Naya takes his hand to steady herself and puts her foot in the stirrup as instructed and swings a leg over with little grace, but at least she doesn’t make a total fool of herself and do something like face plant. Once she’s on top of Ormuzhd she hesitantly goes to wrap her arms around his torso, stopping when she feels the roughness of his belly under the robes. “Is that a spell?” she questions, before letting her curiosity get the better of her and briskly sticking an arm through the billowing sleeve of his robe, reaching in to palpate his chest and stomach.

Naya had never been this close to a man before, but she had been certain that they had at least the same sort of skin, didn’t they? Instead of feeling flesh, this warlock was covered in some sort of metal, looped together like tiny chains. “Why are you wearing a fence, my friend?” the brunette asks, her eyebrows knitted together in concentration as she felt around until she found the neck opening of this unusual under shirt. Dipping her hand beneath this garment as well, she finally found his skin and patted at it searchingly.

“Are there so few warlocks in your city that you have to hide yourself from the witches, so they don’t force themselves on you?” She continues, her tongue peeking out of her mouth in concentration. Amon was firm and muscled everywhere and Naya pinched at his belly, humming appraising when she found very little fat there. “Or are you ashamed of yourself? There is no need to feel embarrassed, blood of my blood, you have excellent skin,” she tells him, patting at his stomach reassuringly.