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Somehow the strange bird will find her, sooner or later, wherever she may roam -- the Freds know her well enough to know what taverns she generally frequents and the routes she normally takes in and out of town. In many ways they seem to know her too well, for they know where she buys her clothes, where she buys her meals, where she picks up parts for any instruments she uses, and a dozen little places she might be. They may know more about her than she's really aware of, and it's entirely possible that the oddly-colored rook will find her in one of those places, a place that she will have no idea that the Freds even know about.

They make it a point to know about her, whether she realizes it or not.

But wherever that may be, a bird will approach her with a curious Quork? no matter what she is doing. It is an unusual rook, for all that such birds tend to have varying patterns on their feathers -- this one is mostly a creamy white with speckles of grey, as if all the color has been washed out of it. The only actual colors are a few tail feathers that look as if they have been dipped in berry juice and a pair of bright red eyes. The hedgewitch that the bird belongs to must be a very unusual sort, indeed!

The bird approaches her fearlessly, behaving in an amiable fashion, giving her friendly little flirts of its tail and wings, begging caresses if she seems inclined to offer them, and preening clothes or hair if Rajani has the courage to let the rook come close. There is also a strip of thin paper tied to the bird's leg, and it is the rook's fondest desire to offer this paper to her, and it will fluff up with happiness if she complies by removing it.

The message is very short.

Follow bird, it says in cramped script. Need help.

It is signed just as simply, as if the writer in question is squirming with embarrassment at admitting their own identity, for all that they know such information is necessary to secure Rajani's assistance.

Follow bird. Need help. First.

If the bird understands the incredulous look that the gypsy grants it, she does not appear to care; she flutters her wings, and preens a strand of Rajani's dark hair with every evidence of fondness. At Rajani's nod, the bird bounces once, twice, and then drops off her shoulder and flits a short distance away, landing on a sign-post of her own and waiting for Rajani to catch up. This is how the journey will go, with the cream-colored rook darting forward and then waiting for them to catch up after, whistling cheerfully at her in encouragement every so often. Hawthorn is not forgotten either; the other bird flutters her wings and flips her tail at him, with an odd sort of low crooning -- the sound being very encouraging indeed, in a vastly different manner.

She leads them not to the tavern that the brothers operate, nor any of their other known haunts, but to a place that Rajani has never been, whose location the brothers rarely share with anyone.

She leads the small party to their home.

They live in a surprisingly nice little flat above a chandler, and the rook leads her up a stair in the alley to a little door that will open as soon as Rajani reaches it. First must have been watching for her, so anxious was he that she should come -- and his little note was no exaggeration. He looks like he has been ill, being pale beneath his freckles, his clothing rumpled and his hair out of sorts. "Raj! Come in!" His voice is a croak of relief, though as the rook darts in the open door and lands upon his shoulder, he winces visibly. " .. blast it, bird," he mutters. "Get off."

A .. surprisingly well-furnished and startlingly clean flat. It doesn't look like it belongs to a pair of young toughs: it looks like it belongs to a pair of young fops who are mostly cut off from the family money but have managed to preserve some of it for their own upkeep. The furniture is well-chosen and well-kept, the bare floors covered with second-hand rugs that aren't too worn, and everything looks like it is kept clean and neat most of the time.

But it's not perfect -- there are signs of recent chaos, things knocked off of shelves, a book on the floor with pages that have been chewed, and a few tears on the curtains where the rook has hung from them. And, of course, there is a basket on the floor in front of a small fireplace, where an exhausted Guardian fawn has finally fallen asleep. He is a handsome little thing, his hide even creamier than the rook's, with a gorgeous speckled pattern that in the firelight seems to move back and forth across him.

First just shuts the door and trails after her, dropping himself in a chair beside the fire, watching Rajani with big, pleading eyes. There is -- for perhaps the first time -- no sign of his brother. First is alone. "Don't wanna be nice," he tells her, sounding exhausted. "I just want her to go away." He says it, but he doesn't mean it. His heart isn't in it, and he reaches up to scratch the rook's head even as he says it.

Since the rook is tucking her head beneath his ear to preen his hair, First bites his tongue: what response is there that he can give to the truth? Draped across his chair (one of two matching arm-chairs in front of the fireplace), he watches Rajani with mingled guilt and relief.

The little fawn gives a great big sigh and begins to work its way towards wakefulness. It is new -- terribly new -- probably not even a day old yet.

When Rajani puts forth her final question, the war between relief and guilt is promptly won by the latter: though the twins have never been experts at hiding their feelings, they have never been so terrible as First is now. "Don't know," he attempts, which is a poor lie indeed, and he will give over with little more than a single pointed look. " .. out drinking," he tells her finally, sounding fully as ashamed as perhaps he ought to be. "He hadn't been getting sleep, not a wink, since he started dreaming 'bout the thrice-damned tree." His voice is even but his expression has become pleading as he puts forth this excuse for his twin sib.

