"Are you… are you trying to whistle?"
The mountain air still had a brisk chill to it, Crimson Days having just ended, and Hawthorne wrapped her poncho tighter around herself. Ignoring the cold and the clan leader's question, Cayde-6 stood confidently in the middle of the road, hands on his hips.
"Just give me a minute," the Exo said, mostly to himself. "Gotta find the right lip shape…"
"You don't have lips," Hawthorne pointed out, but was interrupted by a shrill whistle. "Wait, how did you-"
"Shhhhhhhhhh. They're coming."
"Who-"
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
A breeze filled the silence, carrying sounds from the Farm not far down the road. It grew louder, closer, and Hawthorne realized that what she was hearing was no longer the wind.
"Holy-"
The thunder of countless feathery wings beating filled the air as a mass of chickens swarmed down the mountainside. Hawthorne was almost swept off her feet, only just managing to regain her balance and avoid trampling any poultry underfoot. Meanwhile, Cayde remained upright in the eye of the tornado of semi-flightless birds, picking up one, Colonel, his favorite, and stroking the rooster as he turned to face Hawthorne.
"Say hello to my little friends," Cayde grinned.
The sniper wore an expression that Zavala had perfected from many years of working with his Hunter comrade. "Cayde…" she sighed. "You said you had an army."
"I do! Here they are," Cayde replied, waving his free arm at the mass of chickens pecking at the dirt path.
"This is your army."
"Yep!"
Hawthorne threw her hands in the air, exasperated. "We're doomed."
"I wouldn't be so sure."
Crossing her arms, Hawthorne watched Cayde as he turned Colonel to face him. Cayde rested his forehead against Colonel's gently, the bird's beak making a tiny clink sound as it hit metal.
"Listen carefully Colonel," the Vanguard murmured. "See the lady over there?"
Colonel cocked his head and clucked.
"Good." Cayde narrowed his eyes. "Attack."
Suddenly the Exo was tossing Colonel at Hawthorne, and the rooster let out a long, angry crow as it flailed its wings in her general direction. Startled, the sniper went down under a wave of pumping wings and pecking beaks.
Later, in the old Farmhouse that functioned as a makeshift base, Ikora raised an eyebrow.
"Chickens?" she said in disbelief.
"Don't underestimate them," Cayde answered, cradling Colonel in his arms.
"Really," interjected Hawthorne, covered in hundreds of tiny scratches. "Don't."
A/N: This is the first of the prompts my brother, Sir Monkey Knight, has given me. It all started with a Tumblr post that involved a video of the chicken-call whistle in action and a subsequent fan comic of Hawthorne being bombarded by birds. As you can see, I am not original in the least. Thanks for reading my stupid inner thought process.