"Amen to that." Sinric laughs softly, reaching for Athelstan's hand and beginning to massage out the stiffness he knows will be there. "I was thinking of you when the door opened. The Khan's tribesmen train eagles to hunt with them. Huge things with wings wider than I am tall. They shed the most beautiful feather from their wings from time to time. The Mongols do not write much and when they do, it is with a brush like the Sinese. They use the feathers for decorating but all I find see what how fine they would be as quills."