[ Devoted as he is to wringing his wet cloak out, he has enough sense to not do it directly on the floor of the chapel. No, no. He finds some manner of receptacle into which he squeezes the water into - a bucket, perhaps a makeshift trough. Whatever it is, he's quite dedicated to filling it with the splash of water, before casting his pale cloak over one of the nearby pews, intent on leaving it to dry. He draws his hair over his shoulder, once again bare save for the glint of gold jewelry and the dark, wrapped linen of his shendyt.
He lifts his head, sniffing at the air like some manner of wild animal, when he hears the sound of a familiar voice. ]
My my!
[ It takes him two steps forward, and then the flex of his thighs carries him into the air, landing him on the rail -- a monstrous and elegant leap, as he crows brightly at Bruno. ]
Are you truly going to turn me out into the storm, how cruel of you! Is this the place you make your nest?
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He lifts his head, sniffing at the air like some manner of wild animal, when he hears the sound of a familiar voice. ]
My my!
[ It takes him two steps forward, and then the flex of his thighs carries him into the air, landing him on the rail -- a monstrous and elegant leap, as he crows brightly at Bruno. ]
Are you truly going to turn me out into the storm, how cruel of you! Is this the place you make your nest?