"This silence is getting to me," he whispered to her, grinning inside, she was pretty cute. She turned, startled, and surprised he had talked to her. He hooted softly as she regained her flight, "Oh, go on, and don't tell me you don't like to talk. I can spot a talker a league away." Ah the trueness of that, he himself was a talking fan.
When she didn't reply at first he ruffled his pinfeathers, in a special way that made his spots almost glow. She churred softly, and he smiled, knowing she had been trying to suppress it; she was cute when she laughed too.
"Aren't we breaking the rules?" she whispered back, glancing over her shoulder at the other owls flying silently nearby. He laughed inside at her diligence to follow rules.
"They don't really have hard-and-fast rules here, exactly," he wiggled his feathers, was this owl different from the others he had met before. He liked it, "You're supposed to learn them – gradually. They don't have any real rhot gorts, either." He saw confusion flicker in her eyes, perhaps she had never heard of rhot gorts at her home.
"You mean like flint mops?" she whispered back, uncertain. Ah, so she had heard of them, only in another language, it seemed. Good, he knew Hoolian. Glaux, she was so cute when she was chancy.
"Yes, that's in Hoolian." He smiled softly, "You know, you speak pretty good Krakish." She shrugged and blinked.
"Oh, a little trouble with the passive subjunctive in irregular verbs, but thank you," He felt warmth in his gizzard, and he briefly wondered if she was always that modest, but, on a side note, she was cute when she was modest as well. A second later he had realized he had asked her her name.
"Otulissa," she replied simply, and he hesitated.
"Otulissa," he murmured, thinking back softly. His grandmothers' name was Otulissa, he remembered reading of many brave and wise owls in the past named Otulissa, and he watched her carefully, "A very traditional name." Now, that caught her by surprise.
He knew he had done what it took to win her friendship; a shiver of pride ran though her feathers, making her spots glow and her flying as smooth as cream.
"And what is your name, if I may ask?" Ah, the trump card to any first name-asking, the return of ones name. He sighed inside; perhaps she wouldn't be like the other ones he had met.
"Of course," he put on a nice smile, "I am Cleve of Firthmore." She blinked, and he sighed inside, oh well…
"Cleve of Firthmore!" she gasped, and he swore she stopped flying for a moment and perhaps went yeep for a split second before continuing, The Firthmore Passage in the Tridents?" he nodded. "From the royal hollow of Snarth?" Damn she was good, and she was cute was she was right. He nodded again.
"Then you are a prince. For that is where the clan of Karkor comes from." Ah, she had to state it so formally too. Well, she wasn't as bad as some of the others; she had fallen right out of the sky when they figured it out. "What are you doing here at the retreat? Is it a custom for royalty to come here?"
Well, that was also different to many of the other spotted owls he had met before. Usually they would ask what they were doing later that night or if they could go back to Firthmore with him and whatnot.
"Not exactly," he shrugged, "I came here because… well," how should he put it? "Much of my study back in the Tridents had been military. And there hasn't been a war now for years. The War of Ice Claw was over long ago."
"Yes, but don't you think military knowledge is still useful?" she tilted her head to one side; there she goes, being chancy-cute again. Well, she still wasn't being weird though, like asking about his parents or whether or not he was engaged.
"Not really," he answered truthfully, "You see, I came here to study medicine. Quite frankly I don't believe in war – ever." Now she stopped flying in her wing beats and let out a shriek.
"What?"
Ah, now that was certainly different. She was about say something else when a Snowy Owl flew up besides her and whispered softly in her ears. Cleve glanced at the sky; he would have to get back to his hollow soon. He turned back to Otulissa and smiled at her look of shock and disbelief of him not liking war.
"I have to go," he flicked his longest flight feather and brushed her wing gently, "Stay cute."