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Aurin holds his mother's hand as she leads him from the street to his aunt and uncle's house. He's been here only a couple of times, and can't remember most of them distinctly; they're sort of awkwardly related, his dead father's half-brother and the wife thereof. But now they have a baby parunia, and that means there is a dragon related to Aurin who is not too far from his age, only thirty-one years younger. This is apparently the sort of relation that it will be particularly enriching for Aurin to meet. They can do this now instead of waiting a month, because parunias don't die when they're babies; this one is safe, unlike the miscellaneous cousins on his mother's side he's never met because they are all in too much danger to get attached to (and have all succumbed to that danger). So here they are. Even though it was a very long flight and he couldn't ride his mother for takeoff and landing when she had to be a heron, only for the middle part.
Alys knocks on the door.
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Mial resists the removal of his blanket! He cannot be such a lump without his blanket! He clutches it tightly in his teeny hands.
Aurin pulls harder. He cannot execute his plan if there is a blanket around Mial, not at all.
Mial is very determined to keep his blanket! But he is also pretty teeny. Aurin is much stronger. The blanket comes off.
"Give that back!"
"Give that back!"
"You can have it back after you fly." Perhaps Mial will just fly and Aurin will not have to resort to drastic measures.
"Don't wanna," he says with a scowl, grabbing for the blanket.
Aurin flings the blanket across the room and scoops Mial up in a huggly sort of carry-hold.
He carries him over towards the window and manages with some effort to climb onto the chair.
He carries him over towards the window and manages with some effort to climb onto the chair.
"What are you doing," says Mial. "I want my blanket. Put me down."
Aurin puts him -
out the window.
out the window.
Mial squawks.
A very angry merlin comes zooming up, barrels in the window, and flies directly into Aurin's face, yelling. "AURIN YOU JERK! I COULD'VE LOST A FORM!"
"Nuh-uh! It's not that high up!" exclaims Aurin, falling backwards when Mial flies at him.
"I could've anyway if I was unlucky," he says, flapping agitatedly with his wee bird feet clutching Aurin's shirt.
"You were feet down!" says Aurin. "'m sorry."
Mial becomes human and sits upon Aurin and glares down at him, tiny arms folded in unconscious imitation of his father.
"Hmph."
"Hmph."
"You have to fly," says Aurin, crossing his arms right back.
"I don't have to," he says.
"Yeah-huh you do."
"I do not, and anyway it makes me tired not to and then I don't want to more, whose stupid idea was that," says Mial.
"That's not my fault."
"Yeah but you didn't have to drop me out a window," he grumps.
"Well, you didn't fly when I said to! And now you aren't a lump in a blanket."
"Hmph," he says, and he goes and gets his blanket and wraps it around himself and glares at Aurin from within it. He looks ridiculous. And much less lumpy, even still.
Giggle.
Glaaaaaare.
"Are you really really mad?"
...He sighs.
"I'm some mad. I guess I'm not really really."
"I'm some mad. I guess I'm not really really."