Overture Downs more than could be chewed

Roamer's only response was a muffled grunt. Why she had ever stopped to help this poor fool, she would never know. Even in pondering it later, she would be unable to identify the source of her altruism. It was a good day to be Swiftlet Redhawk, apparently, and nothing more.

Her lower spine screamed as she threw her weight back once more. This time, the juvenile came with her, popping up out of the snow only to faceplant at the edge of it. Roamer dropped the stick at once and reeled back into a sit that sent blessed relief flowing out through her muscles. She worked her tongue against her gums, identifying several bits of wood that would need time to work their way out.

To Swift's celebration, she merely arced a brow. Roamer wasn't that much older than Swift, but with a pretentious attitude having come from being raised among those who trained their youth from a very young age to be disciplined and responsible, she thought him rather childish indeed. This was only compounded when he posture flagged and his voice came droning out of him.

Retrieve it in the spring, she advised, and she was hardly able now to keep a hint of irritation from creeping into her voice. Her back hurt something awful and she half-expected the idiot boy to rush back in after his trophy. Maybe there will be more bones then, she added as an afterthought that might soothe the blow of her tone.

More bones from other idiots like you, she thought to herself.