognises. He feels the knot in his shoulder ease just the slightest at the sight of Hassan, and his lips manage to twitch in a small smile before he snaps at the stranger.]
No, he's not. I'm sorry, I don't want to be painted. Please.
[The sharpness of his own words startes him back again, and he wordlessly raises his arm to call Swellow back from the sky. Only a moment later, the bird pulls out of a steep dive to land gracefully on the leather cuff around Shryke's outstretched arm. There, this is better.]
no subject
No, he's not. I'm sorry, I don't want to be painted. Please.
[The sharpness of his own words startes him back again, and he wordlessly raises his arm to call Swellow back from the sky. Only a moment later, the bird pulls out of a steep dive to land gracefully on the leather cuff around Shryke's outstretched arm. There, this is better.]