The dream returned again, only Spock was watching from somewhere off to the side. He saw himself, lying in a small stream let, someone kneeling behind him. Logs, with bits of rope still entwined around them, lay broken off to the side. A heavy mist (perhaps I am the mist, Spock mused) lay everywhere. It did not, however, cover up the eyes in the bushes, sad terrified eyes that watched him. The wind whispered again the words he did not know. The breeze ruffled his hair, revealing blood. The words repeated themselves over and over in his mind. "Shara shotana keytan-sho. Eela sheaco tanam. Noish-e-pa nudan sheda." The eyes turned away, looking back at the shots in the distance, the glowing field of a groundshield. The voices, shouting in garbled Vulcan (Romulan high tongue, Spock realized), scared the eyes away. A golden falcon launched from a tree branch, clashing with a silver white eagle, each knowing that this was a battle tot he death, each wanting to kill the other.
Kill the other.
Falcon.
Warbird!
With a cry, Spock's eyes flew open. They would fight, he thought. They would kill each other.
"Woah, there. Easy. It's all right, Spock. You're safe." Bones' voice drifted into his ears, calming him, and Spock could feel the other push him back down on the bed.
"They will fight," the Vulcan whispered hoarsely.
McCoy looked puzzled. "Who will?"
"The falcon, the eagle."
McCoy was completely baffled now. "What are you talking about?"
Spock looked at him blankly, then he realized the human's problem. "In my dream," he explained, "there is a golden falcon and a silver eagle. They launch at each other, intending death for their opponent. "
Understanding lit the human's face. "The Warbird and the Enterprise." McCoy stood up. "It's about time for you to try and get some food into you, mister. I'll go talk to the captain while Nurse Chapel brings you something."
Spock nodded, approving of the doctor's inference. "Yes, inform the captain of this information."