And just where, little ducks, shall you run?

"OY! Oy is Chester pullin' ahead? 'E is ain't 'e? OY. Oy VERGIL Why don' you do som'fing, then?" This brought a cacophony of cackles from the other birds as they began to fly in a more scattered formation. "Now Lads" Came Vergil's pompous if not slightly condescending voice from the fray. "Chester is most certainly not pulling ahead, are you Chester, and remember -" "Yeah yeah, stick togeth'r. But I call an eye!"
"What's that then? If 'e gets to call an eye, I want 'er tongue!"
"I want 'er tongue!"
"Take 'is"
"Are you rattl'd? I don't want boy tongue. Just what are you sayin'?"
"Oy Vergil you good for nothin' ball of piss, Chester is pullin' ahead!"
"Well if 'e is, so am I!"

It had begun.

The ebb of the massive flock of birds had begun to wane, and, as the birds discussed the parts of Destrier and Tor they would most like to consume, came apart entirely. It was as if one giant ethereal thing had suddenly burst at its seams, releasing hundreds of black molted birds. These birds resembled crows, but were much larger and more sinister looking. They possessed beady red eyes, razor sharp talons, and a voracious appetite for horse flesh.

In truth, Vergil was trying to teach his flock the finer points of Game Theory. He knew, that if they could work as a group, they would be victorious on far more occasions, and on a much larger scale than if they considered only themselves. However, his flock had an immensely short attention span, and also thought he was a bit of a git, so he was having a rough go of things. Feeling his own stomach rumble unpleasantly, he sighed, giving up. They could try again tomorrow - there were always horses roaming around this field, after all.

"Alright lads. Let's get 'em" Vergil's accent broke as he allowed hunger to take over. Leading a charge, the small yellowish bird dove towards Tor, with a spiral of black at his tail-feathers. The other half of the group, likewise broke off heading towards Destrier. As they zeroed in, in tandem, they evenly spaced themselves out and began to circle the two horses, spinning faster and faster; closer and closer, though never touching them. "Well done boys!" Vergil called from somewhere in the silo. They were finally learning! If Tor and Destrier remained still, they would be unhurt, but eventually, one of them would panic and bolt, slicing themselves on gyrating talons and beaks for their efforts.