Redhawk Caldera a toast to bread, for without bread, there could be no toast

In the weeks following his discovery of how to whistle, the boy had become incredibly adept at it. He could whistle high, he could whistle low, he could whistle quick and he could whistle slow. He could whistle any note that he could hear, which in lieu of music (the wilds were generally sparse of this) tended to be bird song, and had a remarkable memory for cataloging their calls and melodies. It was an extension of the talent he had developed for emulating squirrels, and it would not stop there. Ferret was to become a talented mimic.

For now, he focused on the birds, one of the few things around that he could impersonate. Crouched in a bush, he started to whistle and chirp like a chickadee, the same bird he had 'spoke' to when he had first discovered this new skill. He was well concealed, and gradually, over the course of ten minutes, a few curious chickadees flew in closer. They alighted on the branch, turning their heads, peering and peeking, as if wondering what bird made the sound. They took no notice of him, but his muscles began to quiver with anticipation, and saliva collected in his mouth.

One bird then landed on the branch just in front him, and Ferret lunged at it. His teeth clipped feathers and the alarmed bird chirruped frantically as it tried to take off, but Ferret snapped at again, this time knocking it off course. The deft little creatured flitted and climbed through the twigs with gnashing teeth chasing after, but in the end, it escaped, and all Ferret had to show for his efforts was a few white downy feathers clinging to his mouth and his fur snagged in the brush. Frustrated, hungry, and exhausted, the bandit roared,

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAWWWW!"