The little fawn lifts its pale nose and snuffles the air for a moment, regarding First and then Rajani before looking all about the room -- and then heaving another sigh, and resting its little head on the edge of the basket. Plainly whoever it is looking for is not present, and it does not expect anything of either of the two persons who are there.

First is squirming; his talent may not be precognitive (he's certainly never shown signs of it before!) but it wouldn't take a hedge witch's power to know that he and his sibling are about to be in a great deal of trouble. "I offered," he tells her weakly. "I mean, sort've. He's just kind of, of --" Clearly he's grasping at straws, still making excuses for his twin, desperate for anything he can say that will get that horrifying tone out of Rajani's voice. " -- tired. And surprised." He licks his lips, hurrying to get more words out in the hope that maybe he can distract the gypsy instead. " .. what do we feed it? It hasn't eaten yet. I got milk. Some green stuff."

Fortunately for the gypsy, neither boy has a clue -- even First, who has shown vague interest in the other-worldly creatures, does not seem to know any better. He just nods, despondent, as if this is rather what he expected. Unwanted, Unwelcome, and ungodly expensive, to boot! Oh, and he doesn't look forward to bringing up the names of the new additions to his life; he suspects Rajani will go spare when she hears them.

He watches glumly as the little fawn snuffles her fingers and then puts his head into her hand, looking longingly up at her for a caress -- which shows at least he has been stroked before, though not nearly as often as he would have liked. Then again, are there ever enough ear-skritches, head-pettings, and crooning compliments?

When Rajani swerves right back to the topic of Last, his brother looks distinctly pained. Last is probably going to get it from Rajani and First, since First was the one that had to bear the brunt of the gypsy's anger. The fact that she's speaking so calmly somehow makes everything that much worse ..

" .. it .. wasn't really -- I mean, he just kind of -- it's just all been a surprise for him." He licks his lips, aware that he sounds like a child blubbering excuses to a teacher, and drags a hand through his tousled hair, clearly on edge. " .. he kind of stormed out. We weren't expecting this. We went out of town to meet someone, and then the dreams took him, only it was just him. Not me."

And this -- this is the heart of the problem for the both of them, plain in First's heart-broken voice. They'd have been able to handle it if it were the both of them together, but a path diverged in a wood and they each took a different fork. They've spent all their lives being the same: this difference, this glaring-but-deep-down difference, scares them.

First watches the gypsy, one of his oldest friends here in town, and stares with his mouth slightly open and his eyes gone wide. In a way, it's both good and bad that it's Rajani giving him this lecture -- good because he'd not listen to anyone but a friend, bad because he had no idea she could be so serious, so intense. From the way that he stares blankly at her, she might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. "But," he tries, the word strangled and weak, and though he surely intends an indignant protest he doesn't hardly have the courage to manage one.

"But --" He cuts himself off a second time, regarding her in a bewildered sort of way, and there is no telling what he might have said if his rook had not intervened. With no sign that she understood the conversation, she has landed lightly on the arm of First's chair and walked calmly across it to his shoulder. Climbing up his sleeve as if she hasn't got a care in the world, she begins to preen the smaller hairs behind his ears.

First freezes.

After a moment, without saying a word and trying not to meet Rajani's gaze, he reaches up and gently strokes her folded wings.

He flushes with a muddled cocktail of anger and embarrassment when she notes her triumph, but with Unwelcome crooning pleasure in his ear, he doesn't dare say a word against Rajani. And maybe there is hope for him yet, if he's able to bite his tongue back against a smart reply. It's been a long, long time since he's gotten such a lecture, since he's allowed anyone to tell him anything .. like most children born of crime or poverty, his life required him to mature quickly in many ways.

In the silence that pulls taunt between them, he gets up and goes to stand at the fire, one hand lightly on Unwelcome's back to hold her steady as he stands. He doesn't look at the baby fawn in the basket -- he can't bring himself to so much as glance at the little thing -- and finally he turns about to look at Rajani, something unreadable in his eyes.

"Raj." He pauses, then takes a deep breath and hopefully with it draws in the courage to speak again. "How come you've got Oberon and Hawthorne?" It's miraculous that he uses their names correctly -- that he knows them at all! -- since generally he refers to them as 'that damn bird' or 'that damn goat.' But what he's obliquely asking is something else all together, in that he's referring to the old legends of Guardians and Hedge Witches.

A Chosen can't be a Witch. A Witch can't be a Chosen. It simply doesn't work that way .. and yet, doesn't Rajani have both a rook and a Guardian?

" .. you think maybe I could get a Guardian later?"

(This question, without any further explanation, will tell Rajani several things. One, that First, despite their prejudices, actually wanted a Guardian. Two, that First knows that he is a hedge witch, and has probably known for some time. Three, that he knows his brother isn't, and won't ever be.)