Silverlight Terrace [M] Left and Leaving

He looked up, eyes following the bird's path. All things had use, even small creatures like this. Whip felt a certain kinship to birds, having not only been his namesake, but for the simple fact that they often led the way toward an easy meal. Carrion. Corpses. Anything that could be scavenged. Oftentimes, he marveled at their intelligence, preferring their company to that of his own kind. 

Instinctively, he readied himself to follow, but the bird arced down -- perching itself curiously on the shoulder of a stranger. A coat of stark white with a severe, but youthful face stared back. Whip stood alert, uncertain. The heady scent of season radiated from this one, but her dared not move before he could read her intentions.

He cleared his throat, gruff from disuse. 

"This uh -- this one greets you too, I guess," Whip spoke brusquely. He canted his head curiously, careful to keep his own body language neutral. "The bird. It yours?"