Three remarkably ugly birds had landed along the riverside. One adjusted its footing and the other shook its beaked face, a tuft of dark feathering raising on the back of their head with the motion.
She watched them from where she stood on dry ground; subjectively speaking, even with the rain inundating the flats in to a swamp, the river was wetter. One would expect a trio of herons to be complacent with such weather. They each turned their attention to the rushing waters and began to fish.
Odd, too, that they would be this far inland. The seaside would be less hospitable during a storm though. She could not blame them for their choice—nobody worth their salt would stick to the beaches right now.
Jocasta ducked among the trees again, seeking shelter while the rain began to tilt.
She watched them from where she stood on dry ground; subjectively speaking, even with the rain inundating the flats in to a swamp, the river was wetter. One would expect a trio of herons to be complacent with such weather. They each turned their attention to the rushing waters and began to fish.
Odd, too, that they would be this far inland. The seaside would be less hospitable during a storm though. She could not blame them for their choice—nobody worth their salt would stick to the beaches right now.
Jocasta ducked among the trees again, seeking shelter while the rain began to tilt.
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