He hears it, all right.

It would probably be prudent to grab that Aeolian Scream out of his pocket and smash it, but prudence is slow and instinct is fast; he draws his knife instead.

There's a high-pitched giggle from above him, and the wings descend.

He feels a searing pain as the Vake's claws tear across his torso, cutting through the suit the Widow gave him.

For the first time he can remember since waking up, his body feels wrong. Too small, too weak, too slow, too fragile, he's turning to face it already when it hits but he's not fast enough, he slashes at it with his knife but he can't strike hard enough—

It takes him a few more seconds to remember, but then he fumbles in his pocket for the Scream.

When it hits the ground, there's a sound like if lighting could sing. Not like thunder - it's too high, too pure, too crystalline for that.

The Vake staggers drunkenly off of him, clutching its wings to its head.

All his instincts are screaming that he should attack while it's weak, grab it and rip its wings off, tear it to pieces and scatter the pieces.

His instincts seem badly misinformed about his actual capacity to injure this thing. He takes another ineffectual swipe at it with the knife, then draws a deep steadying breath and tells himself very firmly that there's no use in fighting when he's so badly outmatched, and sheathes the knife and turns and bolts.

It doesn't follow.

Right. Okay. So that happened.

What's his first priority here? —Probably tending these scratches. He checks them; they don't feel all that bad but last time something didn't feel all that bad he was advised to go see a doctor about it, and they are bigger and bloodier than the shoulder wound, so off to the doctor he goes. Same one as last time, since last time seems to have worked out fine.

The Suspicious-Looking Physician asks no questions, just takes a handful of rostygold and cleans out the wound and stitches him up and puts a bandage over the affected area. "Since you're here again, want me to check on that shoulder? No extra charge."

"Sure, thanks!"

The Physician lifts off the bandage and washes off the crusted blood to reveal... nothing.

"Would you look at that," he says blandly.

"Is that not supposed to have happened?" he says, twisting his head to blink down at his unmarked shoulder. He has the vague feeling that it may not be supposed to have happened, but he also doesn't find himself all that surprised by it.

"Not typically," he says, tossing the bandage into a waste bin. "I'd've said that wound would stick around for a week or two, but it's gone. You ever been to the Elder Continent? They can do things like that to a body."

"Not that I know of, anyway."

The Physician shrugs. "Well, it's a good thing for you, at any rate."

"I suppose it is."

All right then. What's his next priority?

...replenishing his supply of Aeolian Screams, probably. He thinks he would like to have one to keep on his person and one to keep at home, for future occasions. He's not sure exactly how urgent this is; he's hardly familiar with the Vake's schedule. But it only took it a few days to come after him, so he thinks perhaps the answer is pretty damned urgent and he should be tracking down a steady supply of Screams as soon as he can possibly manage.

—in the meantime, though, he thinks it's probably time for him to go pick up his mandrake from its singing lessons. He does that next.

The Sardonic Music-Hall Singer opens the door. She takes in the rents and bloodstains on his suit. "Well, I see we were both busy."

"Sorry I'm late," he says. "Nearly got eaten by a giant bat. How were the lessons?"

"They went quite well, actually. He's got a good ear, your vegetable - I've taught him to match pitch and he's learned the chorus of Allouette."

She turns to the mandrake. "Allouette!"

The mandrake sings. Its voice is a piercing soprano, not dissimilar to the Aeolian Scream he experienced earlier tonight though a bit softer.

"Awwww," he says delightedly. "All right, I'll be back with him tomorrow probably, unless the giant bat gets me." With immense affection, he retrieves his mandrake.

The mandrake nuzzles him happily and trills.

"You might start a trend," the Singer muses. "What'd you do to get him so biddable?"

"I got him incredibly drunk is what," he says cheerfully, petting the mandrake's adorably lumpy head.

"Huh! Well, bring him back tomorrow and I'll teach him some more, but for now I've got some honey-dreams to pursue."

"Enjoy!"

And he's off, bowing on the way out as usual.

Now... hmm. He has a sort of musical mandrake at this point. Also the Vake came after him. Perhaps it's time to check in with the Naturalist?

The Scarred Naturalist greets him. "Hello again, my friend! I-"

He abruptly notices the blood. "Claw marks. Already?"

"Seems the Vake doesn't understand the difference between idle curiosity and a serious effort to hunt it. I did get someone to give the mandrake a singing lesson, though!"