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Brightling noticed when Tousled looked around and swiveled her own head without moving, focusing on the noisemaker. Her eartufts flicked up when she noticed the other shape, and especially when she saw Tousled's expression. So obviously this was friend. And if that was the case...well, she could only imagine that this particular crafter's friends were sensitive and pleasant.

She much preferred characters of that nature to those she sometimes met. Looking up at the newcomer, she noticed his bells first, then his primaries, and then...ah.

Three rows of chest bars? Really? Brightling gave out a peal of loud laughter at the realization that this bard's sense of humour was quite a lot like the one that had inspired her to put inverted Elite bars on her own wings. She recognized him, she thought, perhaps from Crownleaf. Certainly, most of the bards performed there. But she had only ever seen him at a distance and would have been at a loss for names.

"Greetings!" she called out, spreading her wings in an expansive flourish. "Prithee, what brings you here, good sir, and be ye friend or foe?"

Flipping her tail up like a Parus, she gaped her beak in another peal of laughter and twisted her head clownishly, inspecting Birch.

Fair maiden? That made Tousled pause for an instant and take another good look at Brightling. The happiness in her chest hesitated and begun to fade away. She was fair. A very fair, beautiful Wildtype, just like Birch, with sleek and glossy feathers. She was a bard, just like Birch, and had a sense of humour that...

Suddenly the little crafter didn't feel like she wanted to be there anymore. Like she was a third wing here, even before any real conversation had happened.

She looked down at her feet and shuffled them a little. She felt so torn: On one talon, she wanted to spend more time with Birch and Brightling, since they were both really nice people and she had had a lot of fun so far, but on the other there was suddenly a strange ache in her chest that made her want to excuse herself and leave as soon as possible.

Don't be ridiculous, she told herself, what's the point of being so jealous about a friend? It's not like he would stop being my friend just because he happened to meet someone more interesting. Hmpf, who am I kidding? Birch must already know lots of people more interesting than me.

She looked up again with an only slightly forced smile and hooted a soft greeting at Birch, but avoided looking at Brightling - just for a little while.

At Tousled's greeting, Birch moved a bit closer to the two females. He felt anxious for no real reason, and gripped the manhandled opossum self-consciously.

"Hoo! Of course," Birch said, letting a genuine grin hide his insecurity, "Tousled is good at finding beauty."

As Brightling started to preen he decided that it might be appropriate to sit just a bit closer to Tousled. He settled on a perch at what he hoped was a respectful distance, giving her a questioning glance and a friendly smile.

"I do not know your name, kind sir, but I am Brightling, a bard. Obviously."

"Obviously," he agreed and grinned before bowing elaborately, "I’m Birch the Bard, but I tend to be called less flattering names by those who doesn’t appreciate my... ahem... sense of humour."

"I can imagine," she answered Birch. Personally, she was incredibly amused by his clever dye job, but like her own, she knew the sort of trouble that such things could cause, especially among the older Sentinels. She had been publicly reprimanded before, but she kept the chevrons nonetheless. They amused her, and other young Sentinels. It was worth the grumping of the old birds.

"But a pleasure to become acquainted with you, Birch!" she added after a moment. "Is that opossum I see there in your talons?" Never one for self-consciouness lasting more than a moment or two, Brightling was hungry. And any Sentinel near other Sentinels and holding food was obligated to share. At least...by Brightling's rules.

Glancing at Tousled, she was amused to find herself wondering about this particular pair. Certainly friends, good friends. She wasn't sure if Tousled tended to shift and fidget, but it certainly reminded Brightling of typical social nervousness with members of the opposite sex.

Tousled stared at the badly mangled carcass that was offered up to her, and felt a wave pass through her feathers with a peculiarly tingly feeling in tow. She blinked and looked up at Birch, dumbstruck for a moment by the kind consideration in his gesture.

He-he thought about me? the thought swooped through her hear and perched itself at the forefront of her mind. She looked down at the sad remains of the opossum again. How could something so ravaged suddenly look so pretty? I think... I think he really did think about me. He brough this because he was thinking of giving it to me... didn't he? Didn't he just say that?

