As night falls and the sound of crows echoes off into the darkness, Herne stands in quiet contemplation outside main street #3. His eyes looking to the sky, catching the occasional glint of blue as moonlight bounces off the feathers of a wayward messenger. The previous days had been long and much had happened for better and for worse, but the dark cloud of wings above was a sure sign of the coming storm, the avian cries like rolling thunder, signifying war.
As he stands there, he begins to tremble. He had fought many a battle before, but the thought of what was to come terrified him. The stakes had been made clear and the weight of what promises had been made lay on his shoulders like mountains.
He looks down and takes a heavy sigh, saying softly to himself,
"Perhaps I should send a message of my own."