Aion

"No," Winaiili said, her voice firm, convincing, utterly determined, and quiet. (Well, as quiet as a Guardian can speak, anyway.)

"No? But-" Aion attempted to object, his frills spread in an expression that would, among humans, be called "puppy-dog eyes."

"No."

"But-!"

"No, Aion. And that's final." She lowered her head, to glare more pointedly at her Fae mate. "No. You cannot build living, flying, thinking beings out of antlers to inhabit your city. I don't care how empty it looks!"

Aion sighed. "Sometimes, you're far too reasonable, Winaiili," he said. "But only sometimes. Can I build a mountain temple on your back instead?"

Winaiili smiled fondly, and settled herself back down on the ground as an answer, fitting herself neatly into the space Aion had left around his tiny, delicate town, admiring its spiraling towers and oddly-shaped buildings. And the trees! There was a lake near her head, and Aion began building a precarious stairway climbing from the lake up to her shoulders, zigzagging across her neck.

This would be difficult to free herself from without destroying it: hopefully nothing in the next few hours would require her to move.