It did not even occur to her to ever ask anyone else to offer their fur to the birds. Most did not even hold the same…interest? Fear? Reverence? Of the birds. But Eilidh remembers. She remembers the warning call. How the bird tried to tell her there was something wrong…how there was danger. She knows this call well now. She can identify it with ease.

But the other calls? They have been harder to figure out.

She cared not about the fur missing from her legs. How so much was gone. How it was cold on the skin. Raw. Red in some places. She had plenty of fur, and could always find more if needed for her offerings.

At least that is what she thought, not knowing or realizing she could permanently damage herself so fur would grow no more.

He asked then, if he needed to do anything, and she was almost bewildered by this question. Grey eyes dashed back and forth. Never had she been asked such a thing. She honestly did not know the answer. She moved slowly next to him, and pushed herself against the ground, flat like a pancake.

”That s-should be enough. Be s-still,” she asked gently, watching the bird. She does a soft call, that almost sounds bird like…but not quite. She furrows her brows in frustration as the bird continues to chirp exactly where it was.

”I am n-not good at it y-y-et,” she says with a hint of shame in her voice. ”Their voice are just so d-d-different,” she looks her eyes up at the other. ”You t-t-ry? Like this?” she makes the call again, wondering if the other would be better at it than her.