In the northern part of the forest, a white figure cut through the night on soft silent wings. The creature urged itself on, faster, faster on silent wings. It was Silverbirch, a scout, and a young one at that. She had just spent the majority of the night patrolling the area but found few things of interest; anything note-worthy she had filed away in her memory, to be reported to her Corporal when she returned to Deep Woods.
The white and olive sentinel flew on, gaining speed with every wingbeat. She would have continued on for the rest had her wings and lungs not threatened to fail. At last the mist made her way towards an oak among the evergreens, circling it a few times before settling down on a particularly sturdy branch she had chosen on purpose. Now see, Silverbirch had never been graceful at landings, and she practically dropped onto the branch. The scout breathed deeply, muscles quivering from the exercise. As she preened a dark shape jumped off her back and onto the branch.
"Better. Fast, bit bit," Feathers said encouragingly, looking up at his owner. "More fast still."
The mist merely nodded and continued preening, her breathing deep and labored. Clearly she would not be able to go anywhere, at least not soon.
