i havent rped in like a year [open] joining

So in a perfect world, she would have stopped at the border. Waited for some probably apex predator to show up, give her name and say she was joining, and everything would be gumdrops and rainbows. But why on earth would she do that? That was no fun. That didn't poke the bear at all; show who was really in power here. Now don't get her wrong. She knew exactly how these small civilizations work. She had been a high contributing member in one for a year or two before it disbanded quickly after she left. Huh. its amazing how that works. She felt responsible for taking that monstrosity down. She remembered their rocky relationship with The Typhoon. and... maybe she started it, considering she was the one that screamed at one of their apprentices. whoops. well. either way, she was asking for it. who the heck comes out of nowhere and starts reading minds, anyways? wasnt that against the law or something?

either way...

cry whined as she swooped down under the canopy of the jungle, reaching a talon up to scratch at her face. her eyes were killing her. how long has she been flying? flying with a full suit of leather armor on wasn't easy! who the heck made this again? one of the kids in snowbound. the one with the funny accent. she couldn't remember at the moment. the little crow sighed, shaking her head. she couldn't give up now. she was almost there! ... almost there... almost ....

where was she going again?

hell if she knew, honestly. she had been trapped in this world for nearly two years now. ... has it been two years? four? one??? who cares time is a social structure anyways. she had given up on finding home ages ago. that scar had healed. it was still tender, but it was healed; unable to be picked at and tore open anymore. She still missed her m- wait has she passed that tree already? Cry turned her head around to look at a leafbare tree, tilting her head. She could have sworn she saw that tree eighty seven frames ago! was there a loop here? ooohh she did not have the time nor energy to deal with one of those right n-

ACCCQQQKCK the crow cried out, slamming face first into the very solid tree right in front of her. Cry stayed there comically for a few moments before starting her decent down to the swamp floor. She hit ... one... two... four branches on her way down, before she collapsed on the dirt with a sickening CRACK. Cry winced, swallowing down any sort of yelp or scream that wanted to escape her throat. Tears bunched up in her eyes. No no no not again. The crow whined, using her good wing to force herself to her feet. She wouldn't be doing this again. Cry stared down at her broken wing, the right one this time, tears breaking the surface of her eyes. She swayed on her feet. She was... just so exhausted... and in so much pain.... She wobbled on her feet, eyes falling shut as she fell to the floor again.

.... not... again.........

"SPEECH"

— Birds of a feather, flock together.

It was one of those sayings, the words passed Ament without meaning, but the sentiment - the loyalty it seemed to spurn from the big-pack. The words meant something. And it itched like the collar clasped around his throat. The feathers there were gone, all that was left was the click-click-click rattle of the chains. The simple sound abusing his ears in the silence of hunt. Hunting with the collar was hard, but living without the collar - the reminder was harder.

Living alone was a hastle, without his sister's, without his mother life seemed fleeting between static and wraith. Wraith had always seem apart of him. A vice as much as it was a weapon. But ever since that static- ever since the pitt. The static in his head seemed to fade, but never completely. It always came back with his r a g e. So for once, he kept himself in check, let the sound of the chains around his throat settle his nerves while he prowled.

The sound was not that if his chain.

A soft thunk with the dying weeze if a caw.

He turned towards the direction. The raptor steadily prowling closer to the sight of a bird, a crow. With a broken wings. A curious tilt of his head.

This one was odd, and Ament liked odd things. He didn't take to killing something like this- like his sister's would. He would rather watch, rather help than kill what was hurt. If it helped him understand it was worth it.

Gentle, his small new friend was pathetic and weak. But that was fine, Ament once was too. Ament got better, and Ament would help see this one better too. A low chittering from the raptor as he gently moved to preen the small birds feathers. his teeth were sharp, but Ament could be gentle - he had been gentle before he could again.

A raspy cough infected the scene’s sullenness with its grating tone, signifying the hound’s presence as he warily trekked forward. An unnatural snapping of twigs and branches within the brush overhead snatched his scrutiny, which was only amplified when the familiar figures of Crow and that feral fellow hightailed after the commotion’s source.

Before, the Guardsman would likely roll his eyes and dismiss it as another one of Tanglewood’s numerous anomalies - though, ever since the raid on the Pitt came to a victorious close, things became boring as shit. A few weeks back, Leroy was assigned the role of handing out weekly tasks of his choosing, which provided minimal amusement at most. However, literally nothing of importance had transpired since then. Nope. Nothing. Nada.

Hence, he was so eager to take a gander at whatever Crow and Ament were gawking at.

Oh. A crow. Nasty buggers didn’t even taste good. The species was pretty common around these parts, too, so the creature held very little significance to its name. The fact that it crashed into Tanglewood soil was as interesting as the bird got, and to be honest, Leroy did not give a shit. Heading over here, his hopes were heightened as he anticipated seeing something along the lines of a meteorite, or maybe even another dragon; only to have those optimisms shattered upon recognizing what the could-have-been meteorite truly was - an inky, trash-eating crow.

A gaze of discontent, his hues wore with vexation.

"It’s a goddamn crow, Crow," he’d retort sharply in response to his leader’s inquiries to the unconscious creature, ”you’d have a better discussion with a braindead parrot than one of those things.”

99% of those things weren’t sentient anyway, so his comments probably wouldn’t offend the probably-dead critter.

ringing. That's all she could hear. Sharp, whining... irritating ringing. Her head was pounding. Just past the ringing, she could feel her heart throb in her chest. She could feel the waves of pain in her wing. She could hear the rasp in her breath. Over all if she could give a poetic description: This fucking hurt!

Through the ringing and the pain, she felt a touch. a very light touch, but a touch none the less. a touch by something sharp, as if someone had taken the blade of a knife and lightly caressed it down her broken wing. If that didn't start a flight or fight response, she doesn't know what would. The bird cried out in a weak but loud caw, her feet scrambling and pushing her forward in the dirt. She did not have the energy to stand up, but she did manage to push herself a few feet forward. Get away from me! she screamed out. Damn mammals. Always thinking they can push smaller animals around and step on them. They were just pets, no need to check if they were alive before trying to get themselves some fresh chicken wings!

Cry panted, placing her good wing onto the ground and tucking the injured one close to her chest. She stared down at the wet, muddy forest floor for a few moments before pushing herself up to her feet. She broke a sweat, stumbling for a few moments before she glared up at the bigger creatures before her. She was sworn to silence before she heard it. You'd have a better discussion with a braindead parrot than one of those things. She saw red. Her face flushed, she screeched back, You better not be calling me brain dead, you paul castellano wannabe!

"SPEECH"

"Crow, I swear I’ll make YOU cry like that," Leroy countered in a facetious quip, eyes rolling at the sight of his triumphal leader.

A pitiful spectacle, the stranger was. A bird cannot fly with crippled wings, thus rendering the crow broken. And, as everybody knows, broken items require repair.

So, what was Tanglewood’s role in the scenario? Would the swamp serve as a rest home, its inhabitants being the quacks taking absolute care of the stranger? Or would Tanglewood deny her sanctuary, and leave her to perish?

”You’re lucky that you decided to crash at our place,” the guardsman reflected towards the creature, still perplexed at her insult, ”some of the other places don’t take too kindly to strangers.” Especially injures birds who call people names less than five minutes after their introduction. ”Don’t worry, there’s some people here who can help fix you up... I think. Crow,” he’d pause, veering his amber stare unto the alabaster feline, ”whaddya say? We gonna take this one in or what?”

”Err- wha’s your name, anyways?”