The Sentinels it is ours to hold the banner, is ours to hold it long

He had been watching her from above, quietly, not making himself apparent to her again. But her pull was too much for him to avoid entirely, and so he lurked. Sometimes the babe would look up to the very place he lingered, but she would say not a word to him and would move on. It was enough to keep him there for a while, before he took wing and sought her again. The owl was enamored with the child, for she was the loveliest thing he had ever looked upon, her beauty awing him more than meeting his own children for the first time had. She was truly a witch! For all birds sang for her so that she might look their way! And he, the great, wise owl and the one who had been told all felt envious when she did...

The owl was a fool, and he knew it. But he had been tasked with this, and would dutifully complete this task before ever giving way to such trivial matters. The elder, the vessel, felt that all would endure this misery when they understood that they could never have her, and so at least he would not be alone in that.

He spotted her as he lurked beneath the canopy, and he tilted his wings to increase his elevation so that he would not be seen. Only when she stopped did he stop, himself; he had not seen what she had seen, too concentrated upon her to take heed of anything else. He circled above her until he found what she looked upon, and then he could avoid her no more. His answer, his sign, had come!

With the downward tilt of wings he descended to the nearest tree, landing upon a low-set branch that was stable beneath his weight. "The witch has found the Cinder Flower," he informed, adjusting his feathers so that they lay flat upon him. "No creature that has wished ill of you with but their eyes will find you, for the Cinder offers protection. Even their words and their totems would effect you not." The creature tilted his proud head and watched her with inspecting eyes.