Blackfoot Forest dance at bougival

The starlings bickered like children; grabbing at the same piece of twine and heaving-ho, or pecking at their rival's cheeks, or even tumbling wing-first against the other. Whether they sat in the tree or lay 'splain like messy piles across the forest floor, they reminded him in their sporadic mannerisms of a pair of siblings cavorting like fools together. It should not have distracted him so. Yet, the boy was indeed hungry, and his drifting attention homed in on the plump offering. He heard it crash through the chiaroscuro of the bleak woods first; then, almost as an afterthought, he looked gradually upon the stranger.

Briefly, he was reminded of Monet. He could not even fathom that name without his heart lurching, twisting, breaking, all anew, like he had just said his fleeting goodbyes again. Perhaps he would never see her again - his beautiful, brilliant sister - but a part of him dreamed, love conquers all.

I do hunger, he finally says, words heavily accented with sorrow, but also with a dull Cajun flair. But I... I am not sure dat your kindness is worth the effort,  bab. He was a stranger. More than that, he was a stranger with unholy tastes.