Krysta squeaked again, quietly, but manged to hang on as he lowered his hand. Once she was close enough, she skipped off his palm to flutter down to the stone. She tiptoed around the edges of the leather, head tilted curiously.
"Oh, I'm a pixie," she told him easily over her shoulder, carefully watching the way he scored the designs. Her wings, when at rest, sort of flattened against her shoulders and draped down her back, almost like a shimmering cape.
Curiosity truly sparked now, she twisted to look up at him and beamed, returning the question. "What exactly are you, then?"