Deepwood Weald Sherlock Work

For all the wildling could fathom it was the presence of spooks that was to be blamed on the disembodied clamoring. The shrill echoes of a feminine voice would have prickled his sense of caution were it not for the sacrilege of its contents. Rather than curdling his blood he lingered in a passive state of interest, one paw curled to his breast in a halfway state of flight, and his chartreuse eyes lit with curiosity.  

A secondary flood of profanities began and then ended more briefly than the first; it was markedly different in that this time a vague shape flickered into focus on a branch near him. Ridir, naturally bold and unaware of potential danger, reared upright and staggered with showman-like grace on his high legs. It was then that the mousy lump evolved into what was definitely the silhouette of a bird, and although his face looming from the shadows might have been terrifying for the fallen avian Ridir couldn't stow the childlike widening of his eyes. "Oooooo," he uttered in his typically uncouth way.