Stone Circle Little hawk

Swiftlet bounded off with his mother in tow, leading her as the crow flies to the water’s edge. Trails and easier paths be damned, if there were thickets he plunged on through them, twigs and branches raking his coat into further disarray.

Saw it here last time, he announced as they arrived, slipping to his stomach on the bank with his paws curled around its edge. He peered into the water intently, into the muck where the rock had blinked up at him and scuttled off after. His tail wagging slowed as he saw nothing.

He looked at his mother. What do moving rocks eat?