There was never a quiet moment in Amarus' room, lately. She had almost no furniture: a bed in its wooden frame, and a mirror made of several smaller mirrors affixed together. She did, however, have a lot of birds and today she was doing something about it. She grouped all the Noise ravens together, and the Phoenix Hatchlings were put under the charge of Songbird and, at times, Dream-- she didn't need to put those in a cage, even to move them. Her korin, grim, grumpkin and aegis levathias for the most part were housed with whoever was compatible.

She had to find an alternative to this bird-filled lifestyle, and she did really love birds. Birds, and plants: basically the two things she loved most. Amarus reached up and touched the lock under her clothing. Surely she could let it open, now? But something was holding her back. Revenge's lock smoked faintly, a comforting weight. She would miss the chains, miss its reminder of what she had lost and forgotten and given away.

"Do you think I am happy?" she asked Malachi, who watched the mess of birds from the bed, being very well-behaved. "I feel a small ache, but I can never place why. It makes me frustrated," she said, reaching up to touch one hand to her chest lightly. "There is no point to it; it is detrimental to my well-being and it gives me pause for thought on more than a few occasions."

Malachi lay his head down on top of his paws and watched her, silently. Songbird trilled, which set Dream to trilling, and unfortunately that made the other less melodious birds try their hand. Amarus put a finger to her lips and hushed them, gently. For birds, she had all the patience in the world, but she was trying to concentrate. "I suppose I will bring them to their home a group at a time," she said. She lifted up two of the cages first, and had Dream and Songbird escorting her and the other Hatchlings.

It was a short walk: through the ghost dorms, to the surface, down into the thin wood and to part of an old structure she'd cleaned up. She didn't know when they'd need it next, or if she'd be discovered, but after a lot of surveillance it didn't seem like anyone would notice or mind that she had turned it into an aviary. No protests thus far, anyway. Amarus set the birds down, opened some of their cages, and let them free into the wings of the Aviary. It wasn't very large, but it had sun and places where the branches had broken through the old roof. It was nicer than her room, by any measure. And now her room could be, on the whole, less gross.

Amarus hovered, cross-legged, off the ground. She watched the birds, feeling as Dream took a perch on her shoulder. She reached into her robe for a treat, and felt Dream's little beak peck it free and gobble it down. Amarus smiled. "If I am not happy, Dream, this at least makes me feel that I am. In this moment, here with all of you. It could be worse. It could be a worse existence." Amarus shrugged one shoulder, and pet Dream's feathers.

She felt that she had been making such progress. She was smart, she had learned she was pretty, and she was certainly determined. So why was it that she couldn't seem to understand anyone, or feel as though she belonged with them? Every interaction was an exercise in forcing herself to stay put, when she just wanted to run. What made it worse was that she had long since misplaced anyone who would listen to feelings. With good reason. She shouldn't need or want to talk about those.

But she had them nevertheless, no matter how much she tried to fight it. She balled up one hand into a fist, flexed her fingers open, stared at it. Her birds listened, her plants reached to her with affection: students could not and did not do either of those. Not that it was their fault; she seemed to freeze up under scrutiny. Her strange way of speaking and behaving made it difficult. It was her own doing, in the end. "But I ... am fond of myself the way I am," she lamented, "so I cannot change that, or I lose the one last bastion in my condition. I entered this school with nothing, and no memories, and no family. I will at least leave with something."

She stared blankly at her birds, and added: "You must never tell another my secrets," she said, as though they understood her. As though they could reveal her truths at all.