@avversiera | starter call
The gentle flicker of a dying flame cracked and sputtered against the warm breeze that rolled lazily through the haphazard camp; rustling the off-white fabric of thick tents and tugging at the twine that kept them rooted to the ground. With summer just rolling in, the stench of marigolds and the salty sea hung in the night air as it poured over the ever growing, but currently slumbering army. The sound of shuffling feet and war plans forgotten amidst the gentle clutter of soft snores and relaxed breaths that consumed the ragtag group when it was well past two in the morning. And it was almost a strangely peaceful sight; with weapons stored in their keepers’ tents or tucked away safely on the convoy, hidden from view, and the relaxed posture of horses tied to a makeshift pole, as if the ills of war and loss didn’t follow the group wherever life would take them (such was the price to pay for battle and betterment, after all).
Black wings beat gingerly in sky towering over the camp, carefully, but quickly carrying the bird’s body downward as her massive talons extended; smacking against human flesh and digging their pointed edges through thin fabric until they were leaving behind marks upon already scarred and tattered skin. But the dark mage’s expression never changed; not even the faintest hint of pain flashing through his gaze as he drew his arm to his chest, reaching out to brush his fingers over the crow’s soft feathers. Picking him out in the dead of night wasn’t an usual sight; sleep was a rarity to Henry, and he often spent his nights lurking about the camp grounds, or teaching the crows how to properly keep watch.
“Did you find anything, Quill?” He prodded, his voice soft enough not to stir his sleeping comrades or startled the tired horses (hopefully this would go far more smoothly than last night when Merlin had managed to wake the entire camp screeching only for them to find out the willful bird was warning them about an oddly shaped rock, in his defense, Henry did think it looked a bit like a man if he squinted hard enough). Sleek feathers rustled against his arm as the crow flapped her wings sightly before craning her neck to extend her beak to the left. “Oh! Maybe it’s an assassin, yeah?” He chimes, slipping onto his worn sandals, and brushing loose strands of grass from his tights before moving in the direction the animal had indicated.
Even in the dreadful stillness, he doesn’t make a sound as he easily dodges about the seemingly wayward set up of the camp (it’s hardly so, and, perhaps, surprisingly, Henry had it’s layout memorized and can name the occupants of ever tent he passes). He doesn’t need Quill to guide him; instead, the way she puffs out her chest and digs her talons deeper into his skin is enough to let him know he’s heading in the right direction, as well as how close he is to the object of Quill’s budding nerves. She was not one of his more outgoing birds; she tended to hang to the back of his odd collection, but she was intelligent and rather calm. Her caution made her a good fit for the job, even if one of his more aggressive companions might have seemed the ideal choice at first glance.
Stepping into the dim glow if a lantern swinging from one of the last tents in this arrangement, Henry can quickly spot the source of his bird’s distress. “Oh, Quill, that’s not an intruder.” And he sounds disappointed as he approaches the woman’s figure, but he supposed she had never seen the other before so he could understand the crow’s confusion. “Hey, hey,” he calls out, quiet enough for it to not vibrate through the camp, but loud enough to, hopefully, get her attention. “Are you keeping watch, too?” He asks, stroking the bird’s back to keep her calm as he neared her. Aversa had joined their ranks recently, and he knew precious little about her other than the rumors the birds whispered to him and the information that Chrom had given to all of them, but she was, apparently, their ally now so he would treat her just the same as he did all of their comrades.
