#olive backed thrush

[podartists]

Turdus migratorius | Catharus guttatus | Locustella naevia | Catharus fuscescens | Turdus viscivorus | Catharus ustulatus

Plate I | Die Nordamerikanische Vogelwelt (1891)

[antiqueanimals]

Virginia Wildlife; vol. 32, no. 8. August, 1971. Illustration by John W. Taylor.

Internet Archive

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 2

Welcome to the second chapter! As I've said before, this whole story is gonna be a bit long winded, so hopefully you're all in for the long term, hope you enjoy! <3

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls from England ended up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Kíli x oc/reader - Fíli x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company x ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - SUPER slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 2133

Warnings: Swearing

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

PLEASE READ THE PROLOGUE & CHAPTER 1 IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

&lt; Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2 -

I should've stayed in bed.

The Song Thrush has brown upper-parts and black-spotted cream or buff underparts. Its distinctive song, which has repeated musical phrases, has frequently been referred to in poetry.

I let out a groan as a hand tapped me repeatedly on the shoulder. I waved my arm about, eyes still shut tight until the onslaught stopped. Then came the unfortunate sound of curtains being ripped open.

���Girlie get the fuck up.” I heard.

Letting out more groans of complaint I rolled over away from the light as it poured into the dark room, only to be met with a wad of paper in the back of the head.

“Kate.” They said.

Now somewhat awake, I rolled back over and leant up on my elbow to face the perpetrator.

“What-?” I croaked in confusion.

Said perpetrator was glaring at me with wide eyes, sat on the opposite bed, arm still outstretched from throwing.

Looking down at what assaulted me, I picked up a leaflet, the front a picture of a waterfall, with the title ‘Magic of Ullswater’ printed in a bold white font. I looked back at Kay still perched on her bed, surprised that she was willingly conscious at this time of day, until I remembered our schedule.

“Ah,” I guiltily scrunched my face in realisation, “was this today?”

“Yes!” She exclaimed, pointing at the glaring number on her phone. “And it’s already seven!”

“Don’t worry, I’m up” I rolled out of bed and swung open the wardrobe doors, grabbing what I needed before heading to the bathrooms to freshen up and get ready. Within twenty minutes I was back in the room, halving my normal time since Kay being up this early meant she was truly determined to execute what she had planned. On an average day you wouldn’t see her fully awake until at least ten.

After a quick breakfast in the canteen, we went back up to ensure everything needed was packed and ready for today’s hike. After all, going to see the waterfall was one of the main reasons we had gone. You mention rocks to Kay and she is there.

We laced up our walking boots and headed outside, up the path until we reached the edge of the road where the shuttle bus dropped us off days earlier. The weather had changed for the better, the temperature hiked up to a comfortable twenty two degrees accompanied by a blue sunny sky. Perfect for today’s plans, where only summer clothes were required.

I wore my cream vest top tucked into my baggy olive green trousers, and a thick brown belt looped through, with a loose fitting chunky white cardigan left unbuttoned over the top, and of course my favourite white floral patterned socks.

Kay on the other hand, was in her cargo trousers, along with a grey cropped vest top and a thin zip up hoodie tied around her waist. Unfortunately Dr Martens and platform crocs weren’t the most suitable shoes for hiking, lest you want your ankles broken, so were replaced with hiking boots, and obviously waterproofs were packed away in our rucksacks just in case. As lovely as it was, you can never trust British weather.

Eventually, the local bus slowed to a stop. Sifting through my pockets I pulled out and counted up what loose change I had, handing it over. After stating our destination and receiving our tickets, we headed to the back of the relatively empty bus, which was surprising considering it was the middle of summer. We both placed down our rucksacks and sat on either side of the aisle, propping up our feet on the other seats. With a groan and a jolt, the bus’s engine sprang back to life, and begun its journey down the road, over the vast rolling hills.

“Hey.” I looked away from the window at the sound of Kay speaking, “Did you remember to bring the passes?”

I leant back in mock offense. “Of course.” I retorted. “Must you deem me that unreliable??”

She snorted at my reaction. “Well you forgot what day it was earlier, so I had to double check.”

I deadpanned at her, reaching into my bag to procure two sheets of paper, shoving them up at Kay so she could see the print. “I double checked at least ten times, after all this saves us the twenty quid entry.”

Kay sat back with a quiet sigh of relief, whilst I safely tucked the papers back away. Looking back, I asked her which part of the trail she wanted to visit first.

Her eyes darted around as they narrowed in thought.

“The waterfall.” She declared. “You’ve been before, is it close to the entrance?”

“Somewhat.” I answered as I picked at my lip. “Within a fifteen-ish minute walk of the car park.”

“As long as you actually remember where to go.” She taunted, before laughing at my frown. “Cuz I wanna see some stratification.” She said eagerly, tapping on what looked like a diagram in the book laid on her lap.

“Well as long as you don’t start licking the rocks as soon as we get there, otherwise you’ll scare the children off.” I tormented, ducking down giggling as the book was launched at my head.

