Halea's hands encircle the jay - its wings and tail flared as it struggles against her grip - and a cyan glow envelops it, along with several bright blue strings of light.
Silas walks toward Halea, carrying her cloak, as she holds the bird gently.
Halea: There we go. A small voice to keep you company.
She leans toward him, and he looks down at the bird in her hands.
Halea: The same voice that whispered into your ear last year, filling your head with aspirations.
The jay hops up on her outstretched hand, cyan strings still swirling around it. Upon its wings are a row each of of two of the marks that Cheth sports on his arms - a third mark falls upon her legs, like small white bands. Above its now-cyan eyes, its eyelids have turned white. It looks out to a stunned Silas with a familiar smile, as it speaks with a divine lilt.
Halea (Jay): A promise of power, from the most unassuming of messengers.
