Ayel turned his head, followed the touch, curling one one hand over the cool skin at the back of his rescuer's neck as he watched dark eyes widen, dilate to let the shadows in.

His name? That shattered one of his more enduring stereotypes about humans.

Ayel didn't quite freeze in place, contrived a shiver to cover it.

"Call me Neirrhys," he murmured, the girl-form of an old nickname. They're like flying jewels; their beaks are poison. It fit well enough.

He licked his lips. "You haven't told me yours."