Soon enough, we arrived, and after proving to Kay that I actually knew the route, we followed the continuous thunder until we reached the 65 foot waterfall, now towering ahead of us. Kay jogged ahead, eager to reach the moss covered bridge that curved over the deep ravine that the water had carved into the rock. At halfway she stopped to lean over the fence, facing down into the narrow abyss of water below, tilting enough to the point where her legs began to lift from the floor.

“Oi!” I cried, jogging to catch up. “You can’t swim, so if you fall, don’t think I’m going in after you.”

“Are you a lifeguard or not?” She pointed out incredulously, leaning further over in a taunting manner. “It’s literally you’re job to go after me.”

“Well it’s not like I’m being paid right now to do so.” I answered as I caught up to her. “Pay me my hourly rate and then I’ll think about going after you.”

She scoffed in disbelief at my audacity before her attention returned to admire the waterfall before her.

It wasn’t long before a high pitched trill from above caught my attention. Raising my head, I stared at the dense foliage above me, watching as it churned ever so gently with the calm summer breeze. I squinted my eyes at the flickering dapples of light that peeked through the leaves, until my attention focused on a singular bird nestled in between the gentle chaos all around.

‘A song thrush!’ I realised, recognising the bird’s brown feathers and white speckled underbelly. I watched with intent as it flittered between the treetops. Taking out the polaroid camera I was gifted for my birthday, I took as many pictures as I could before it darted away and disappeared into the trees beyond the footpath.

My eyes followed said footpath and from a distance, I managed to make out a clearing bathed in the scattered beams of the midday sun. Storing the now printed pictures in the front pocket of my bag, I poked Kay’s shoulder and pointed to what I could see.

“How about we have lunch down there?” I suggested, remembering I had managed to bring the picnic blanket this time.

She nodded in agreement, and we both made our way over. After decided what was the sunniest spot, we laid out the blanket and sat down, putting out the food we were able to fit in our bags.

“That bird.” Came Kay’s voice, half muffled by her hand that was hiding her mouthful of sandwich as she spoke. “What was it?”

I swallowed what I could of my own sandwich before replying, figuring that she most likely heard the shutter of my camera.

“A song thrush, according to some article I read a while back they’re quite common round these parts”.

“I didn’t know you birdwatched?” She pondered.

“I did quite a bit when was younger. To be fair though, I only recognised it because of The Hobbit.” I admitted.

Kay’s eyes widened in realisation, and we both pointed at each other with a grin. “Of course!” She laughed, before turning back to her sandwich. “When the thrush knocks!”

“Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.” I recited without a stutter.

Kay lowered her sandwich and turned back towards me slowly, side-eyeing me with a face of suspicion. I side-eyed back.

“Your short term memory should’ve taken that in and flung it out the other side.” She disputed.

I frowned.

“And you didn’t even mess up the words once.”

Side-eyeing her once more and slowly brought my phone to my face. She glared in even further suspicion as I began to furiously type away at the keyboard. Within seconds she had enough.

“Ok what the fuck are you typing over there.” She demanded, discarding her sandwich, and speeding across the blanket to stare over my shoulder and began to read aloud. “Kay is anti-mental disorde— ??? I’M NOT DISSING YOUR ADHD???? NO. DON’T SEND THAT TO THE GROUPCHAT. KATE. SWEAR DOWN I WILL— NO! TAKE YOUR FINGER AND PRESS DELETE RIGHT NOW. NO NO NO. ROXIE WILL EAT ME ALIVE. DELETE THAT SHIT. NO. COME BACK.”

I cackled as I leaped up and ran the length of the clearing, watching as she scrambled up in a frenzy after me. I felt a buzz from my phone and held it up in front of me to read aloud any replies from the chat, interrupted every so often by Kay’s aggravated screams of frustration.

She chased me around the grass, until we both collapsed back on the blanket, too exhausted to carry the conflict further. She pointed her finger at me accusingly.

“You better delete it.” She managed between heaves. I held out my hand expectantly.

“That’ll be ten pounds.” I requested with a grin on my face.

“Oh, piss off.” She groaned exasperatedly, shoving my shoulder as a laughed.

Squabble over, she rolled over to pick up and return to the geography book she read on the bus. I did the same, but with The Hobbit, that I had coincidentally decided to pack for the day’s trip.

Later, we packed up the picnic and explored the forest for a few hours, wandering off the path a few times to look for rocks or plants.

A chilly breeze blew past and I checked the time, seeing the numbers on my phone screen tell me that it was time to turn back around.

“Hey Kay,” I called, receiving a loud “YEA?” from the bushes behind me, “we should think about heading back, if we wanna make it to the canteen for tea.”

She agreed, standing up from where she was crouched over a small stream, most likely looking for some type of mineral deposit, or whatever she was reading about in her book earlier. Slinging our bags back over our shoulders, we both began to make our way back down the path, dodging the jagged roots and rocks. A short while passed before we reached the clearing we had eaten in earlier, the opening in the trees showed that the sky had begun to change colour, causing us to quicken our paces slightly to ensure we wouldn’t get caught out in the wilderness at night.

