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"Ooooh..."

Rynia couldn't suppress the sharp intake of breath as she surveyed her front leg. It was going to hurt, she knew it was going to hurt, and she feared that hurt almost as much as the initial injury. It was actually rather embarrassing to be afraid of pain, and much more so to be afraid of the pain of changing a bandage, but there you go. She had been bruised, battered, and otherwise maimed for the majority of her life, but something as minute as peeling off a bandage still made her wince.

Still, it had to be done. The large leaf wrapped around the leg was secured on with sticky sap and contained crushed herbs, meant to keep infections and other nasties out of the already-nasty gash that decorated that leg. It had been a particularly brutal injury when inflicted and now, merely a week later, she dreaded having to deal with it. For many reasons.

Steeling herself, she leaned forward and took the edge of the leaf in her teeth. Getting a good grip, she closed her eyes, then jerked. "Mmmmm!" The leaf between her teeth muffled the exclamation of pain that accompanied the gesture, but her features would have told the story to anyone close enough to see it.

However, she recovered relatively quickly and set down the leaf, peering down at the leg with obvious trepidation...before letting out a soft sigh of relief. The wound was still large and still ugly, but there was no visible bone, no signs of necrosis, and no hideous smells. The protective leaf had done its job, and had done it well. Which was good; she had had some very nasty experiences with healing wounds in the past.

But time and practice had been good for her, increasing her basic medical knowledge to the point that she no longer had to panic after a particularly nasty training session. Her sister would turn up at some point and finish up any truly nasty wounds, and in the meantime she could patch herself up without having to worry about fleshrot or gangrene.

Though she didn't have to like it. Indeed, mental dissociation was a very important part of the process, and painful parts aside, the best way to get through bandage time was not thinking about the fact it was her injury. At least legs were easy to tend to...

And she was quick to get the process under way, scooting herself right up to the edge of the river and gingerly dipping the limb in, carefully rubbing it with a wing until she felt satisfied that it was well-rinsed. Having done that, she scooted back up again, the smooth rock face warm under her body, and carefully laid the leg out in front of her, injured side up. With quick succession, she rubbing it down with first the stinging antiseptic leaves, then laid the herbs over it, then finally and precisely laid the large, sticky-sided leaf over the top, smooshing it on firmly with her nose. The smell of the sticky resin made her frown, then sigh; too many more bandage changes and she'd have no hair at all left on her leg. The resin clung well, at least.

With great care, Rynia pulled herself to her feet, then looked down critically at the bandage. Not perfect, but really not too bad. Now she was free to enjoy herself, in peace.

And this was the place to do it. It had been years since she'd first found this secluded little corner on the far edge of her mother's territory; bordered by the river on one side and a rocky little outcropping on the other and ringed by trees overall, it had everything Rynia wanted when she could be alone. There was very little space between the rocky heap and the river; pretty much only enough for her, actually. A slight overhang from one of the rock segments provided her with shade or weather protection as the case might be, and the surrounding trees provided soothing noises and a shroud of privacy. All in all, a very nice place.

Rynia had always appreciate bird songs. Her exposure to animals was limited and pretty much always had been; though Ladius was no carnivore, she enjoyed keeping her skills up by hunting pretty much any creature that strayed into her territory. Birds were safe, though; protected by the fact that Ladius was a grounded Soquili. She still didn't like them, but accepted them with a grudging sense of acceptance. Besides, they served as fabulous perimeter alerts, if one knew what to listen for.

She had tried to make Rynia understand the significance of birdsong, with moderate success. Rynia had come to learn that a lack of bird calls meant danger, and that she would need to be on heightened guard. This knowledge, Ladius could approve of.

What she wouldn't approve of, and consequently had never been told, was that Rynia had come to love the birdcalls as something free of use or practicality. To her, they were something beautiful and sweet, the sound of freedom, of lightheartedness, of living simplicity. She had spent many hours in her retreat, lying on the stone and listening silently to the chirps and trills of the forest, wondering idly what they meant and what sort of life the singer led.

Satisfied that her bandage would hold, Rynia had leaned up against the rocky outcropping, the stone warm against her cheek, and closed her eyes. The afternoon was calm, she had no training left today...she could simply enjoy the peace and calmness of the forest. The rushing of the water, the rustling of the tree branches, the twitter of the birds...

Make that the chorus of birds. As the first strong chorus reached her ears, Rynia's eyes snapped open in surprise; as the sound continued to build, she found herself looking around in complete bewilderment. It was definitely birds, but she couldn't recall ever hearing birds sounds so...organized.

...Surreal was the closest thing that Rynia could think to describe what had started to happen. The organized birdsong had tightened up, and tightened up, and tightened up more...and then it had turned into something completely bizarre. What she was hearing were WORDS, clear, easily understood words, coming from what could only be the birds she had heard before.

She had never heard birds Speak before; had not actually heard any animal other than a Soquili speak. Her mother had mentioned, in passing, that there were select creatures other than Soquili with the power of Speech, that it was used as a defense mechanism for the animals that possessed it and could be used for nefarious purposes, but that was it. For obvious reasons, Talking Animals had never, to Rynia's knowledge, ventured into this part of the woods.

