It isn't.

But the sudden calm around them is welcome enough to Dickon, all the same.

And as the wind stops howling around them, another sound reaches Dickon, a sound he'd know anywhere--the faint chirping of a bird in some kind of distress.

Turning, he spots the jay still tucked against the fallen woman's shoulder, and without a moment's hesitation he bends down, holding out his free hand to it.

Gently, "Hey, now. What's tha doin' down there?"

The bird warbles feebly at him for a moment, then hops into his hand.