It wasn’t long before we were back at the waterfall, and we began our crossing of the bridge before Kay slowed down again like last time. I slowed too, and we both stopped in the middle to spend a moment, taking once last look at the towering waterfall, now bathed in the orange light of the evening’s golden hour.

A familiar chirp rang out through the trees, and I spun around, scouring the branches above me.

There it was again! The song thrush had reappeared, illuminated by the glow of the lowering sun. I crossed the width of the bridge to watch it as it chirruped and trilled its final song of the day. Eventually the swaying branches and fast movements of the fluttering creature caused me to lose sight of it. Kay’s footsteps sounded behind me as I heard her wander across a few steps, before quickly falling silent again. The thrush’s song came to an abrupt stop at almost the same time, and without a second thought, I decided it was time to keep going.

“Alright,” I declared, turning back towards Kay and the waterfall, “let’s go before—”

I blinked in surprise.

Looking around with widening eyes, panic and dread began to settle in my stomach as I came to the dreadful realisation.

Kay was nowhere to be seen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

&lt; Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

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Can't wait to see you on the 31st March for Chapter 2! Also please comment if you want to be added to the Taglist <3

Taglist:

@opheliasdrowningg @mrsdurin

[delightingintragedy]

Venus Correspondences

From Christian Astrology by William Lilly

(It is mostly word for word. I tried to format it to fit into a nice correspondence list, but the information itself is untouched.)

Zodiac: Rules Taurus and Libra. Exalted in Pisces, Detriment in Aries and Scorpio, Fall in Virgo.

Nature: She is a Feminine Planet, temperately Cold and Moist, Nocturnal, the lesser Fortune, author of Mirth and Jollity; the Elements, the Air and Water are Venereal; in the Humours, Phlegm with Blood, with the Spirit and Genital seed.

Profession: Musicians, Gamesters, Silk-men, Mercers, Linen-Drapers, Painters, Jewellers, Players, Lapidaries, Embroiderers, Women-tailors, Wives, Mothers, Virgins, Choristers, Fiddlers, Pipers, when joined with the Moon, Ballad singers, Perfumers, Seamstresses, Picture-drawers, Engravers, Upholsterers, Limners, Glovers, all such as sell those Commodities which adorn Women either in Body (as Clothes) or in Face, (as Complexion-waters.)

Sicknesses: Diseases by her signified, are principally in the Matrix and members of Generation; in the reins, belly, back, navel and those parts; the Gonorrhoea or running of the Reins, French or Spanish Pox, any disease arising by inordinate lust. Priapism, impotency in generation, Hernias, etc. the Diabetes or pissing disease.

Colour: White, or milky Sky-colour mixed with brown, or a little Green.

Savours: That which is pleasant and toothsome; usually in moist or sweet, or what is very delectable; in smells what is unctuous and Aromatical, and incites to wantonness.

Herbs & Trees: Myrtle always green; all herbs which she governs have a sweet savour, a pleasant smell; a white flower; of a gentle humour, whose leaves are smooth and not jagged. She governs the Lily white and yellow, and the Lilly of the valley, and of the water. The Satyrion or Cuckoopint, Maidenhair, Violet; the white and yellow Daffodil. Sweet Apples, the white Rose, the Fig, the white Sycamore; wild Ash, Turpentine-tree, Olive, sweet Oranges, Mugwort, Ladies' mantle, Sanicle, Balm, Vervain, Walnuts, Almonds, Millet, Valerain, Thyme, Amber, Ladanum, Civet or Musk, Coriander, French Wheat, Peaches, Apricots, Plums, Raisins.

Beasts: The Hart, the Panther, small cattle, Coney, the Calf, the Goat.

Birds: Stockdove, Wagtail, the Sparrow, Hen, the Nightingale, the Thrush, Pelican, Partridge, Ficedula, a little Bird Feeding on Grapes; the Wren, Eagle, the Swan, the Swallow, the Owsel or Black bird, the Pye.

Fishes: The Dolphin.

Places: Gardens, Fountains, Bride-chambers, fair lodgings, Beds, Hangings, Dancing Schools, Wardrobes.

Minerals: Copper, especially the Corinthian and White; Brass, and Lattenware.

Stones: Cornelian, the Sky-coloured Sapphire, white and red Coral, Marcasite, Alabaster, Lapis Lazuli because it expels Melancholy, the Beryl, Chrysolite.

Weather: She foretells in Summer, Serenitry or clear weather; in Winter, rain or snow.

Winds: Southern Winds

Angel: Anael

Planetary Alliances: Her friends are all the Planets except Saturn.

Week Day: Friday

Correspondence posts for the other planets: [Sun] [Moon] [Mercury] [Mars] [Jupiter] [Saturn]

[warriors-rewritten-chaos]

Warrior Cats Prefixes- R

I had a WC Name Generator on Perchance that I made but I don't seem to have access anymore, so I'm remaking it here as just a simple list. The definitions used are the ones that Clan cats have for those things, and thus are the origins of the names. Definitions used are whatever I found when I googled it.

