"Are you nearly finished?" Ambrose asked, keeping his voice even and hopefully patient. Pants was barely a noticeable weight on his shoulders but he worried about them falling from such a height.
"Nearly," the Oviraptor answered around the paintbrush in their mouth. With a final upward stroke they covered the last of Ambrose's crest feathers with the teal paint they had mixed using a seashell as a palette. They scoote...
