He lets the moment carry on, perhaps longer than he should. The quiet . . . Save for the breeze, the distant shuffle of other things father into the brush. The sun peeking through the canopy above their heads, warming his skin in a way he had nearly forgotten.
Its too long. It must end.
. . .
ππ¬π°π±ππ―π¦π¬π« .α
A breeze captures the air, carrying leaves away with the pretty yellow bird. But none of these things take his attention away from the ethereal man in the center of it all.
A part of him hopes Astarion notices. Though, if he does, Gale isnβt brave enough to ππ¦π΅ him notice.
;
Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep
For a moment, if he noticed Gale's presence at all, he didn't let on.
The bird twitters and he listens with rapt attention, until the creature notices it's growing audience and takes from his hand as quickly as it had come.
His gaze is locked in the direction it had gone, expression fallen.
ππ¬π°π±ππ―π¦π¬π« .α
Gale watches with slight surprise that melts into softnessβ when he thinks Astarion doesnβt notice of course.
Beautifulβ¦
The bird is nice too.
Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep
A small yellow bird perched on his finger ;
He's πππππππ.
