Flock Review: "Has a funny habit of making you care quickly about finding elusive creatures"

Flock's sunrise and sunset might just be the most relaxing thing you'll see in a game this year. Whether it's the pastel pink sun breaking through cotton-candy coloured trees or god rays that pierce the leafy curtains of a mossy forest as dusk settles, witnessing this world flow through its various states is a reward in itself. Okay, sure, I should be out trying to observe the creatures that roam The Uplands, but frankly, that can wait. There's no rush. The Drupes, Gleebs, and Cosmets will still be there once the view has been fully admired.  

Sitting slap bang in the middle of the venn diagram between creature collection games like Pokemon and cozy adventure games such as Flower and Journey, Flock tasks you with building out a guide of all the inhabitants of The Uplands for your Aunt Jane. Jane, a more-involved Professor Oak-type, gives you hints and sets you quests as you slowly open up more of the area you're in, giving you a guiding hand as you set about on your merry critter-discovering way. 

Free flying

But why does your Aunt Jane send you off into the wilds instead of heading out herself? Because of the distinct advantage that your character flies on a trusty bird that glides you over the clouds that obscure several different areas of The Uplands. It's an irresistible way to explore, giving you the freedom to easily weave over dusty plains, swampy wetlands, and craggy cliff sides in your quest. Controlling your bird is as simple as steering it from left to right – Flock automatically handles your elevation – and a squeeze of RT gives you a handy speed boost. It's an elegant, approachable system that creates a natural rhythm thanks to environmental flourishes, such as wind tunnels you can squeeze through for even more acceleration and craters that propel you into the sky and allow you to whizz back down at paces that would make F1 drivers weak-kneed.  

The thrill of sailing over The Uplands is only bettered by taking it all in. Visually, Flock's world mixes Adventure Time-esque character designs with a rich, impressionistic art style, creating a truly gorgeous environment to explore. The Uplands aren't massive, but each part feels carefully crafted both in terms of their feel and their layout. The Mossy Forest, for instance, is dense with foliage that camouflages critters, while the swampy Wetlands is flat and wide, letting you spy wildlife from a distance. With distinct areas that are easy to navigate purely by eye, it's a genuine joy to set out and fly to the speck on the horizon that captures your attention.    

What also makes Flock a pleasure to play is the quality of the writing. Item descriptions are frequently giggle worthy (shout-out to the Flat Cap), while the small snatches of dialogue convey a warmth that makes you a part of the wider community rather than an observer. There's also a pleasing subtlety to the nature of The Uplands, with some areas having long abandoned buildings and others boasting graffiti that hint at a time before nature reclaimed them. Simply, the writing plays just as an important part of inviting you into this world as the art design. 

However, the way the game pushes you to open up new corners to explore is nowhere near as compelling as the world itself. Completing quests to lower the cloud level each time ends up feeling slightly arbitrary,  which is only exacerbated by the formula of finding a special creature, lowering the cloud level, rinsing, and repeating. Having a structure to help you familiarize with the game's systems makes sense, but Flock's routine and rigidness in this aspect quietly undermines its free flowing nature.

Creature Comforts

I should introduce the residents of The Uplands, which is teeming with wildlife to document and, eventually, charm into your flock. There are around 60 different creatures, split into different species that share similar characteristics. For instance, Thirps are like fireflies and only come out at night, while Bewls are bean-like critters whose honk will cut across the air and make you extremely aware of their presence. I really mean that as well. Fly across a group of Belted Bewls and your ears will still be complaining the next day.

Initially, you'll only be looking to observe, but once you find whistles that can woo these animals – through the delightful touch of having sheep that can munch through meadows for you to unearth said whistles – you can recruit them to your… well, flock. Charming them is as simple as lining up markers and giving your whistle a toot. While some won't take too much effort to find or persuade, such as the docile Basking Bewl, others require a little more wing grease; whether that's finding them hiding in a tree bark or being able to quickly chase them down. 

But that variety is a little too sparse when it comes to the way you charm them. That simple process of matching lines feels a little underwhelming after a few hours. While your margin for error can be quite slim (Being too eager with the whistle means I've spooked more Gleebs than I'd have liked) you quickly fall into a routine of 'see creature, get creature'. There are a few exceptions – such as having to follow a Skyfish to find its mate – but by and large,  the same process of charming them ends up feeling rote. 

Plus, building up a flock to follow you around never really satisfies in the way building a Pokemon  party might. Once you've charmed a new flock member, they will follow you and… be there to offer a passive boost when capturing other potential recruits. It arguably feels like the game's weakest aspect, because despite the individual personalities you learn about in the field guide, they exist to float on behind you for mainly aesthetic reasons. Considering your main aim is to nab as many of them as you can, it does lessen the impact of building up a gang. 

As Sprug as a bug

So why does it still feel great to fill up the field guide and charm the socks off these critters? Well, that's because there are plenty of moments where your patience in the chase pays off.  For example: it's 11:37pm (on a weeknight, no less) and I'm trying to hunt down a Yellowlegs Drupe. You see, they're the last one to tick off in my field guide, but I have no idea what I'm actually looking for. A hint tells me its large size means it's easy to spot – an extra insult to injury when I haven't seen one in my 10 hours of playtime – and it hangs around the wetlands. 10 laps of that location later, with no beings I'd describe as yellow or be-legged in sight means I'm ready to call time on the hunt. Then, a new figure emerges in the distance. I feel a jolt of electricity as the enigmatic Yellowlegs glides into view. Sure, I mess up charming it and have to wait another 30 minutes to stumble across it again, but these little instances captivate in ways that ease any low-level frustrations. 

There's also the option to explore with friends, with co-op for up to 4 players supported, but during the review period, I was unable to test this out. I look forward to doing so though, because I can see how Flock could be a great catch-up game, the sort you put on with friends to justify a few hours chatting over Discord or to work as a team to hunt down the more evasive types (Sinuous Thirp, I'm scowling at you).

But, Flock works brilliantly as a solo experience. The moments that I keep coming back to are the ones where The Uplands casually reveals its beauty, as the thrum of multiple animal calls wafts over a landscape that I stop mid-flight to admire again. I forget about the Belted Bewl's hideous calls. I forget that there's a pack of Winnows, Sprugs, Burbots, and other assorted beings floating behind me, waiting for my next move. I just peacefully stare at the vibrant world ahead and think of where to fly to next. In these moments, Flock soars.