The crows watch her: they think it's surprising that she can do that when she can't talk. Also they're not sure they've ever seen someone make water before.

"The noises are talking." Phaidra clarifies, knowing fully well that they won't understand. But she doesn't think it makes them less interested in her.

She repeats the floral-paste-into-water a couple of times before resuming walking at a steadier place. She wonders what kind of magic these crows find common. Too bad that she can't easily demonstrate most of her abilities.

They stay with her, except once when there's cawing overhead and one of them goes to check it out. The path splits a couple of times, which they don't offer any advice about, and starts to get more overgrown, though it doesn't narrow, and eventually they tell her that no more people-like-her live out this way.

Sigh. Phaidra starts looking for some shelter for the night. She really doesn't need much, not even to light up a fire. She can even use her clothes to pad the ground as long the surface isn't likely to tear the fabric, she is good.

If she keeps following the trail, the forest starts to thin out and eventually gives way to grasslands, which should suit her purposes nicely.

Sigh. Alright, she sets up "camp" against a rock after collecting more berries.

The berry bushes thinned out considerably when she passed the last territory marker, but there are still some, especially along the forest's edge where there's more sunlight for them. She finds a small stream while she's gathering - not big enough for fishing, but still a good source of water - and startles a pair of rabbits into dashing for their burrow.

Huh, do the rabbits try talking to her? She gathers berries that she can before it gets too dark. Her plan is to go to bed early to start foraging at the crack of dawn. Maybe try contacting people in case they are in a better mood tomorrow.

She could try to figure out some ritual casting? More of a long term project since the only source of power is herself. For now, focusing on more practical means of surviving.

The rabbits don't talk to her. The crows, on the other hand, point out berry bushes and wonder why she's not growing more berries on them and why she doesn't make herself a bag instead of using her shirt.

She has a few hours before the sun gets low, time to stash enough berries at her makeshift camp for dinner and breakfast and part of tomorrow's lunch. When it does, one of the crows flies off again, returning as it starts to get dim with another bird that at first glance looks like a big crow with a weirdly long tail. If she watches, though, it seems to be more different than that - it's hard to tell exactly what's off in the fading light, but the beak seems different, and the legs, and it moves less like something that belongs in the air and more like something that belongs in the trees, hopping from branch to branch without much use of its wings.

"I can't do that," she says, despite them being unable to understand.

"Hello," she says to the new bird. Taking a step closer to inspect them.

The new bird puffs up, revealing that his tail is solid and lizard-like with feathers along the length of it that can puff up too, and flaps, showing off stubbier wings than the other crows'.

He's curious about her - he's never seen a person-like-her so big, and wonders what her size is for - but for right now he's sleepy, he'll talk to her in the morning.

Interesting. "Good night."

Phaidra is also tired of walking all day, if less adapted to her accommodations. She thinks about magic to distract herself until sleep.

Nothing wakes her overnight, but the birdsong that fills the forest at sunrise isn't easy to sleep through.

She blinks awake and yawns. Honestly, it's good that for her to rise up early. Is the new bird still there?

It takes her a minute to spot the trio, in a different tree than they went to bed in, but they're there, snuggled up and preening each other; it's not bright enough yet to make out any more details of the newcomer.

Aww, she waves and whistles to get their attention.

They caw back. Yes, good morning!

"Good morning!" She approaches closer to see if they are okay with that. Then she points at things. "Giant. Crow. Tree. Rock." And points at the new bird and hopes that her face conveys she is asking a question.

They still have no idea what those noises are about. The new bird is a rare sort of crow; people-like-her make them sometimes or they're children of other ones like that, they're stronger and better at hunting. He's going to try to get a couple of rabbits for breakfast soon if she wants to watch.

"Talk." Phaidra says, she figures repetition is unlikely to have detrimental effects on getting the point across.

She kinda doesn't want to watch cute rabbits being killed. Then her stomach grumbles. But she might need to hunt at some point? Ugh. She will watch... the poor critters though.

They hang out there for a few more minutes, and then head off to where she spotted the rabbits last night. They slow down as they get close and warn her to stay where she is and stay still, and the big crow glides down to the ground in the shade of the trees before sneaking out to try to get close. It's more obvious now that he's put together more like a dinosaur than a regular crow, stalking along like a miniature velociraptor. (She finally gets a better look at his mouth, and that's a saurian snout rather than an avian beak, too.)

The hunt only takes a few minutes - he sneaks up until the rabbits spot him and bolt, running in all different directions, and chases the slowest, quickly pouncing on her back and dispatching her with a bite to the back of the neck. He holds her down until she stops struggling and then tells Phaidra she can come take this one.

Phaidra plasters an uncomfortable smile on her face and says, "Thank you." She also telegraphs that she wants to pat the crow-dinosaur in the head, but will back off.

He considers this.

If he tries to sit on her arm he will probably claw her by accident because she's not wearing the right protective stuff but if she crouches down he'll come over. And if she's rough with him he'll bite her and his friends will tell all the other crows she's bad, so, like, don't.

She smiles and crouches down and tries being veeerry careful about patting his head. What a good dino-bird.

He leans into her hand and makes a contented clicking noise.