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Putting on his coat to go back outside and face down another bird, Rob stopped for a moment and looked at it. Blood- and dung-stained (as were his pants and boots), tattered and torn, it looked like it had been through a war and then slept in by a porcupine on a bed of knives. He snorted and shook his head as he donned the garment. This was war, wasn't it? This was part of what he had been Chosen to do: protect people from monsters.

Well, if this was what he was supposed to do, he decided he'd best quit his navel-gazing and do it. He shrugged the coat on, retrieved his greatsword, and headed back outside. A bird immediately zeroed in on him and began its diving attack. With a grunt he swung the big weapon at it, hitting it good and hard and slicing through part of its breast.

The bird dove in to attack again, this time flinging its toxic dung at Rob. He tried to dance out of the way, but the manure still caught the hem of his coat. With a grumble he quickly scooped up some snow and wiped it off, then readied his grip on the greatsword's hilt and swung again as the bird swooped closer. This time the blow landed, hitting the monster hard and knocking it down to the ground, gravely wounded.

"That'll teach you," he growled at the fallen creature.

With its death throes the bird s**t itself. Rob knew the vile stuff was toxic, so he carefully scooped some into a small vile. "For the collection," he murmured. He looked down at his coat again, even more shredded than when he started out. At least it was still providing some protection against both the cold and the birds. He wondered if they'd be able to keep them as souvenirs of the adventure. Turning, he headed back inside to get his fresh wounds patched up.