Blackfeather Woods addict with a pen

They reached the creek, and Maegi bent her head, eagerly lapping up the water. She'd not taken any plant today and yet her mouth held that taste. Perhaps it was just sympathy, for Mou. She flicked an ear at him, encouraging her friend to drink as well. It was cool against her throat; it would feel heavenly on the burning he had described.

The girl lifted her head, licking her chops and settling back on her haunches with a weary sigh. She closed her eyes, and felt rather than saw the flutter of wings, and Blue landed on her shoulder, digging just slightly with his claws. More likely than not regarding Mou warily; the grackle was still getting used to him, but liked him more than the rest.

"Don't eat the tall stalks with white flowers," she muttered, stifling a yawn. "Poison. They burn." No shit, Sherlock, thought Blue. But all she heard was a quiet squawk, and then he was silent, a sapphire-and-sable sentinel on her shoulder.