Rabbit-: "[noun] a burrowing, gregarious, plant-eating mammal with long ears, long hind legs, and a short tail"

Raccoon-: "[noun] a grayish-brown American mammal that has a foxlike face with a black mask and a ringed tail"

Ragged-: "[adj] torn; [adj] having an irregular or uneven surface, edge, or outline"

Ragweed-: "[noun] a North American plant of the daisy family. Its tiny green flowers produce copious amounts of pollen"

Ragwort-: "[noun] a yellow-flowered plant of the daisy family that is a common weed of grazing land"

Rain-: "[noun] moisture condensed from the atmosphere that falls visibly in separate drops"

Rainbow-: "[noun] an arch of colors formed in the sky in certain circumstances, caused by the refraction and dispersion of the sun's light by rain or other water droplets in the atmosphere"

Raindrop-: "[noun] a single drop of rain"

Rainy-: "[adj] (of weather, a period of time, or an area) having a great deal of rainfall"

Ram-: "[noun] a male sheep"

Rampion-: "[noun] a Eurasian plant of the bellflower family"

Rapid-: "[adj] happening in a short time or at a fast pace; [noun] a fast-flowing and turbulent part of the course of a river"

Raspberry-: "[noun] an edible soft fruit related to the blackberry, consisting of a cluster of reddish-pink drupelets; [noun] the plant that yields the raspberry, forming tall, stiff, prickly stems (canes)"

Rat-: "[noun] a rodent that resembles a large mouse, typically having a pointed snout and a long, sparsely haired tail"

Rattle-: "[verb] make or cause to make a rapid succession of short, sharp knocking sounds, typically as a result of shaking and striking repeatedly against a hard surface or object; [noun] a rapid succession of short, sharp, hard sounds"

Rattlesnake-: "[noun] a heavy-bodied American pit viper with a series of horny rings on the tail that, when vibrated, produce a characteristic rattling sound as a warning"

Raven-: "[noun] a large heavily built crow with mainly black plumage, feeding chiefly on carrion; [adj] of a glossy black color"

Ravine-: "[noun] a deep, narrow gorge with steep sides"

Red-: "[adj] of a color at the end of the spectrum next to orange and opposite violet, as of blood, fire, or rubies; [noun] red color or pigment"

Redwood-: "[noun] either of two giant conifers with thick fibrous bark"

Reed-: "[noun] a tall, slender-leaved plant of the grass family, which grows in water or on marshy ground"

Reflection-: "[noun] the throwing back by a body or surface of light, heat, or sound without absorbing it"

Resin-: "[noun] a sticky flammable organic substance, insoluble in water, exuded by some trees and other plants (notably fir and pine)"

Ridge-: "[noun] a long narrow hilltop, mountain range, or watershed"

Rime-: "[noun] frost formed on cold objects by the rapid freezing of water vapor in cloud or fog"

Ripple-: "[noun] a small wave or series of waves on the surface of water, especially as caused by an object dropping into it or a slight breeze"

River-: "[noun] a large natural stream of water flowing in a channel to the sea, a lake, or another such stream"

Roach-: "[noun] a scavenging insect that resembles a beetle, having long antennae and legs and typically a broad, flattened body"

Roam-: "[verb] move about or travel aimlessly or unsystematically, especially over a wide area"

Roaming-: "[adj] moving about aimlessly or unsystematically, especially over a wide area"

Robin-: "[noun] a small chiefly European thrush resembling a warbler and having a brownish-olive back and orangish face and breast"

Rock-: "[noun] the solid mineral material forming part of the surface of the earth, exposed on the surface or underlying the soil or oceans; [noun] a large piece of rock which has become detached from a cliff or mountain, like a boulder"

Rocky-: "[adj] consisting or full of rock or rocks"

Roe-: "[noun] a small deer, reddish and grey-brown, and well-adapted to cold environments"

Rolling-: "[adj] moving by turning over and over on an axis; [adj] (of land) extending in gentle undulations"

Rook-: "[noun] a gregarious Eurasian crow with black plumage and a bare face, nesting in colonies in treetops"

Rooster-: "[noun] a male domestic chicken"

Root-: "[noun] the part of a plant which attaches it to the ground or to a support, typically underground, conveying water and nourishment to the rest of the plant via numerous branches and fibers"

Rose-: "[noun] a prickly bush or shrub that typically bears red, pink, yellow, or white fragrant flowers, native to north temperate regions"

Rosehip-: "[noun] the ripened usually red or orange accessory fruit of a rose that consists of a fleshy receptacle enclosing numerous achenes"

Rosemary-: "[noun] an evergreen aromatic shrub of the mint family, native to southern Europe"

Rosette-: "[noun] rose-like marking or formation found on the fur and skin of some animals"

Rot-: "[verb] (chiefly of animal or vegetable matter) decay or cause to decay by the action of bacteria and fungi, aka decompose; [noun] the process of decaying"

