Phoenix Maplewood When the buzzards get loud

The memory of her came to him in a rush. He recalled a tall tree with the sun glinting through the boughs; leaves shining with a liminous glow; the call of a sharp-beaked bird of some sort and then, after a struggle, the look of the red-tipped feathers as they formed a boquet in his mouth. A mess of blurry images that came and went through his mind.

She still didn't seem that familiar (or that interested) so he did not say anything about it. He did, however, notice the quick glances and deferrential shifting of her body as she put some distance between them and shrank away. The boy was curious about this reaction - he couldn't recall ever harming her, or being the type to harm strangers (save for when they ventured too close to the borders or molested the food stores), so Larus was at a loss.

He did notice the scent of the Valley upon her - notably, Laurel's. Oh, you're Laurel's sister, he realized breathily, his brow raising as this epiphany dawned. That meant she was a survivor. Are you -- okay? Do you need anything? The boy asked softly, cautiously, as if to make mention of his knowledge would spook the poor thing away.