The break of Birdsong brings new life to the Aurora Basin. Sunlight shines unobstructed on the valley at last, thawing the ground and inspiring lime colored shoots of infant growth to thrust themselves upward. Birds and peeper frogs and other small things take up their songs for the first time in months, and suddenly every rank leader in the herd is inexplicably compelled to hold a meeting, their commanding voices booming out over the softer melodies of spring.

Today it’s the starry-coated General bellowing at full volume for her soldiers and though there’s no expectation of his attending, the old black raises his head at the sound, curious. He wonders how Ki’irha is handling her recent promotion and whether she’ll be capable of running the warriors meeting with more sense and professionalism than the golden Thief had seen fit to run hers. His time on the steppe has cooled his anger since storming out of leaving the sneak meeting, but without its heat he now feels hollow, spent. There’s no ire in him today to quarrel with the General or her lackeys, but still, his curiosity is a convincing force and it is his job to gather information. Even if he denies the leadership of his trade he can’t deny the necessity of remaining useful in the Reaper's eyes, whose murderous gaze softens so approvingly on the warriors of his herd.

With a sigh and one last grab at the newly sprouting grass he sets off creaking and popping and clicking toward the gathering, mumbling irritably about arthritis under his breath. He fully expects the Generals dogs of war to have fallen over themselves in their rush to heed her call, so it's with genuine surprise that he finds her standing so nearly alone, joined only by the Reaper's son. He stops a conservative distance away from the pair, indicating his non-involvement in proceedings, but the question in his furrowed brows and tilted ears is obvious: Where are your 'proud ranks' now?

He wants to feel smug about the low attendance, hold it against the mare as proof of her ineptitude, but the sentiment is stunted by unease. A lack of military might means vulnerability - for everyone in the herd. They might as well be packaged and gift wrapped, silver bow and all, for whatever slack jawed bully walks in next and who better to toss on the sacrificial altar first than their least favored resident?