Cricket Creek Bog shadowy and vague

Aye! The bird had called out, and directed it down to where she stood. It was loud and bracing. It surprised her, and so she shouted. The bird was high up in the trees and when Mag looked there she saw its blue-black shape, and those beady little eyes.

I ain't gonna eatcha, ya flyin' rat. She called to the bird, careful on her feet. The puffballs had left a dusting in her fur she could feel more than see, and so she shook each paw to try and get clean of it. It was very fine, this spore-dust; it dulled her fur and did not want to move.

Step, shake, step, shake. She stopped and sighed, then glared up at the tree where the bird sat. Yew hungry? Like frog? Aye? Maybe, maybe not.