Rough-: "[adj] having an uneven or irregular surface, one that's not smooth or level; [adj] (of a cat or their behavior) not gentle. Violent or boisterous"

Rowan-: "[noun] a mountain ash tree; [noun] the scarlet berry of the rowan tree"

Rubble-: "[noun] waste or rough fragments of stone"

Ruby-: "[noun] a precious stone consisting of corundum in color varieties varying from deep crimson or purple to pale rose"

Rue-: "[noun] small perennial shrub in the family Rutaceae used as a culinary and medicinal herb"

Rumble-: "[verb] to make a continuous deep, resonant sound; [noun] a continuous deep, resonant sound like distant thunder"

Running-: "[verb] the action of running"

Rush-: "[verb] move with urgent haste; [verb] dash toward (someone or something) in an attempt to attack or capture; [noun] a sudden quick movement toward something"

Russet-: "[adj] reddish brown in color; [noun] a reddish-brown color"

Russula-: "[noun] a widespread woodland toadstool that typically has a brightly colored flattened cap and a white stem and gills"

Rust-: "[noun] a fungal disease of plants which results in reddish or brownish patches"

Rustgill-: "[noun] a small and widely distributed mushroom which grows in dense clusters on dead conifer wood"

Rustle-: "[verb] make a soft, muffled crackling sound like that caused by the movement of dry leaves; [noun] a soft, muffled crackling sound like that made by the movement of dry leaves"

Rusty-: "[adj] reddish brown in color, resembling rust"

Rye-: "[noun] a cereal plant that tolerates poor soils and low temperatures"

[pickerelstripe]

[CM] Birds - Biyaw 2

Our final bird post! At least until I inevitably find some Maine birding guide that introduces a new species, haha. Today’s the second half of the biyaw* list, birds that are common and easily hunted. 

Below are translations for sparrows, vireos, and a whole lot more.

Northern waterthrush (Parkesia noveboracensis) - Chochocho Streaky brown-and-cream bird. Present in summer and fall. Feed on insects, snails, fish, and salamanders. Known for foraging along watersides in the bog.

Wood thrush (Hylocichla mustelina) - Wupwiurr Brown-and-white thrush with a spotted chest and belly. Present in summer. Feed on insects and berries.

Veery (Catharus fuscescens) - Veerr Brown-and-white thrush, similar to a wood thrush but unspotted. Present in summer. Feed on insects and berries. 

Song sparrow (Melospiza melodia) - Hipchee Brownish sparrow with heavy streaking and red stripes on the head. Present year-round. Feed mostly on insects and seeds. 

Swamp sparrow (Melospiza georgiana) - Sees Brown sparrow with an unpatterned belly. Present year-round but most abundant in spring, summer, and fall. Feed mostly on insects. 

White-eyed vireo (Vireo griseus) - Pikchikawee Gray-and-yellow vireo with white eyes. Present sparingly in summer and fall. Feed on insects and berries. The word pikchikawee is derived from a mnemonic I saw for white-eyed vireo calls!

Yellow-throated vireo (Vireo flavifrons) - Ee’earp Mostly gray bird with a yellow-olive head and white underparts. Present sparingly in summer. Feed on insects, fruit, and seeds.

Warbling vireo (Vireo gilvus) - Wiuwiu Dull gray bird with a slightly lighter belly. Present in summer and early fall. Feed mostly on insects, but eat berries as well.

Blue-headed vireo (Vireo solitarius) - Wee’rip White-and-olive bird with a blue-gray head and white eye rings. Present in summer and fall. Feed on insects and small fruit.

Marsh wren (Cistothorus palustris) - Pich Little chocolate-brown bird with a distinct body shape, often seen perched while bobbing its tail. Present year-round but most abundant in summer. Feed mostly on insects.

Alder flycatcher (Empidonax alnorum) - Rebeer Grayish-brown and white flycatcher with a small head crest. Present in summer. Feed on insects - can be seen flycatching, darting off a branch to catch bugs mid-air! 

Phoebe (Sayornis phoebe) - Weebee Small flycatcher with a dark brownish-gray back and white underparts. Present year-round but most abundant in summer and fall. Feed on insects and berries.

Bittern (Botaurus lentiginosus) - Wikbwip Small heron with brown-and-cream streaking and a long striped beak. Present in spring and summer, sometimes seen in fall. Feed on fish, frogs, insects, and other aquatic life. Bitterns have some unique nicknames - my favorite is “mire-drum”.

[birdzflycom]

What is The Difference Between- American Robin vs European Robin

What is the difference?

American Robin vs. European Robin. The European Robin and the American Robin are separated by an ocean but share the same name. Learn about American and European Robins: - These two birds share the same species name and the same coloration. They live on different sides of the Atlantic Ocean. Differences between these two species of robins: North American robin 

North American robin Signs of the American Robin: Both male robins and female robins have a bright orange breast. Garo plays on the head and back. However, female robins are often duller in color. Learn about robin nests and eggs: Range They live across parts of Canada, the United States, and Mexico. They can be found in all these places if you look for them, but they are less common in winter. What do American robins eat? American robins of this species prefer insects, berries and earthworms. They do not eat seeds. Here's how to attract robins to your yard and garden. The family American robins are members of the thrush family which makes them beautiful and melodious singers. Have you ever heard the song of the robin bird? American robins usually join large flocks of other robins in the winter and fall.

