Bramblepoint Blue spotted tail

The words were unquestioned and nearly unregistered. Crowfeather was already sniffing at the earth for cobwebs. The water had washed their scents and Germanicus' wound. It already looked healthier to the shadow's untrained eye. 

Into the weald without a word. When the seer returned to the eagle, it was with a sigh. Crowfeather's fur still held signs of his traipse through spiderwebs. He had obtained more than a few bites from the unappreciative residents. 

No flowers, he offered apologetically. 

How had they gotten so close?