Felltree Marsh obviously and furthermore

@Anne

Grimalkin's travels had taken him west, to a desolate moraine littered with fallen trees and murky water.  There were an awful lot of birds around here, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but the midday summer heat had acted as a soporific of sorts and he wanted a nap.  It seemed like whenever he began to doze off, another one of the little buggers would remember a verse it'd forgotten, and then they'd be off again.  The song was neverending.  And monotonous.

It made him a little grumpy, if he was being completely honest.

Well, if he couldn't sleep, Ramskull decided that ruining their plans was the next best thing to do.  He picked his way carefully through the mire until he was in its very heart, and pricked his ears.  Whenever they started up singing, he howled to drown them out.  It was...ridiculously amusing.  He was old enough to know better, but part of being as old as he was meant doing exactly as he damn well pleased.  As a last insult to the flock, he lifted his leg and laid claim to their tree, then reached high to drag his blunt canid's nails down the bark to leave a visual marking.

Gaily now, laughing at himself, he watched as the birds took wing, evidently to find somewhere quieter to make their unholy racket.  Grim was a little vindictive when he wanted to be, and he wasn't tired anymore, so he followed them, singing:

"Mountains roll down to the sea;
I wish that you were here with me.
The waves are breaking along the shore;
it's not the same without you no more, whoa-oh!"