A wave of happiness washed through her, along with another unconscious fluffage, and she hurriedly bobbed her head in appreciation. "Oh, oh yes, I... I use teeth and bones... and fur, if it fits. Absolutely. I... this... thank you, it's so very nice of you to... to think of me." She noticed herself that she ended the last sentence with a slightly elevated tone, almost on the verge of making it a question, and felt a bit embarrassed. She sort of hoped that Birch wouldn't notice and turned to Brightling by way of distraction.

"Ah, yes, do come over and share!" she said, still a tad breathless. She had understood the somewhat un-subtle hidden meaning in the female bard's earlier question and, even through her current confusion, she had figured out that Brightling was probably hungry. Still, though, she didn't want to risk being rude and ignore Birch's kind offer of taking the first bite, so with a quick but warm smile at the male she bowed down and busied herself with nipping off a small strip of flesh, not waiting to hear if Brightling would try to make any reply.

First a mating season gift and now this... Birch should be more careful with his kindnesses: a girl could start getting ideas!

Birch fluffed and resettled the feathers on his head, slightly flustered, but also pleased that Tousled was happy and could use the gift. He waited politely until Brightling had taken her share and then stepped forward to rip off a piece of flesh. He wasn't that hungry since he had gobbled down the more easily perishable parts when he butchered the animal earlier. Still, it was nice to share a snack with friendly sentinels.

Birch nodded in response to Brightling's question.

"Yes," he said after swallowing, "Yes we do. She's a fellow member of the Brigadier's bards."

The short answer to her next question was 'yes'. To Birch it felt like a long time at least, in a good way. At the same time he remembered the first time he had really talked to Tousled as if it was just a night away.

"It's a funny story really," Birch said with a grin and settled on his perch as if to tell said story, "It was the night when that egg hatched..."

He assumed that "that egg" needed no further explanation. Talk about the Spectre chick had spread like wildfire and been the hottest piece of gossip this winter.

“Oh, really? How wonderful!” Brightling was genuinely impressed. She had never thought of a crafter having a job that interesting, and thinking about how much fun it must be to make the costumes, she let words escape her before she thought. “Perhaps I could come and watch you work and help a bit, sometime. I’d love to see the work you do!”

But then Birch was tale-telling and again, the young wildtype suddenly felt that she had intruded upon something. A sidelong glance at Tousled told her that something wasn’t quite setting as right with her as it was with Birch. Nonetheless, she tilted her head and listened to the beginnings of a story with interest. Ah, that night! Brightling hadn’t been one of those out and about; indeed, she hadn’t been much of anything for quite a while. So while she had heard all those stories, well...she had never been there.

The urge to cheer Birch’s tale onward rose up but she caught it in a clicked-shut beak, glancing at Tousled and still trying to gauge the crafter’s reaction.

Brightling's enthusiastic encouragement caught Tousled somewhat off-guard, and she froze for a moment with her head only centimeters above the opossum carcass. She looked up and blinked in surprise at Brightling, sending a quick glance over at Birch to make sure that she wasn't interrupting anything before answering in her usual, quiet voice:

"Um, well... I suppose... If you would want to." In truth, she felt quite flattered at the attention and the interest in her work. Nothing ever pleased her more than seeing the reaction of a happy customer when she presented them with their new jewellery. But the idea of having someone besides Tuft look on while she created... felt a little bit strange. The process took so much time - she was sure that Brightling would soon lose patience when she realised how much careful contemplation went into every piece, every choice, every fine manipulation. To Tousled, it was a hypnotical experience, and one that filled her chest with a deep, sense of excitement and satisfaction, to watch the beauty take shape, but she was fairly sure that anyone else would be quite bored, quite fast.

Still, it probably couldn't hurt just to show a little of 'how it's done'. If she got bored, well... no harm done, really.

"I do Crownleaf stuff at the Crownleaf Theater - I get good inspiration there. You could come by some time, see if I'm there."

And just like that, Tousled felt better again. Not good, per se, but better - less awkward. She had a place in this conversation. She turned to Birch and gave him a smile to apologise for interrupting him.