Dawn Treader Valley some people think it's a curse

towhee watches as the falcon ceases preening, it's chest puffing out and it's beak opening again, the expel of air she can physically watch it make, it's unsettling obsidian gaze focused on something beyond her; watching like a ghost.

she startles and turns, reading the bird's physical cue as if it were a wolf's.

a stranger stands nearby, though she realizes he is talking by the last seconds of movement of his muzzle.

her hackles bristle, though a quick sweep of her gaze tells her that his intent isn't to attack. at least, for the moment.

-who are you?- she signs in ptero, again, out of habit; though works to shift her body posture into the question she is ultimately trying to deduce the answer to: friend or foe?