The European Robin:

European Robin Bird Sign: Male and female European robins look similar with an orange face and chest. Sometimes outlined with a gray border and the head and back are olive brown. Range: European robins are found throughout Europe and western Asia and locally in North Africa. Learn about Western Robins and their Eastern counterparts. What do European robins eat? These species of birds eat mostly insects but also enjoy berries. The family The European Robin is a member of the Old World Flycatcher family. Behavior of European Robins: It is known to be more solitary and quiet in all seasons than the American robin.   Read the full article

[oatflatwhite]

north country

aka rain fic! thanks emma @nogamediaz​ and arah @diazactually​ for enabling me.

read on ao3

In the north country now it is spring and there is a certain celebration. The thrush has come home ... It is okay to know only one song if it is this one.

— Mary Oliver, 'North Country'

The rain wakes Eddie in the night, thick falls of it against the bedroom window. He slips out from under the covers, grateful for the fuzzy socks he wore to bed, and pads to the laundry to check on the leak. 

Sure enough, it’s there, a noticeable puddle on the tiled floor. Eddie digs the bucket out from beneath the sink and tucks it beneath the drip, just in time to catch another heavy raindrop that lands with an echoing thwap. He digs out an old towel, bleach-stained, the worn hem of it frayed and ripping, and uses it to mop up the water.  

The creak of the floorboard behind him is all the warning Eddie gets before a hand, big and warm, settles on the back of his neck.  

“Remind me to fix that tomorrow,” Buck says around a yawn, sleep shirt riding up on his stomach as he stretches and works out a crick in his neck. Eddie chucks the damp towel in the sink and wraps a fresh one around the bucket before standing. 

“You say that every time,” he replies into the soft fabric of Buck’s shoulder, sighing as Buck’s arms wrap around him, one sneaking beneath his shirt to chase the warmth there.  

“You gotta remind me, babe,” Buck says and Eddie can tell he’s grinning. “I’m getting on, you know. Mind’s not as sharp as it used to be.” 

“Was it ever?” Eddie dodges the pinch to the side Buck tries to give him and laughs, softly, as he dances out of reach. “You’re thirty-three, Buck. I wouldn’t call that old.” 

“Tell that to the grey hair I found last week!” 

“And what does that make me?” 

“Hmm.” Buck taps his chin, reeling Eddie back into his arms. “My sugar—” 

“Don’t finish that sentence.” 

Buck presses a kiss into Eddie’s hairline. “Good call,” he smiles, and Eddie can feel the shape of it against his skin. They sway in place for a moment.  

“I’ll take the kitchen, you check on Chris?” Buck asks. 

“You just want to sneak in one of those oatmeal cookies.” 

“I wouldn’t need to if literally anyone else in the house was eating them!” Eddie sniffs; Buck runs a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Cookie purists, the both of you.” 

“Oatmeal is for oatmeal, I don’t know how many times I—”  

“Go on, then. Just a couple more.” 

“You’re such an asshole,” Eddie huffs out, but somehow the last syllable turns into a laugh. He turns in Buck’s arms, expecting the kiss when it comes. 

Behind them, the raindrops plink, plink into the bucket. 

“Kitchen,” Buck breathes when they ease apart, pushing his forehead into Eddie’s. His thumb, unseeing, finds the mole on Eddie’s hip beneath his shirt.  

“In a minute,” Eddie says.  

It’s more like five before Buck lets him go; Eddie watches the long line of his husband disappear down the hall to the kitchen, ducking his head to the side like he always does to dodge the swing of the old light fixture. The kitchen light flicks on a moment later, flooding the doorway quiet and butter-golden. The sound of a cookie tin being eased open as carefully as possible. 

Eddie lets himself into Christopher’s room as quiet as he can, skirting the discarded clothes and craft supplies on the floor to check on the window. It’s closed, but a seam of water has crept beneath the seal, collecting in the corners of the sill. Eddie mops it up with the hem of his shirt, opens and closes the window again. The covers are drawn all the way up to Christopher’s chin and the way his hair spills out over the pillowcase looks so much like Buck Eddie has to take a moment, by the window, hand on the cold, sweating glass.  

Buck is already in bed when Eddie returns to their room, curling around Eddie the instant he lies down beside him. The rain, unceasing, continues to fall. Gently dissected moonlight cuts across the bone of Buck’s cheek, the curve of his eyebrow as it tapers into his birthmark. Eddie feels the overwhelming urge to kiss it, so he does, trailing his mouth down warm, aloe-vera-face-washed skin until it finds Buck’s. He tastes like oatmeal cookie and it’s enough to make Eddie break the kiss, wrinkling his nose.  

