It was a rare occasion.
The night was as dark as it could be, the sun long dipped under the horizon. Stars glittered far above out of each stryx's reach; somewhere up there was a moon, but it had decided to make itself scarce. Even squinting none of them could see its silhouette. The sound of crickets chirping endlessly was carried to their ears across the still, windless night.
Four stryx, all of different flocks, stood together in a loose circle. None of them were comfortable, eyeing each other cautiously. They were unwilling to step any closer to another. The relationships between the flocks was always tenuous and fragile. Each had preyed on, used to, and manipulated the others. Each metaphorically had the other's blood on their talons. It was entirely reasonable for them to be weary. The Arcane and the Reticent were easier to deal with than most, but the Bullets and Terrors were notoriously ornery. Meetings between two of them were rare - meetings between four were unheard of.