Receiving a summons from an enclave wasn't at all uncommon, and Deckard was always ready to answer a call. The Chirop messenger hadn't been completely clear on the type of injury, only that he should come quickly, and so the medic called for his mus and prepared to go. "C'mon, Trev," the Deep Woods hooted as he checked his pouch. Standard herbs, a small roll of bandage, that sort of thing. If a splint was needed, he could find a straight stick on the site. Hopefully, though, that wouldn't be necessary. Splints were uncomfortable, and he didn't really want to put a fledgling through that; especially one learning to fly. As his mus hopped up onto his back, he took off into the night, fluffy feathers silencing his flight. It was quite a nice night, a clear night, and oddly warm for this time of year. A perfect night, he thought, for somebody to practice flying. The enclave that had sent the Chirop wasn't far off, and he was soon there. Landing on a branch, he hooted congenially at the Minders, two of who were sitting with a rather sad-looking Wildtype fledgling. "Well, well," he said softly, ducking down to look at the little fellow, "what have we here?" He always liked to hear what the patient had to say first.
