Three Bright Ones emerged from the wound. They're flying now, streaming through the air, basking in the wind. I feel an emptiness without them inside me, but I know they'll soon return.
There are others staying here with me. I think they're here to keep me focused on my task, but that's fine. It's not my place to question. I am merely a Quill, a writer.
The others are Kestrel, Tern and Nightjar. Kestrel's our Covert, the one who is good at sneaking around places. Tern is our Beak, the muscle of our flock, really. And Nightjar is the Crest, the leader. (Please note: these titles are just the ones I made up for them. They don't actually refer to themselves as such.) He gives orders, we obey. Well, sort of obey. You see, my orders come from the Bleak Shore itself, which overrides any orders Nightjar gives me. So he's a little resentful.
The Bright Ones are returning. I'd better go back inside.