The flock was under attack. Humans, the strange creatures that they were, called them a murder, whatever that meant, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the intruder. Not one of the dull ones, who didn’t know better, but one of the bad ones, who wanted to take away from the flock. She may have been born in her ugly, human, body, but though she lacked wings, there were still uses for her, such as now.
She walked quietly through the forest, her steps so gentle not even the Stantler were disturbed. She could attack too. It was hard, but she learned the secrets of the flock, and her form would not stop her from achieving such. Through sacrifice she was able to achieve more than they said she could.
But sacrifice was not always needed, and she had to hope that was the case, as the hunter invaded the forest. She continued to rush, using just a bit of spirit to hasten herself, arriving at the thicket tree just in time to see one of the council, a particularly cunning Honchkrow, turned to stone, still in flight, his beak open. She shrieked, in shock and anger and rage, and turned to the human, preparing herself for what she might yet need to do.
