But Skan is already banking towards the glint, sliding off the table of warm air in a deft and dizzying sideways tilt, as motionless as if it required no effort at all, except for the strong plow of his tail through the wind, directing their flight. It is a lazy descent, by his standards, wending long curving swoops to lose height by increments rather than a more rapid curve that nevertheless would have strained his passenger. Not to mention the ropes, of course.
Time enough to aerobatics later, when they had become better acquainted.
He pulls up shallow, backwings in many small flutters. It isn't graceful to fuss so much about landing, but he's trying to be gentle, and not tip Viktor off in a heap. The landing is hard on his wrists, therefore, but Skan calls himself well pleased with the flight as a whole.
"Now, let's see..." He leaves Viktor to loosen the ropes, or not, as it pleases him, and stalks over to have a look at the little glint of— "Ah ha! This does look like just the thing..."
But how to get it out? It's wedged down under some rubble, the discarded remnants of reconstruction all piled up here until it can later be cleared away. And were it not for the narrow gap and the weighty stone, Skan's reach would be more than enough to simply pick it up and go. But the only way to reach down and get it is a narrow gap.
Purest luck had given them an angle for the sun to glint off its luminous violet surface. But only goodwill had made them able to get it.
"This is a job for a pair of hands," He decrees, with a grin. They two are very nearly perfect opposites; he a being of almost pure strength, physical prowess in every line, but not even enough dexterity to hold a pen. Meanwhile, his companion has a clever mind and cleverer hands— and looks as if he might blow over in too stiff a wind, "Seems we make a good team."
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Time enough to aerobatics later, when they had become better acquainted.
He pulls up shallow, backwings in many small flutters. It isn't graceful to fuss so much about landing, but he's trying to be gentle, and not tip Viktor off in a heap. The landing is hard on his wrists, therefore, but Skan calls himself well pleased with the flight as a whole.
"Now, let's see..." He leaves Viktor to loosen the ropes, or not, as it pleases him, and stalks over to have a look at the little glint of— "Ah ha! This does look like just the thing..."
But how to get it out? It's wedged down under some rubble, the discarded remnants of reconstruction all piled up here until it can later be cleared away. And were it not for the narrow gap and the weighty stone, Skan's reach would be more than enough to simply pick it up and go. But the only way to reach down and get it is a narrow gap.
Purest luck had given them an angle for the sun to glint off its luminous violet surface. But only goodwill had made them able to get it.
"This is a job for a pair of hands," He decrees, with a grin. They two are very nearly perfect opposites; he a being of almost pure strength, physical prowess in every line, but not even enough dexterity to hold a pen. Meanwhile, his companion has a clever mind and cleverer hands— and looks as if he might blow over in too stiff a wind, "Seems we make a good team."