The sun bled into the sky and set the clouds on fire. Ter was a smudge of brighter orange against it. Jerel called his attention down, snatching most of the words from the steady tumble of hooves. His fellow knights spoke sense, mostly, so Jerel held his tongue and chewed on their words. He shifted in his saddle. William, his blue-roan gelding, kept a steady pace, but his ears twitched so frequently. Perhaps he sensed his master’s nerves? Jerel’s brows were knit together tightly. The words of his companions only served to fan his worries. He hoped nobody was underestimating their opponents. There might have been a place for him amongst the scouting party; he was used to moving quietly and was dressed in his leathers, yet it was already swollen with numbers, so he ceded that responsibility. At Sir Druncarde's words William jerked forward; Jerel had tensed up and squeezed the horse on. A deep breath escaped Jerel, rushing out of him like water wrung from a wet cloth, and the tension with it. The horse slowed again, casting an eye back at its rider. Jerel fell back into the rise and fall of William’s motion, and considered how to add to the counsel. “I agree with Sir Druncarde, ” He called forward from behind, “A -,” he was not sure if his words were heard above the din, but Dame Forina began talking and so the rest of his sentence crashed into his teeth as he bit his tongue; silent. Heat flashed behind his cheeks. He looked down, shaking his head. Idiot. He pulled his view from the floor to the skies, sighing. Outstretching an arm, Jerel let out a shrill whistle, and bolt of blue and orange struck his forearm and materialized into Ter. The bird met his eyes. Jerel could feel Ter’s fervour bubbling up - eager to hunt, to kill. Jerel kept him close, his sword and bow additional comfort, heavy against him. “Be ready,” He whispered, though he was not sure if it was to his bird or to himself.