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Tousled's concentration was brutally shattered as a loud crack of wings sounded so close to her, it made her ear tufts bounce. She whipped around to face the source of the sound and her unkempt feathers suddenly fluffed up so bad they looked more like down on a hatchling. Her inspiration was drowned out in the sound of her own heartbeat, and when she saw the sentinel that had startled her, it was entirely pushed back into its protective shell by an onslaught of impressions.

First of all, he was a male, and he was beautiful. That was good in a way, because the pure blue stripes against his snow white feathers reminded her for a moment of the masterpiece she had had in mind. It was, however, bad in a whole lot of other ways. She always felt awkward and intimidated near beautiful sentinels. Especially if they were males. And this one even seemed hostile!
She shrank back a little from his piercing, blue gaze, trying to make herself look smaller, while her mind raced for an explanation of his behaviour. In less than a heartbeat, she had a dozen different ideas ranging from the perfectly plausible – she had accidentally trespassed on his territory – to the absurdly paranoid – maybe she had insulted his obviously artistic senses just by being, well, the way she was – but then her common sense returned to restore some order, and she remembered that he had said something, just now… What was it? Pass him… the pouch?!

Her claw instinctively closing around her treasures, Tousled settled for bewilderment. With her feathers hopelessly fluffed up and her low fight-or-flight posture she looked quite aggressive, but her little voice, no more than a whisper now, betrayed her confusion.

“I-I-I-I beg your pardon?” she stuttered, tentatively edging a little bit away from the aggressive white male.

Eva let a small silence pass over her as she continued to sit on the branch of the tree she had landed on. Who knows how long she sat there, only listening to the sound of the stream below now, her eyes closed. But then the sound was drilled into her mind, and she became bored with the rather peacefulness of this. She flapped her wings, and took off again, into the air.

She couldn't help but get the feeling in her chest that something was wrong. What, she didn't know at all, but for some reason, the feeling was just.. there.

It wasn't long though, before voices could be heard in the distance. As she grew closer, the voices in turn got louder, and she could slightly tell that there was one male, and one female in the conversation. But something seemed to be weird with the way the female was reacting. She turned almost sharply, until she saw two dark figures a small distance ahead, not in focus. But obviously, they were the ones having a conversation.

[[WE NEED A MEDIC D; ]]

Hidden in one of the trees, Ila couldn't help but notice the squabble of the two Sentinels below her. She wasn't one to intrude on anything, and she didn't even know the two. As her Scout profession, it was her duty to investigate, but not into other Sentinels' affairs. Besides, it was about time to start her rounds. Spreading her grey wings, she took off from the branch, to head off into another area.

Of course, she kept her eyes peeled for anything else around, you never know what a storm could do. Her premonition was correct, as she found noted an unfamiliar splotch on the forest floor beneath her. Ila dropped down lower, to see what the messy blob of feathers was...

The messy feathered smear on the forest floor, for his part, is unaware of all the fuss between Tousled and Frostbane, just as he's unaware of the proximity of Eva and Ila. He's still unconscious-- and that's a good thing, because he'd be in an awful lot of pain if he was awake.

The extent of his injuries (whenever anyone is close enough and experienced enough to determine them) is a fractured leg, a cracked talon or two, numerous cuts and scrapes, one large puncture wound (still sluggishly bleeding, but not life-threatening) on his chest from a sharp twig, and-- sadly for Moult-- a good deal of snapped or missing flight feathers. He'll certainly have a concussion, and he's been sprawled on the damp earth for hours, soaked clean through, so he's quite cold.

Silly old bird.

Frostbane had just lifted a wing to take his leave when the little female’s sharp voice caught his attention. “You... wait just a second, there! You scare the life half out of me, try to rob me, and then you have the gall to actually stand there and LAUGH at me! Do you really think a simple 'I'm sorry' can compensate for all that? What is the matter with you, anyway? Emotional problem? I'll say! Don't you dare try to just walk away now, I demand an explanation, and a proper apology!" Throughout her harangue, Frostbane had slowly been puffing his feathers up, continually growing in size until he towered over her. Casting what looked like a baleful glare over his right shoulder, he eyed her speculatively…

Then in one smooth gesture, he performed a spectacular bow, wings sweeping, head bowed; He ended up in what could be best described as a submissive stoop before her. “Please do not take offence, I assure you that was not my intention. Imagine, for a second, experiencing a vague dream, where you can but recall feelings, and blurry images. Then waking abruptly to find yourself abreast with a tuft of fur..…your appearance merely took me by surprise and my reaction…er.... just happened to be laughter.” Sincerity rang through Frostbane’s words, but an undertone of weariness was also present. The uncomfortable night and exhilarating morning was starting to take its toll. Still bowed low before Tousled, Frostbane continued with his dialogue. “You are welcome to accompany me and question me later, to your hearts desire, if you so choose. I’ll even explain my life to you, starting from my hatching date to the current day, but right now, as I’ve said, I have a rather bad feeling.”

Eva is, of course, completely correct with her identification. What other living Sentinel could look so much like a torn rag of feathers? ...Except that currently, Moult is a torn rag of feathers, and the clearly visible splashes of red amongst his shredded pinions are not from cheery feather dye or decorative paint.

One wing is extended, tangled and caught in the branches of a bush; the other is tucked awkwardly under his body. His eyes are closed, but, on closer inspection, he's still breathing! That's good, right?

Eva looked over Moult's body. She began to get a panic-y feeling in her chest, but when she was assured that Moult was still breathing, she calmed down, but only a little. "I... I don't know any medics.." She said. "You'd be better off going with the plan of me staying here while you go... but you have to hurry." She worried. "He doesn't look too good." She didn't know if she should move him to a better looking position, or just leave him half-tangled like he was at the moment. She had never really became friends with a medic, sos she wouldn't know..