How pleased he was with this whole chance meeting of Astrid once more. It seemed that every time they ran into one another there was always a heightened level of adrenaline shared between them, always nascent. Hunting, fighting, and racing from bears (usually all begun by Zaphkiel's reckless self) all led to memorable times for them and Zaphkiel quite liked spending time with the alabaster beauty. She wasn't tapered and feminine like some females; her body was thick and strong and Zaphkiel couldn't help but to admire her. He found her enticing and, truly, beautiful. An Ice Queen of her own making yet he could melt that frigid exterior. This much has proved such a fact for normally he is only given hints at her humor or a ghost of a smile and now she stands above him with her lips parted and laughter booming from her chest. It makes his own heart slow and thud while his eye observes her and soaks in the dark patch over her eye.

In a way Zaphkiel knows that his words will likely drive her away from him. If he has learned much then he has guessed that Astrid has a bit of an aversion to such intimacy. Even the idea of it, as he presents before her, can become a corporeal and literal thing in her mind. It is precisely because of this that he says it and lets the image fester in her mind, disappointed when he pulls away and off of him in a clipped sort of manner. Still, she does not become tense and wary as she was before. Their time spent together seems to have won him this battle and he rolls onto his belly, stretching his legs before him with a roguish grin still on his maw.

"Ah but it sounds as if you are. You must know, Lady Astrid, Queen of the Hunters, that I could find you wherever you are," he boasts proudly, his hackles rising to give him a fluffed mane and his ears settling back in a proud, aristocratic sort of look. The look faces as his ears jerk forward and his eye widens in surprise at her statement. He almost wishes to shutter himself and hide such a disability from her, yet it would poison himself to do such things.

Instead he shrugs his shoulders forward in his own feigned nonchalance and a half smirk. "Clever Lady," he croons at her in a naughty manner. "No creature could disarm me so except for the hand of fate itself! Why the gods took away one of my eyes, I couldn't fathom, except for that they thought I might be too amazing with both. Now I am still amazing but I cannot be consider a god in my own right, you see?" Zaphkiel weaves such tales with his words, boasting although it is all in sport and jest. "Maybe they marked one of your eyes so that I could have yours instead," he intones with a wicked smile full of flashing teeth.