When the falcon came down from the sky, the first thing Birdie thought was that it was in league some way with the crebain, and thought her end had come. Hope came when she saw the raptor making short work of the carrion crows, only to be dashed when the creature then stooped on her.
Birdie closed her eyes and waited for the feel of dagger-like talons sinking into her breast. "He probably thinks I'm in league with the crebain in some way. What a surprise when he finds himself carrying a dead skin-changer."
Then she felt the lift and swoop of the falcon, and it's feet wrapped around her, yet hardly penetrating her feathers. Birdie opened her eyes in surprise to find herself set down on some moss covered boulders, then watched as the elegant falcon lifted and turned, dodging among the tree branches like a hare in a thicket.
Birdie sighed, wishing, (not for the first time) that she could assume such a remarkable form. Then she let it go. The form chose her, not her the form, and it would always be that way. She leapt down from the rocks and ran back to find the others.
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