“Sorry,” Buck whispers, not the slightest bit apologetic. “I’ll make choc chip next time.” 

Upon reflection, the oatmeal really isn’t that bad when it’s kissed from Buck’s mouth. Eddie leans in again, trying not to smile, but barely five seconds later the kiss breaks again, Buck’s mouth just pressed to his, grinning.  

“’m serious,” Buck says into the pillow when Eddie shifts back, smiling the way that crinkles his eyes all small, the way they look in their wedding pictures. Eddie’s favourite is one he isn’t even in: Buck and Maddie and a beaming, three-year-old Jee, laughing at Eddie behind the camera, the look on Buck’s face radiating such contentment it pierced Eddie to the bone, then as now.  

“About the cookies?” 

“Them too.” Buck shifts, shaking his head on the pillow. “About the leak. Remind me and I’ll do it in the morning.” 

“I’ll do it in the morning,” Eddie replies, petulant. Buck raises the eyebrow Eddie kissed. 

“Counterpoint. I’ll do it and you can look at my ass when I do.” 

“This feels like a trick.” 

Buck rolls his eyes. “How can that possibly be a trick? You love my ass.” 

Eddie doesn’t dignify that with a reply (he’s pretty sure Buck knows his stance on the matter, anyway). “Do you really not want me to fix it?” he asks instead. Eddie’s hand catches in the hem of Buck’s shirt. “Do you think I can’t?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Well?” 

Buck shrugs, then sighs. He leans across the pillows and presses his forehead into Eddie’s. “I like doing things for you,” he admits. “You do so much, you’ve—done so much, for me, I just.” He chews his lip. “I wanna do this. If you remind me to.” 

Eddie digests this. His hand finds Buck’s between their sleep-soft bodies, and he squeezes it, bringing it to his mouth to kiss the palm. “Of course I do things for you,” he replies, quiet. “You’re the love of my fucking life.” 

“Okay.” 

“Buck.” 

“Yeah, okay.” And that’s—a smile, caught on the last syllable. Eddie kisses it, swallows it, unbothered by the oatmeal, keeps kissing until Buck opens for him—hot and wet and familiar as a well-worn record. Only then does he ease back. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says. “Me and Chris, you—you’re the best thing that ever happened to us. I’m pretty sure I said something like that in my vows.” 

“You did.” Buck has that look on his face again: delicate, breakable. Eddie’s heart feels outside his body. “Might want to check on that memory of yours, Diaz. We only got married last month.” 

“Look who’s talking,” Eddie says, curving his hand around Buck’s chin and resting his thumb in the dimple, “Diaz.” The name elicits a tiny smile that Eddie feels in the moving muscle of Buck’s jaw. His hand maps the line of Buck’s neck; tucks, perfect and neat, into the divot of his shoulder. “If you wanna fix the leak,” he continues, “fix the leak. I’ll gladly stare at your ass. It’s a great ass.” 

“It is.” 

“S’why I married you.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Well, partly.” Eddie runs his hand down Buck’s arm, feeling the transition between soft cotton and firm, warm skin, the fine bones of his elbow and wrist. “But if you wanna fix the leak because you think you—have to, or whatever, you don’t, Buck. The bucket does a good job.” 

“The bucket,” Buck says, “can’t do a good job. It’s a bucket.” 

“It’s a metaphor!” 

Buck laughs, and kisses him. “It’s really, really not.” He shifts back, takes Eddie’s hand. Traces his thumb against the thick gold wedding band. “I wanna fix the leak. Nothing else. No funny business.”  

Eddie slides them together, slotting a leg between Buck’s beneath the sheets. “Maybe some funny business?” 

Buck sighs, pretends to contemplate, even as he shifts the thick muscle of his thigh over Eddie’s, boxer shorts riding up so they’re skin to skin. “I’ll allow it,” he informs him, and kisses his husband as the rain pours down outside.  

[heaveninawildflower]

1) Blue Jay

2) Pine Grosbeak

3) Red Crossbill

4) Meadowlark

5) Bobolink

6) Scarlet Tanager

7) Flicker

8) Water-thrush

9) Pine Siskin, Redpoll

10) Hermit Thrush, Olive-backed Thrush

Illustrations taken from ‘Field Book of Wild Birds and their Music’ by  F. Schuyler Matthews. Published 1921.

https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/page/13653735

Wikimedia.

[ok-ish-hermitcraft-headcanons]

The other half of the hermit birds! :D Accidently sent the last ask anonymously lol

Scar got a new bird association, brown headed nuthatch, just fits im!

Jellie: ain't a hermit technically but shes a Chickadee

Cleo: Green Kingfisher, or some kind of hawk

False: Harpy Eagle, or red-tailed eagle

Pearl: Black heron, Barred or Barn owl

Welsknight: Gyrfalcon

Helsknight: Osprey

Joehills: mourning dove, or a pigeon, dont ask me why, I dont know either.

