"Let's see you dress a deer with those."

It's purely idle banter, and Davrin scoots a little to lie back himself perpendicular to Lucanis, keeping his fingers in his hair. Between the leaves above he can catch the occasional glance of Assan soaring around, bored of his companions and their old bones, but kind enough to stay within range and keep an eye on them. He occasionally dips back to his throat again as they relax, tracing different ways down his chin, cheek, nose, and ears. Mapping.

"Though I guess Spite could use his claws."