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Birch seemed oblivious to the happenings in the audience. His voice was loud enough to fill the theatre despite the occasional murmur.

The storm raged on for several days. The weather was making it hard, if not impossible, to hunt or find much food. Birch extended his wings again, as if he was just about to take off. She braved the bad weather on the second day and came back with a skinny little bird after a long, exhausting and mostly fruitless hunt. It was pure luck that had made her find the creature, already half dead from the cold.

The mist female started to wonder if her rescuer was hurt in any way. He was quiet, and she hadn't seen him leave the shelter once since they got there. When she got back and the male soundlessly let her know that she should eat what little food there were she got increasingly worried. Still, she needed food to be able to stay warm and hunt again so she plucked and ate the bird, even if it just made her feel more hungry.

Silent as he was, she was grateful for the company. Two bodies could better keep the cold at bay in their shelter, and it was comforting to have someone else to preen and be preened by. She kept trying to find some food, with the same meager result, and he kept refusing to take any of her findings.

It might have been the desperation of their situation, Birch said softly, but somehow still managed to make himself heard, it might have been love, or it might have been because she was young and afraid of death... He trailed off and appeared to be looking at something far far away. Whatever the reason, she took him as her mate during that storm, despite her nagging feeling that something was wrong.

After the Mist fledgling had reassured her that Hazel was not, in fact, stealing, Raine's expression rapidly changed from anger, to surprise, to relief.

"Oh thank goodness. I was worried that Hazel had stolen your mouse. He's such a little rascal sometimes...You can't really blame him; being a Martes and all, and he does have a rather loose sense of morality. Of course, being a poor example, myself, I can't exactly complain." Raine beamed.
"And hunting on your own is a fine accomplishment. Mouse-catching is really harder than it looks after all..." She then trailed off, as the bard had begun telling a particularly exciting part of the story. The Sentinel listened attentively to Birch, mumbling a small. "Pardon me."

Gulp. The ravenous Martes wolfed down the remains of the mangled mouse. White fur stained red with blood, he was a frightening sight as he bounded over to greet the Skurri. Although he held nothing but friendly intentions, this was probably not the best way to meet someone you had almost eaten. Mistaking him for a wild Skurri, Hazel had attacked Roth at the gathering of The Longest Night. He still felt rather guilty about the mishap. Chirping softly, and sounding uncannily similar to a Parus, Hazel smiled sheepishly.

Several nights went by, and the weather improved, but the female could not coax her mate to leave their shelter. She was now convinced he must be sick or injured, but since she wasn't a medic she was unsure what to do. When they snuggled close she could feel that he was skinny under his feathers, and he was cold, always cold. He was still silent, but his eyes seemed to speak to her more than words could have ever done.

That evening she hunted furiously, as if their life depended on it, and perhaps it did.
Birch paused briefly to look at his audience, then he surprised them by positioning himself in a fighting stance. He continued telling the tale much more intensely, using wings and voice and ear tufts to convey the feeling of the violent hunt. Noctus seemed to be with her that night, flying by her side and directing her eyes to the prey. She found a hare and swooped down, desperation making her strong. Noctus guided her talons and made her hunt successful. How else could she catch a hare all by herself?

Birch folded his wings again and continued in a softer voice. When she came back with her kill her mate was silent like a shadow in their shelter. She ate her share and desperately tried to feed her mate, like one would feed a hatchling, but he moved his beak away. It tore her apart to realise what she would have to do and as she explained her plan he nodded. She reassured him that she would be back with help, and soon, but he just watched her with a sad look in his eyes.

Leaving him behind with the half eaten hare was the only way she could help him now. Birch closed his eyes and fell silent for a moment. Those who had heard the tale before knew that there was more to come, but the bard was in no hurry to finish.

((looks like there'll be one more part to the story))

Keeping his eyes on the Skurri, Hazel swiveled his ears towards Birch, eyes lighting up when the bard acted out the hare hunt. Martes metabolisms were insanely fast, and after the depiction of the hunt, Hazel was reminded of his burbling stomach. He was hungry...again...It wasn't like he could eat Roth, though the Skurri did look rather plump and juicy, and tasty...No! Rae-Rae say no eat companions, Hazel no eat companion. Trilling softly, Hazel curiously asked Roth. "What Skurri name?"

Flicking his tail, the Martes acquised to Roth's statement. "Hazel no eat Roth. No make Rae-rae sad. Rae-rae Hazel's bigbird. Hazel Roth fu-ren-duh-s. " Having never used the word, Hazel wrinkled his nose.

Tousled's heart went out to the fictitious female of Birch's story. When the bard's voice made its dramatic change, Tousled's face underwent a similar transformation. She could feel the other's pain and anxiousness, almost as if it was her own. She let a small, pained sigh escape her and shifted her postition a bit closer, to better be able to hang on Birch's every word.

Twilla was leaning so far forward that she nearly fell. She ungracefully pused her self back up onto her perch with a wild flap of her shadowy wings and had an embarrassed look about her stance.

Fjord, too, was enjoying the tale. Despite the fact that he wanted to put on his own performance, he was hanging on to Birch's every word.