There are cage scraps everywhere, but no bird to be seen. After that blast, it isn’t surprising the little feather-brain decided to be somewhere well out of reach.
I can hear him, so he must have survived. Unlike the typical miner’s canary. If we’re patient, he’ll likely come back.
That last bomb was a little close for comfort, as my bird will certainly tell you.
But in times of war, bombs do happen.
And when using birds for communications, a few feathers will be ruffled.
So there’s no cause for alarm. If the bomb had hit dead on, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. It missed, and we are. Either way is, simply put, what it is. Being alarmed will only scare the feathered ones, and cause a breakdown in communications from the front. And we are going to with this war only if we can hold our channels open.
So I will assemble the spare cage, lure my friend back into his position, then use him to send my report.