Iris

The Scribe

She labored day after day, mimicking the the letters of humans with only wet clay, her needle-sharp claws, and a piece of old vellum. Her claws pierced her canvas, became stained with the red clay she wrote with, and grew sore in her attempts to excel at this strange art. Until, one day, it came to her. These humans weren't utilizing their power properly. She wanted to improve upon it. She wanted to use the power of written word to heal and create. The crow that lay upon her back is a manifestation of that power. A being of pure word alone, and the lioness wishes not to stop at her small amount of progress.

You lie out under the stars, paws in the air. Iris came by to join you. You both have fun watching the lights and chatting about nothing in particular.