Ravensblood Forest hippity-hop, all the way to the birdie boiler

Perceiving himself free of scrutiny from the erstwhile scavenger, Anselm continued on his way. He sojourned through the brambles with as much ease as a bear - or rather, a cub, one who was not quite at ease upon its feet. The terrain was irregular, pock-marked by saplings or the cavities produced by loose stone and debris; when he wasn't stumbling over an object, he was stumbling in to it - and this is when the onlooking bird chose to make his re-appearance.

It's voice chimed sourly from nearby, and Anselm tossed a besieged glance at it. The snap of the pest's roosting branch reminded the boy of the bird's brittle little spine, and how melodious it would sound to crumble it to pieces. For the most part Anselm was unimpressed (which wasn't surprising). He wasn't too bothered either (yet), and continued to mosey on his way.