The sound of birds...

The sound of birds woke him up. Quail, a whole bunch of quail, not more than thirty feet away were busy with preening and dust baths. They seemed also to be quaralling in a strange clucking/mewing sound interupted every now and then by two of them getting into a short lived fight (mere seconds long). Then a return to checking out feathers or kicking up more clouds of dust. One inquisitive fellow was perched on a rock quite near, giving the prone figure of the man a thorough looking over. The sun was not very high, but already it was hot. It was painful trying to swallow and running the parched tongue over dried lips helped not at all. His eyeballs felt more like cubes than orbs. With effort he got up on one elbow. A short flurry was heard and when he opened his eyes the little feathered fellow who had been checking him out was gone and the rest of the covey had moved off an additional fifty feet or so, slowly returning to the previous routine. He reached up, instinctivly touching his head, searching for what made it so painful. Twords the back the hair was matted, crusty, and the area underneath quite tender. Attaining a sitting position he next looked at his fingers, only seeing a little blood from his initial examination. Scratching his cheek then chin, as the fog lifted from his mind, he began to piece together what had happened...