Deepwood Weald histriophoca

He felt a very brief flicker of disappointment, at this. He wanted to see Sulukinak with friends, even if they were of the lesser variety. But hunting was a respectable way to spend one's time, and he easily forgot the nest to sniff around Sulukinak's perch. There were grubs inside — he could smell them, but he did not think they would be worth trying to reach. He scratched experimentally at the soft, decaying bark anyway.

"Harvest?" he repeated, feeling an odd little chill in the pit of his stomach. He thought she must be talking about birds, who lived so high up in nests — but something about her phrasing was strange. "Harvest what?" he asked her, his head cocked to the side.