Witch's Marsh Trashin' the camp

Somehow she'd made it this far, but there was no real way to know how, because Bronze couldn't recall the past few days. Actually, she had a hard time with the past few hours — every five or six, it was like her mind did a mental wipe.

By the time Bronze came to a stop this time, she was in full-fledged conversation mode with herself again. Or maybe one of the tiny starlings she was staring at in such a fixed manner; they had noticed her bizarre inattention to their flitting and swooping, and upon deciding she was not a threat, began to play with her.

Do you have to do that? Hey! Yowch!! One of the starlings dashed out and landed atop her head, but only long enough to clasp her ear and pinch it with its beak, then dive-bomb off again. After the shock of the pain she would turn her head and snap her teeth, but then the bird was already gone, and after a second the girl forgot all about it. Another landed on her shoulder, pulled out some fur, and was off again — and a third landed on her snout just to peck at her black nose.

What is up with birds these days? Bold little — oww!