"Friend I think not? Acquaintances? Travelling companions?" the daemon purred, eyes fixated on its quarry. "But if you insist on the phrase friend, little bird, perhaps a game to see just how close of friends you are?"
Ewan mustered his courage and stepped forward. Daemons seldom sewed horror at random. At least not the daemons worth their salt; the things a clever daemon wanted had to be given and not taken. "Just name a price and we'll be off!"
"Oh no, we are well past that!" the tigerman spoke in a foreign tongue, thrusting a tripple-jointed arm toward Pension. The peafowl would feel a spell setting in, perhaps his muscles weakening? It was an enchantment meant to render him frozen in time, unable to speak, at least for a moment.
"We shall do a trade. You shall name something of the bird he must part with, and something he shall gain. And when we're through, he shall do the same to you," it grinned a toothy grin, pleased with the unintentional rhyme. "This shall be amusement enough."