The thickets’ sturdy trees and thick branches provided a plethora of hiding spots for any bird, and Aster loved weaving her way through the upper canopy to find the perfect perch. Birdsongs filled the air—from more species than Aster could distinguish with their chirps overlapping so—and her heart longed to fill the air with her own calls. What else was a bird to do after grabbing grubs in the morning?

Aster landed on a sturdy birch overlooking the sea. The cliffs protected her against the ocean’s breeze, and the mirror-like quality of the waters were as alluring as glittering gold. This was the perfect spot to sing; she breathed in deep, and began her song.

“All the flowers are sleeping,
A feather blanket of snow
Over them.
Blue Jay balances on a dry old sunflower's bent head.”

Aster swayed on the branch, as much from the wind as her own innate desire to feel the rhythm of the song move through her body.

“She dives under . . .
She strikes out seeds with angry beak.
Her wings are barred with frost,
Her snow-dusty feet
Are like dull crystal.”

// Poem is Blue Jay by by Hilda Conkling

Spirit hated these cliffs. He'd always hated the ones south of here, too, even if Strawberry loved them. They had a way of reminding him of just how small and inconsequential he was - which was something he'd always known, ever since he was a little boy, but he didn't exactly like being reminded of it. This little outing wasn't about him though, and seeing the way his finch companion weaved in and out of the thicket was a good reminder of that. Spirit breathed a low sigh as he slowly, painstakingly made his way toward the cliff's edge. He was determined to keep a safe distance, but his attention was suddenly broken by sweet birdsong... but not just any birdsong. The voice didn't belong to his Strawberry and he could make out distinct words. How peculiar! The scrawny boy's eyes widened as he looked around, squinting as he searched the trees nearby for the source of the song.

Abruptly, Aster stopped singing the instant she heard pawsteps in the thicket. The branches almost assured her safety—almost, because a crazy idiot had climbed up while she’d been asleep, absolutely wrecked her ability to relax for days afterwards—so she didn’t think of flying away. Not until her curiosity learned what lurked in the undergrowth.

Body leaning forward, she tilted her head left, right, left until she spotted the piebald wolf near her tree. He didn’t appear to be in a hunting posture, so he might be friendly?

“Hello! Be careful of the cliff’s edge, it’s perilous!” she called. Could he even see the end of the cliff from his inferior vantage point? Probably not, so it seemed worth pointing it out. “My name’s Aster! Who’re you?”

Somewhere nearby Strawberry tweeted a soft song of her own, only in much fewer words. Spirit's wide blue gaze scanned the treeline, further widening when he heard a call of warning. "Y-y-you can talk," he stammered out dumbly, sounding awestruck at the prospect as he finally spotted the blue jay perched not far from him, tilting her head as she looked down at him. "Y-your song, it was lovely!" Spirit seemed equal parts terrified and astonished at the fact that a bird was talking to him. Even his Strawberry didn't talk to him - and suddenly he feared maybe she just hadn't wanted to. He'd have to think on that one later. "I-I've never met a bird who could talk. Or one wanted to, maybe," Spirited rattled off, sounding a bit nervous and completely bewildered at this little creature.

“Well, yes, of course I talk!” Aster chirped out a laugh. “Most corvids can speak your language. But most corvids also believe that if you talk to a wolf, they’ll either claim you for their pack or attack you for spying.”

Aster spread out her right wing and bowed. It was nice to be appreciated for her songs; she sang for herself, but it was always nice to have an appreciative listener. “Thank you! The song is my mother’s, and my mother’s before her, and my nieces’ after me!” Somehow every sentence that came out of the chatterbox’s beak sounded like the most enthusiastic exclamation.

“Now that you’ve met a bird who can talk and wants to talk to you, do you have a question? Sounds like you have questions, if you’ve thought about such things before.”

Spirit visibly flinched at her words, as if she'd personally accused him of what she'd explained. He looked absolutely terrified at the prospect of being labeled as someone who might attack a bird for no real reason. Like he'd be one to catch someone spying. Spirit hardly knew what was going on around him most of the time, if he was being completely honest. "I-I just.. didn't realize..." he trailed off and he searched for - and failed to find - the words for what he was thinking.

But he did know he'd liked her song, and she seemed pleased at his compliment. All nervousness aside he found himself grinning sheepishly up at her. "I-it's really quite lovely," he reiterated, with more enthusiasm than he usually managed to muster up. He wasn't sure what else he wanted to say to her, but he figured getting to know her was a good start. "C-can I know your name? M-mine is Spirit," he offered, returning her grandiose but tiny bow with a small one of his own, giving his head a good dip and raising it again to look back up at her.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you, I meant wolves in general?” Aster tilted her head and the feathers on her head fluffed up sheepishly. “Sorry. Uh. That probably sounds insensitive. No wolf has ever tried to claim or eat me, but, honestly? Probably a matter of time. Especially since I talk to more wolves than everyone else in my family put together!”

“My name’s Aster! Like the flower. My mom really likes flowers, if you couldn’t tell. Obsessed with them, she is. Guess it’s better than naming me after a walnut? ‘Cause I eat walnuts. Wouldn’t it be weird to be named after something I eat?”

Aster leaned forward, spread her wings, and glided down to a lower branch. This close to him, she could make out his face and body language better from all the way up in the tree. “Nice to meet you, Spirit!” She tilted her head, noticing the saddlebag on him for the first time. “Huh, what’re you carrying around? Are you looking for something? Maybe I can help you find it!”

So she was brave, then - Spirit couldn't relate to that but it certainly made him want to get to know her more. He felt terrified talking to most wolves... and most birds... even though he could eat her if he wanted to, and got a hold of her somehow. Not that he was picturing such a thing, not in his wildest dreams, but it showed how brave she was in comparison to timid Spirit. "W-wow," he breathed simply in response. Her name earned a shaky nod too. Aster - that was a pretty name!

He perked up when she flew closer, the interest obvious in his wide stare. He even allowed himself a tiny little smile, if but for a moment. "T-this?" He knew what she meant but he cast a glance to his side, to the saddlebag that lay there. "T-this is just for herbs. And flowers - I like flowers too, like your mom," Spirit explained shyly. He wasn't exactly a skilled healer, nor one anyone would consider good, but he was learning slowly but surely. "I-I'm not looking for anything right now. I just keep it with me."

“Then we should be friends! Nobody who likes flowers is a terrible person, after all.” Aster nodded affirmatively, as if this settled the matter on whether they could be friends. “Do you have any favorites? I think it’d be funny if asters were my favorite flower, but I think cherry blossoms are the prettiest.”

She jumped, landing on the birch tree’s lowest branch. “Birch, though? I don’t even know if these can be considered flowers…” She tapped the budding “flower” with a wingtip for emphasis. “I mean, this looks like a worm! And not even an appetizing worm, so it’s a double shame.”

What she said was so true. He'd never met anyone who liked flowers who was a bad person - in fact, the kindest wolves he'd met were healers. Aster's logic seemed perfectly valid to him. "F-friends," he agreed with a grin, his tail wagging in a wide arc behind him. "I-I really like marigolds. T-they're just so bright," he answered sheepishly. Almost as soon as he answered though he wondered if he'd said the wrong flower, but there were so many pretty ones he didn't think he could possibly go wrong.

He took a few strides closer, watching as Aster tapped the bud of an almost-flower with her wing. It did look a bit like a worm rather than a flower. "I-it's still kinda pretty. I mean, if you squint at it," he admitting, furrowing his brow and squinting hard up at the little bud. Everything was pretty in its own way, it was just a matter of perspective.