[The feathers puff up for Sesa's (very ticklish, probably sneezy) pleasure.]

I think, perhaps, you may have somewhat of a bias.

[He drags a hand back through Sesa's hair, pulling at the strands before his fingertips find the base of a horn. He doesn't grip them, but rubs at one, fingers curling.]

The same can be said of you, my love. I suppose I'm also biased in this way.