Horizon Ridge with many a flirt and flutter

not at all! omg that little.....

the raven, the artist, was so delightfully pleased with himself and his showpiece that he partially unfurled his wings and began to skitter about in what could have been mistaken as the jitterbug, a content warbling in his throat.

his back briefly turned, another bird, a magpie with a diablerie that rivaled his own, a menace, devoted herself to the task of sabotaging bartok and violating the dignity of his beloved sculpture. seizing on the opportunity to dash his chances of ever impressing a female in the spring with his flair for aesthetics (made that bitch a sculpture, bitches love sculptures) against the very rocks upon which he stood, shiv abducted from him the opulent object (a detail he failed to realize at first, so utterly traumatized was he from the attack).

about-facing with a plumb hop, bartok watched with disbelief as the marbled projectile and her weaponized quickness bolted in the other direction through the topgallant masts of trees. noticing he had involuntarily puffed his feathers completely from the suddenness of the ambuscade, he smoothed himself down and quickly flitted about and inspected the stack of rocks with suspicion, worried she had caved it in.

with the exception of some budged rocks, he could not find anything shifted out of place. okay, maybe she was just exceptional at jenga. he was around the corner of a sigh of relief, when his eyes traveled to the very top of the stack and it hit him – his precious diadem! the crowning piece! he made an exaggerated HUAAAAAHHHHHing gasp; in a beautiful show of hypocrisy, he was absolutely horrified that anyone would steal from him and boggled that they had the audacity to plan it in the first place.

accelerating through the five stages of grief, bartok leapt to the shelf where his golden pebble should have sat and squinted his eyes, watching as the scintillating dot dwindled into the distance. with a big huff, he fanned his large wings and shot up in the air, plunged then to the earth and launched like a heat-seeking missile after the fleeing burglar.

as he gained on her, the opening for salutations and other such niceities whistled past them at about 700 miles per hour. "GIVE BACK! NOT YOURS! MINE!" he shrieked, attempting to pull on her tail-feathers and yoink the aurelian stone from the enduring clutch of her talons.