destruction is his game - joining

[div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 60%; text-align: justify;"]Finch could hear the lion before they even had a chance to speak. Having grown up in a wild flock, he had honed his skills of detection and caution. He was rather high-strung out of pure instinct, but being away from his home flock would dull those instincts, or so he hoped. Stretching out a leg, he proceeded to stare in the direction of the sound he heard. Then, a voice. A lion, how wonderful. Finch knew he was screwed if this stranger took him as food, but he would not go out without a fight. "Watch it kitty, I'll take ya eye out," clucked the turkey, flexing a clawed-foot. His beak was much sharper than his claws, but he was sure no one else knew that.

There was a bit of a southern accent in his voice, but it was not heavy. It had been awhile since he had been down south, and his accent had become quite diluted. "This th' Pitt?"