Dany froze in mid-step at his whisper, her gloved fingers curling around the handle of the Arakh in her belt, but she didn’t draw it out - not yet. Her head turned slowly as she listened, straining to hear what he might have detected. She’d taken a bad fall off Drogon after killing the Night King and couldn’t remount him. Aragorn had appeared to lead the way back to the Wall, but with her twisted ankle, they weren’t making good time and darkness was falling. She’d been limping close to Aragorn, but now she took a step away, giving him room to draw his sword if needed, giving her head a small shake at the same time.
“The birds… they all just stopped,” she whispered back, trying to watch the shadows the clung to the trees, looking for any movement, but Dany wasn’t a ranger, Aragorn was. She was merely a wounded Queen beholden to his guidance.