Finishing off the first handful of blackberries, Asher didn't bother wiping the purple stain from his fingers before he went back for more. Though this time he rummaged around in his saddlebags for a small sack so that he could carry some home. His fellow Kvaren operated on a bartering system and whatever he didn't keep forh himself, Asher could easily trade for something else.

The gray-eyed man was just stuffing the last berry that would fit into the bag when he thought he heard a voice. It sounded far off, and though the words were so faint they couldn't be distinguished, there was a note of urgency he could nonetheless recognize.

Freezing with his hand on the hilt of his falchion, the warrior listened, his breath shallow, gaze darting this way and that.

[i]"Help me!"[/i]

It was a voice from the thicket, so tiny it must be deep in the brush. Asher was instantly wary. He spoke Common well enough to understand the words but was wily enough to not go rushing to a stranger's aid. Caution against ambush directed him to step lightly as he picked his way into the shady growth, surprisingly stealthy for someone his size and wearing armour.

The tiny birds fluttered from vine to branch, flashing in bright hues and intricate markings as they passed in and out of shafts of light. He spotted a few of the fine nets for catching songbirds dangling from the woodier bushes. An enterprising trapper had apparently been up even before daybreak to set them.

A few minutes passed and Asher didn't hear the call again. A small green and yellow finch landed on Asher's shoulder, pecking thoughtfully at the roguish black hair that hung about to is shoulders.

[i][color=707070]"That wasn't you, was it?"[/color][/i] he muttered under his breath, feeling foolish for getting worked up over birdsong.