The sound of disgust he makes in the back of his throat is an immediate response, and one he doesn't pause for; Kalten rears back and Martel wheels him around, fisting one hand in the reins and preparing to build his will as he warns, "Hold tightly-" in the tone of someone who is only mostly sure he knows what's about to happen and is certain, either way, that holding on right now is a very good idea.

(The thing about teaching oneself a new, far less leashed discipline of sorcery by trial and error is- well, actually, one can probably draw one's own conclusions about what that might be.)

With his free hand (the sword is sheathed, for now, an ornate and functional formal blade that wouldn't ordinarily be his first choice for something like this), Martel traces a brief design in the air and seems to almost punch it towards the birds; it's quick and dirty and the sort of thing Sephrenia taught for the sake of last resorts, and the effect isn't immediately obvious until whatever it is he's created collides with the flock of birds and he drives Kalten forward through as they burn, twist and fall.