And it was honestly disconcerting. If it weren't for the fact that the words had built out of the birdsong, then Rynia would have been already gone; disembodied voices were not her forte, and even knowing (or hoping) that they were birds did little to calm her nerves. Because birds that could talk were obviously intelligent, and these ones were organized. For all she knew, they might have sinister intent and could be plotting an attack!

Odd battle-cry for an attack, but what better way to knock down guard than by telling people to be happy? She was still wary, looking around her at the surrounding trees. Were the bird armies in them? Were they watching her even now, preparing some sort of attack??

Being constantly on edge could take its toll on a person; when one was on-edge for unknown reasons, the inevitable exhaustion could set in even faster. Anyone watching Rynia could see that; her expression and body language passed from wary and skittish to wary and fidgety to wary and confused to confused to settled but wary to relaxed but cautious. As time passed without the volume or proximity seeming to change, she allowed herself to relax a bit, eventually resuming her reclining position and allowing herself to listen to the music with as much calm as she could muster.

And once she allowed herself that bit of calm, she found herself enjoying the music a great deal. It was beautifully arranged and seemed to flow on the wings of the afternoon breeze, relaxing and soothing to listen to. If the singers WERE plotting a nefarious attack, they were very good at distraction techniques. If she were a less paranoid creature, she might even allow herself to take a nap.

Fortunately, she was aided in staying awake by the fact that the mystery singers weren't 'performing'. They kept stopping and starting, switching what they were doing in the middle...it was very jumpy and distracting, if she was being honest. But whatever. Maybe they were training, themselves; occasionally she heard a lower, more forcible tone creep into either the singing or into the random moments of silence. That voice reminded her a bit of her father's voice, being deeper than the others, and it instinctively seemed like the voice of a trainer. She wondered what sort of bird would have a voice that deep...maybe an eagle, or an owl. Definitely not a little song bird...there's no way they could manage that voice with such small lungs.

She would remain alert, at any rate. Birds might be smaller than she, but that didn't mean they couldn't pull something.

And no sooner had she steeled her resolve than her thoughts seemed to manifest; from out of the trees on the other side of the river there suddenly appeared a great many little song birds, more than she'd ever seen together at once. And all of them were making straight for her....

Scratch that. They actually appeared to be making for the river, but that didn't mean they might not do something else once they realized she was there! Instinctively, she lay still against the rocky ground, her neutral tones camouflaging her somewhat as she watched the swirling flock of birds.

~Please don't do anything...please~

It would have been a wondrous and amazing experience for Rynia, had it not been so extraordinarily terrifying. To the casual observer, it was likely quite comical, the mare lying frozen with fear amidst the rush of songbirds. But for Rynia, there was no humor, only confusion, fear, and extreme shame. Really it was a collection of songbirds! Small, delicate, gentle songbirds that should by no means be a cause of fear in any creature larger than a raccoon, and certainly not a Soquili, particularly a Soquili at all related to Rynia's parents. Yet there were so many of them, so very many of them, and they were obviously organized into some sort of group; the only balm to Rynia's guilt was the thought, disloyal as it was, that even her mother would have difficulties avoiding taking damage if she were to fight such a swarm.

That thought was small consolation, though it made her smile for a brief moment before her disbelief with herself pushed it from her mind. It became of no concern at all when she realized that three of the swirling mass of avian life had detached themselves from the rest...and had obviously spotted her.

Fear escalated right up to panic and she regarded the three birds with wide, clearly frightened eyes. When hiding failed, bolting or otherwise retreating was her usual defense mechanism, but in this situation it would be bordering on suicide to attempt it. Moving at all seemed like it would only attract more attention to her, but now that she'd been spotted at all it was only a matter of time before she was seen by all, and then what would happen?

Her mind was racing so fast that she didn't know what she was doing or ought to be doing, and it took a few long seconds longer for her to realize that the birds were talking about poking her. Poking her? Was that bird-talk for trying to skewer her? Was she going to be speared for daring to be in the area where they'd chosen to take their break? Would she be the first victim of a cross-woods songbird massacre???

All things considered, Rynia handled the inspection with good grace and deportment. Granted, she was still terrified out of her wits and trying to determine if it was possible for a Soquili to disappear into the rocky ground without leaving a trace, but she managed to do those things with delicacy. Unfortunately for her nerves, that experiment was a failure; after tightly closing her eyes and opening them again, she was still there, still be examined by intelligent and possibly homicidal songbirds, and still left with a very minimal chance of escape. Which meant that there was nothing left for her to do but face the inevitable. It was a bit odd that the inevitable took the form of three songbirds, but the world tended to work in odd ways.

