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Having rode with her bow tight at hand, Eostre loosened her grip on her bow, letting it slip a bit down between her fingers. Not so loose as to allow for potential splinters, if the cold got to the well-aged and cured wood, but enough to release a bit of stress caught up in her expression.
The tiniest bit of cynicism crept up in her face. "The blackbird's whistle. For all we know it could've very well been an alert, the sign of an ambush about to be loosed. In which case we've been spotted by now," she wanted to say, but held back, letting the silence from the fear of being attacked and slain overcoming her need to vocalize a very seldom thoughtout opinion.
Silence, if nothing else, came naturally to her.
As naturally as the addition to the thoughts. Slain like Osmod and Fion. She didn't know. Perhaps they were dead, and they would swiftly follow, as well as their village and family... Or perhaps not.
For a moment, she desired a window to stare from, a limited vantage point through which she could observe and still remain hidden if the need was there. But she stiffled it, the same as the thoughts that the bird call may have been a signal...
Fingers tightened once more around her bow. Just try it.
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