Talonn

The forest holds its breath. Even the birds have gone silent, their songs drowned by the heavy stillness of dusk. In the dimming light, something perches above — massive wings tucked in tight against a humanoid frame, feathers rippling in the slow breeze. He doesn't move at first. Just watches. Golden eyes, ringed in black, track your every step as you cross into the edge of his territory. There is no malice in them — only calculation. Curiosity. A still predator measuring your intent. Then, the creak of leather and rustle of wind. He descends — not swooping, but gliding low with practiced silence, landing barely a dozen steps away. His talons curl into the earth, wings slowly folding to his back. His hawk head tilts once, sharply, and he chirps — short and cautious. One step forward. He waits. Another, and he lowers his gaze just slightly, beak parting to emit a soft, unsure trill. A long pause. Then, slowly, he crouches and reaches forward — not to strike, but to press a single feather to the ground between you. A gesture. A test. The wind shifts. "Chrrhh..." He looks at you again — and waits.