The Birds
an excerpt

"But if you don't like black that much, why are you wearing it?" Lark asked Rook later that afternoon. Several small streams had provided ample drinking water and a fresh supply of berry bushes. Once the conversation about their immediate safety had been satisfied, they turned to talking about more mundane things.

"I have no idea," Rook said, picking at the sleeve of his coat. "Whoever I was must have been fond of dark places. Or something." He frowned. "I wonder if it has heraldic significance?"

"Like a flag?" Hawk asked, pulling a branch from a passing tree and beginning to strip the remaining leaves. He'd been doing it on and off all day.

"More like a color that's worn by members of one country's nobility or something," Rook said.

"Not a humble one, are you?" Lark said with a laugh. "What does that make us, then, your servants?"

"No, more like," he hummed thoughtfully, "compatriots. Maybe blue and green," he gestured to her skirt, a pale shade of green, and her shirt, the color of the sky, "are from a different country and you, Hawk, well your allegiance is obvious."

"What's that, the bird people?" Hawk joked.

"Let us know if you sprout wings, that would be really helpful," Lark teased.

"Bird people WOULD be really useful," Rook threw a wry glance over his shoulder, to which Hawk rolled his eyes. He was already learning that though Rook's humor tended to have an edge to it, there was generally no malice involved. It was also a relief to be able to banter back and forth. The simple act relieved tension and restored a sense of normality to a situation that he was sure could never be normal.