tarred and feathered

It hadn’t been hard to acquire an avian from the ayr, promises to return it once a message had been successfully delivered and yet a piece of her did not wish to loose it from the depths of the rookery. None of those trainers needed to eavesdrop upon the contents of her will, of the summons she wished to bestow upon another’s ears even if it came from the cawing beak of a crow. Hardly the ‘elegance’ her own scoffed phrase could bring but it would have to do for she was not eager to suffer potential embarrassment from being caught by the border guards once again.

This time her feet would remain planted firmly within Adamh’s lands, torment those on _this_ side of justice whether they would have her company or not. It was better than kicking rocks merely _waiting_. Seeing if a reply may come or even the very visage one hoped to interrogate; no, that wasn’t fun at all and not what she intended to do like some star struck damsel. Merely the thought of it brought her to huff, bringing the bird perched atop her spine to ruffle its feathers with a curious clack of its maw.

“Oh shut it, we’re almost there,” a command she doubted the bird would heed as those claws were felt to drift toward her neck. A higher perch of take off whenever the order was given to take flight, when a repeat of the message to be given was said. It’s destination was the Aberdeen, followed by the Fae Forest for uncertainty settled in her gut of just where that boy may be hiding out. If this didn’t work she would have to try another locale. “I don’t care how much you have to scream it bird but tell Riften to get his ass to the border. You got that?”

Bastille grimaced as the crow repeated her phrase, a tone broken yet loud, “Riften! Ass to border! Get your ass to the border!” That would have to do. “Get outta here, remember Aberdeen first then the Forest.” Gilded sights flickered toward the bird, the pressure lifting from the base of her skull from where the bird had climbed in a rush of feathers. Gaze settling upon it as it took flight, gradually gathering altitude to where no wolf would be able to stop it. A height that could not come quickly enough for the impatient woman.