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OOC: This was supposed to be a lot longer, but it's taking so long to write that I've split it into two parts...

The dusk air was brisk. The leaves rustled somewhere high up in the canopies, while the grass far below twinkled in shades of pale gold, its eternal dew catching the occasional thin beams of waning sunlight that filtered through the ancient oaks. Echoing in the distance, a flock of unseen songbirds twittered their energetic evening harmonies. It was another glorious day in this remote corner of Noctua.

Morning! Morning!

Orynn flinched as the screech behind her shattered the near-glasslike perfection of the scene, whipping her out of her usual hypnotic daydreams.

Good morning, Twyll...

While an invariably useful and highly clever assistant, perhaps the best in the business, sometimes Orynn wondered just why she put up with the tone-deaf Parus that was forever by her side. Twyll persistently seemed to possess the worst timing imaginable, obsessed beyond reasoning with scheduling and punctuality - although that could, in part, be Orynn's own fault. Perhaps she was simply too well trained.

Staring, staring, always staring! We've work to do, work to do!

Before Orynn could even reply, her ever-efficient aide had readied today's basket - deliveries of used feathers for Fletcher's confusing collection, an abridged list of needed berries and insects, and a single pre-inked quill. Although writing is no Sentinel's strong point, Orynn's occasional absent-mindedness meant that she would never remember what she'd already done without the latter two items. Specialising in the synthesising of rare and oftentimes unknown colours of feather dye for only the richest members of the Clan, she simply could not rely on her own sporadic memory, nor that of her shrill-voiced compatriot.

She sighed to herself and ruffled her ermine feathers, preparing a pocket of warmth for the long flight ahead. The luxury of imagination and her preferred state of quiet isolation would have to wait until her daily chores had been completed. Nestling her beak into the parallel grooves long worn into the basket's handle, giving her a firm grasp on the woven carrier and its contents, she took a single step forward before launching herself clear of the doorperch. An excited Twyll quickly followed, almost instantly appearing in her usual place alongside the silently kiting Sentinel.

Away we go! Away we go!

And with that, the pair wheeled swiftly towards the rising crescent moon, soon to reach their first destination.