Heron Lake Plateau si quelque chose pourrait jamais être aussi bon

In spite of all who had left them and of the changes to come that she only had an inkling of, Phoebe was genuinely surprised that there were new faces in their midst. She had only caught glimpses of them here and there—a mated couple, very much in love like her own mother and father—before she had flown away very much like her namesake. Though not particularly stealthy, she was spry and still small enough that even from a distance she could make her little escapes. Of course, keeping everyone at a distance certainly aided this.

Little by little, she had worked up the courage to be nearer, a sense of boldness cresting over her usual timorous display. Her mother seemed to have known them, her father just as receptive to their joining, but the pair were strangers to her still. She hadn't quite put names to faces yet, nor had she bothered in asking who they were. Or why they were there, or whether or not they too would leave when the season changed or some other desirable premise came to along the horizon.

These were the same thoughts that came to her as she regarded one half of the pair in the afternoon—the man. Her vantage point was awful from the summer foliage, she couldn't quite see what it was that he did, if he was doing anything in particular at all. Was he doing anything at all? She shifted in her place, curiously attempting to peer out from the shrubbery in vain; the leaves were in her eyes now, the twining tendrils of ivy suddenly constricting.

It forced her to withdraw but not so quietly as she had slipped in; the ivy branch was coiled about her like a snare and Phoebe tugged at it not unlike an ill-tempered dog with a collar and leash. So much for spying or being sneaky any more, she realized with a huff. Surely she'd been heard now.

hi phoebe is spying on you, @Rannoch