air-gait

breachless

"You there." He approached with a single flick of the white tail behind him, the sound of heels attached to a princely gait. His air of nobility had yet to be tainted by the city, it seems. "Woman. Tell me — do you know of a place with a decent selection of wine? I’ve been without. And my… help,” — a small rat with a helmet tucked behind him looked up sheepishly — "has been rather poor as of late."