The Floodlands awara hoon

No, no, no, Cabhrach, no, this isn’t what I want. Nor what I need, shrike!

The answering chatter of the shrike made Sabdh clench their jaw, glaring at the bird sitting on their nose. They narrowed their eyes at the bird, tail bunching up at their back.

Aye, bird! Now, g’rrof! They threw their head back, sending the bird skyward with a shrill whistle and then aggressive notes as the shrike instead spun to land on their shoulder. Ever since they’d left the Druids, nobody listened to them.

They plucked a bit of lavender out of their tail with a gruff noise, the shrike hopping from their shoulder to their head, then flying away. About damn time. Sadbh began to inch forward again, sticking to the riverbank as they moved with slow purpose, giving a flick curl of their tail with every step, making sure the herbs they’d stuck into the thick fur stayed. Thankfully, they did stay, and Sadbh could continue picking their way carefully down the river.

A flash of non-nature caught their eye and brought it up from their feet to a wolf across the way, in front of them. Sadbh slowed down to watch the head of said other wolf disappear below the water, raising an eyebrow quizzically. Aye, they knew the motions of a man in search of a slimy meal, but it never did stop being mildly alarming.