Witch's Marsh Trashin' the camp

The birds zinged and zoomed around her face, grabbing her ears or her nose, sometimes her lips, and Bronze just couldn't escape them. When a voice broke through the beating of their tiny wings, she turned sharply to address the stranger, but was quickly curtailed by a larger sparrow smacking her square between the eyes with its feathery gut. Bronze went briefly cross-eyed, then shook her head and snapped at the objects in orbit around her.

They - snap live in snap trees! snap.

If she was meant to avoid every tree nearby, she was doomed to a life of facial swarming.