Phoebe gaped at him. She scrutinized the winged creature, noting small details, his trimmed, clean fingernails, adorning scratched, sturdy hands. Mis-matched buttons on his shirt and a neatly sewn patch on one sleeve. Well-worn blue jeans, cuffed at his ankles, clung to his thighs.
“Well, speak, woman!” he demanded, “don’t just stare at me. You’re not a gibbering idiot!” he barked.
She continued to stare, stupefied by the creature in front of her. The only part of Phoebe that moved was her eyes, roaming over his wings again and again.
“Who are you? What are you? Can I touch them?” she finally squeaked out. She nervously pulled a stone she’d picked up earlier out of her pocket and let it slide around in her hand, rubbing her thumb over its smooth surface, waiting for him to reply.
He stared at her, weighing her, weighing what he should say. Finally, “I don’t know. Can you?” he snickered, his twinkling blue eyes belying the sneering tone of his voice.
She blushed, and then tightened her mouth. “Jerk!” she thought to herself, but didn’t speak out loud. She stepped towards the bed, reaching one hand out, and softly touched one wing. It was warm, slightly fuzzy, soft, and when it twitched, she jumped. Immediately she put her hand back on the wing, feeling it more firmly this time, realizing that she had tickled him.
A Page A Day 
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