So here he is. Up in a tree with his head on his chest, feathers ruffling in the wind. It was a long flight that put him here, too tired to really function any further beyond what he’d already traveled. The phoenix enjoys his momentary respite because he would have to move on eventually, find other places to travel and spend his time. Contemplating it makes him sigh and gold eyes open.
Shifting, wings spreading and flapping a few times, the bird is about to take off but a sound stops him. He turns his head this way and that, searching for the source. The crest upon his head lifts. This was rather annoying now wasn’t it? On a guess, the bird calls out in the usual manner. Telepathically.
‘That better just be a squirrel or something.’
( telepathiiiic )