Though she had to admit that the inquiries about her being dead and/or murdered did nothing to calm her nerves as she finally gave up on the silent camouflage ploy. "I'm not murdered...and I don't want to be, either." Her voice was so soft that it was barely audible, but given how close the birds were to her face that was probably moot. But between her fear and her paranoia about drawing more attention to herself, that was as loud as she was willing to go. Indeed, whether it was even POSSIBLE for her to be louder was a point up for debate, and she self-consciously drew back her bandaged front leg to give herself a little more space. She briefly considered asking them for mercy, but ruled that out on the grounds that it was the surest way to her demise. An important rule of Ladius was: Never reveal the extent of your weaknesses to your enemies, and Rynia did her best to follow that rule to the letter.

Still, it was best to be cautious and perhaps a little humility wasn't out of place here. "I didn't mean to intrude on you all." Never mind that they had technically come upon HER, that was completely beside the point.

First she looked like she was murdered, now she looked like she was slain...whether the bird to or not, she was managing to alarm Rynia even more with each new metaphor! Songbirds might look gentle, but there was no way that all these comparisons towards violence could be coincidental or unintentional. The already skittish mare was at the point of breaking out in a cold sweat now, her strongest resolve bound up in the idea of not shaming herself as she died by squealing like a little filly!

Those thoughts were first and foremost on her mind as the the little bird drew closer; in reaction, she herself drew back closer to the shelter of the rock, trying to keep as much space between herself and the tiny assassins as she could. They were good assassins, she had to admit; most people probably wouldn't suspect them at all, and she herself likely wouldn't have, either, were it not for her training. That was something she could be grateful to her mother for...something else, rather, as she would always have a great deal owed to that maternal parent.

Indeed, the birds' guise of goodness was so thorough that in spite of herself, she had started to reach out with a wing to steady the unbalanced bird before it caught itself and she realized what she was doing. Worriedly, she withdrew the wing, but rather than folding back across her back she used it to cover her injury. She had almost forgotten about it, being so distracted by the birds, but having them focused on it made her all the more aware of how vulnerable she was at this moment. "It's fine, you don't have to worry. It looks worse than it is, I promise you. Please don't distress yourself, I'm quite well and don't need a doctor." She wasn't sure what a doctor was, as a point of fact; perhaps it was a colloquialism for some sort of herbal remedy? Or maybe a healer. Either way, the last thing she needed was more attention!

It was just as well that she herself was as clueless as the birds regarding the presence of Raines, or she might have completely broken down. Stallions had always been objects of abject terror in her, the result of having a very imposing father and a mother who held most males as little more than sexual deviants and arrogant asses. She had only ever seen one she wasn't related too, and that brief glimpse had been enough to send her into a nervous dither, quite positive that she was going to be killed if he saw her. Needless to say, it hadn't been a promising beginning!

The birds might not have made the connection between Rynia's skittishness and her belief that they were deadly killers, but they didn't have to be psychic to note her relief as they moved away: a slow release of her breath, a slight expansion of her rib cage, a slight relaxation of her expression. It was true that they might just be toying with her; after all, they were BIRDS! They could easy close the distance and attack in the blink of an eye, were they so inclined, so a distance of a few mores inches was hardly likely to protect her. But just not having them in her space made things a lot calmer...

Until one of them spoke.

Not ever having any reason to be aware of speech games, the idea that the voice was not the bird's own failed to cross her mind. As things stood, she was merely flabbergasted into wide-eyed staring once again, regarding the bird with as much astonishment as if it had sprouted another head. The voice was just so...odd, given the size of the bird! It wasn't unpleasant, being a nicely modulated, soothing sort of voice, but it was undeniably male, deep, and very...well, FULL. Her experience with males being what it was, her renewed withdrawal and tensing were as much a reaction to the very male voice as to the somewhat challenging question.

It WOULD ask her to do something like that, wouldn't it? Obviously the birds were on to the fact that she was weakened and wanted to see to what degree; possibly an effort to run her off? Get her exposed and then attack her at her injury?

Her anxiety was in full-fledged panic mode before the odd banter between the bird and the female bird (about what, she didn't understand; what was a 'seal'?) distracted them both from her briefly, allowing her time to make a quiet resolution with herself. She was outnumbered, surrounded, and already injured; if the inevitable was going to happen, the least she could do was make her exit with dignity.

Composing herself, she gave the songbirds a slow nod. "Of course I can stand." As she spoke, she carefully, measuredly, and with deliberate care drew herself to her feet, betraying the barest wince as she bent the injured leg. The action of standing also displayed to the observing birds a dark discoloration the rough shape of a hoofprint previously obscured by her wing and a slash that ran along her side almost to her rump, as well as a few scars and partially healed injuries and bruises scattered over her sides and legs. The slash was still untreated, as her leg wound had been more pressing; that, and back/rear wounds were a great deal harder for her to reach and required more contorting that was exactly comfortable right now.

Once standing up, she folded back her wings and once again covered the other new wounds, adopting a stance that allowed her to keep most of her weight off of the injured leg while hopefully not appearing to actually favor it. A clever plan, indeed! "As I told you, there is no reason for any of you to be concerned on my behalf, I'm quite fine. A little rest, and I'll be good as new." And so she would, if she got out of this alive!