Welcome to Gaia! ::

Dusk shaded into evening, color staining the sky. On the eastern shore of the lake, some distance from the ground, a sudden storm of excited chattering burst from the branches of the trees. "Breakfast! Minnows! Minnows minnows minnows!"

"Quiet," Keezhik said absently. "Have you for breakfast instead of fish if you scare them all away."

"Minnows!" Chatter repeated, but he modulated his tone to a lower volume. His Sentinel had been using the same threat on him since he had been a small and flightless ball of fluff. It had lost much of its sting. Nevertheless, the Parus did understand that "scaring away the fish" meant "no minnows."

"Always," Keezhik replied dryly. "Noisy, nosy little beast." His attention was focused mostly on the water as he watched for the ripples and shadows of fish beneath the surface. Fishing was always a pleasant diversion; the intuitive calculation of angles necessary to compensate for the offset of refraction was something he enjoyed.

"A-ni .... what what what what?" Chatter peered up at the female who had settled nearby. "No eat Chatter," he added cheekily.

"Okay!" Chatter puffed his feathers until he looked like a ball of down, and settled down to wait, more or less patiently. Once Keezhik had caught a fish or two for his own meal, the big black-feathered male would take a moment to stir up the shallows and pluck some minnows out for Chatter.

"Usually good," Keezhik replied. "See the overhang? Deep down there. They hide. But if you watch, you can grab 'em when they come out." After a moment, he cast an eye sideways at Alethia. "If you catch one, mind saving some scales?"

Keezhik puffed his feathers up slightly with satisfaction at the compliment. "Been here a while," he demurred. "Long enough to know where to wait, anyhow." He clacked his beak twice, pleased. "Dyes," he explained, in response to her question. "Not too many that need 'em, but ground fine, they add sheen."

There was a good deal more he could have said about the effect of ground scales in dye, but Keezhik had discovered some time ago that if he elaborated, he generally got a faintly glazed look in response. He was interested. Perhaps another Apothecary would be, given that he or she was also a dye specialist. But most Sentinels tuned out around the second or third sentence.

"Yes," Keezhik answered dryly. "Bright and shiny feathers for the loud and flamboyant. It would suit a bard's persona." He didn't disapprove of the profession, not exactly; after all, who was he to dictate what another Sentinel did with his life and energies? But the noisy, public, attention-seeking type was not a type he understood.