Turkeys, well it certainly was better than the unusual flame vomiting bird which had planted it's fat ass on the magic it was tasked with guarding. Did there have to be so many though? Where had they all come from was a better question. In all her years roaming, and since her return to Helovia — she had never, ever witnessed the sheer mass of turkey's which strutted and rustled about the frosted meadow. The warrior landed with an audible thump a short distance away from the gathered crowd, no doubt some of them had gathered first to see why there were so many birds, and then had seen what lurked between their feathered bodies.

Atreus landed upon her haunches just as her wings folded neatly against her slimming barrel, the weight of post-pregnancy had began to disppear now she was actively once more out and about, not to mention being mother to two bouncing bundles — one with more enthusiasm to cause trouble and mischief than the other — proved to be an acceptable work out which competed with sparring. The bearded vulture's eyes peered at the unusual looking birds, head tilted at the peculiar flap of skin that dangled from the male turkeys face. He certainly didn't look that ugly...did he? A once over of his petite frame confirmed it with a sense of smugness which radiated through their bond, a snorted chuff of amusement escaped her when she figured out why exactly he felt so smug.

"Don't get so smug, you're still a bag of feathers." She retorted and ignored Atreus' squawk of irritation, instead she moved toward the crowd in order to see if there was anyone she knew. Not particularly, until she spotted the ginger stag that was the unwittingly the father to her two sons who know frolicked over sand dunes and ran in the surf of the Dragon's Throat. She had half the mind to charge at him, hundreds of pounds of warrior muscle and compressed emotions ready to chew him out in front of the few horses scattered about staring at turkeys, chasing turkeys and generally waiting for the Orb which bobbed between them to do something. However, Atreus' mental prod stilled her hoof as she went to do just that, he had noticed the filly the stallion had run to. A daughter, he assumed, and he knew that Nephele wouldn't want to trample such a fragile thing or traumatize her by seeing her father get rugby tackled across the meadow.


Instead, she peeled her eyes away from the father-daughter moment which she found herself staring at and strode toward the turkeys. He'd find out about his sons another day, when little ears were absent and there wasn't quite a crowd. Muzzle dropped near the ground to better look at them, her companion hopped along her crest to rest upon her poll, a jovial click aimed at one of the nearby hens to see if they would respond.



"Speech."