Stress: Bohemian Waxwing

Zedaph: American Goldfinch, honestly never watched his videos before but goldfinch was my first thought when I heard his voice

Gem: European Robin

Etho: Blue Jay or one of those ridiculously brave chickadees

Impulse: Evening Grosbeak, just makes sense

Bdubs: olive sparrow(?) Cant really get a clear image for them

Cubfan: Sandpiper, some sort of seabird maybe?

Keralis: tend not to use Ravens for this sort of thing, but, hes just, a Raven, or some sort of black bird

IJevin: some sort of jay, definitely one with the little point at the back of their head

VintageBeef: I'm tired and cant rhink coherantly but hes one of those brown little birds, a sparrow maybe?

Xbcrafted: my brain finally worked for a second and thought 'Hermit Thrush' and now I cant stop thinking about it

And that's all folks, I am too tired so I probably missed someone but enh, I dont cara right noew, it's not that late I'm just tired, so dont worry ny the way :>

Nice!

Hope you sleep well when you do!

[bubblepunk99s]

The Table of Minos

Teeth not made for meat sunk into wasted flesh. His feast laid before him in an indistinct pile. Bull’s eyes were not good for sight and after sitting in darkness for such a long time, his were poorer than most. Would it have made things different to see them? To see them as they had seen him? Or would appetite prove to be his only master? Hunger gave him his orders, not his father or any of the immortal gods.

 A piteous crack sounded from within his jaws. Bone breaking under his molars. These people had been starved long before meeting him. This much he could tell from the feel of their bodies. Ribs, harsh and distinct under thin, taut skin. Limbs that snapped in his wide hands like twigs, like the branches that lay on the floor of this chamber, a reminder of a time before the labyrinth when this land had been a grove of stubby trees bearing succulent olives, fit for the table or to be made into oil that would light palaces and pig-sties alike. 

As his mighty head ran red with coppery blood, he imagined a lighted feast. Platters, all distinct and pulsing with the warmth of good cooking, so different from the cooling corpses that had been dumped on his floor. Every torrent running with wine and barley-pastes fighting to be the first to men’s lips. Haunches of meat, the food for heroes, not the oily fish that these men had been forced to subsist on before being sent down here. Conduits full of piquant sauces for the meat always on hand, never out of reach. Pigs that had died of overeating. The eggs from a goose that had been fed on moistened grain or perhaps even ones from a resplendent peacock, an animal he had never been able to imagine despite the many times it had been described to him. Soups. Broths. Meat that didn’t rush down his throat like slithery entrails. Meat he could eat without imagining something better, meat that would strengthen him instead of ailing him. Is that what anyone would want from a king’s son? To grow up whole and hale?

A gore-stained hand reached up to touch his head. He felt the horns curling outward from his skull and remembered what he was. The images of feasting faded like morning dew in the heat of the sun.

Honey cakes.

He was almost done now. Cracking the remaining bones to suck up the flake-like marrow. It passed down easily enough, not sticking in his mouth or seeking to come back up in great, heaving retches.

Little honey cakes. Smaller than his palm. Sprinkled with spices, dribbling sweetness. Coming apart in his mouth lighter than a cloud, a rush of moist, delicious warmth. This he did not have to imagine. This he knew. Vaguely, indistinctly, like the press of his mother’s breast, like the strength in her arms. But this he could remember without inventing. Always after his feeding did he return to the thought of honey cakes, as if a little mound of pastry could be used to mop up the ocean of blood that lay splattered and drying on his face, on the floors of his chamber, on his mighty hands.

Honey cakes.

Nothing had to die to make a honey cake. No pig slaughtered. No thrush roasted. No fish gutted. Merely taking the wealth of the earth and binding it together with joyful sticky honey. Soon his memory passed back into imagination and his thoughts were filled with grain fields waving in the wind and glowing under the sun.

Honey cakes.

Flies settled on his beefy neck to have a feast of their own. The rats he had chased off or eaten – little wriggling morsels they had been – but the flies were less easily deterred. Still, he gave his head a shake to ward them off, relishing the sound of his horns cutting through the stale air.

Honey cakes.

 A small shifting sound came from the corner of the room.

 He froze. He knew that sound. Knew what was in that corner.

Gently, he extracted himself from the floor. As he walked, he heard both the slapping of his bare feet on stone and the noise made by his horns scraping the ceiling. Long strides carried him to the corner. He reached a hand down.

Three cakes resting on a ceramic platter. He put his finger to his mouth and felt the unmistakable spark of sweet honey on his tongue. 

Far faster now, he dropped to the floor. Lifted the flap at the door’s base and peered through. No-one was waiting there. Only thing he could see was a line of red thread glowing in the dark. It was different to the red of blood or of meat. For years it had been the only light from the outside world. He watched it for as long as he could before it was pulled back, snaking over the stone of the labyrinth back to a chest lying in front of a feather-filled mattress

He picked up the bowl and slowly walked back to where he had been before. He didn’t want to break the bowl, as he had broken others before it. He wished he had been there to see her before she had left, hear her talk about feasts and fields and the wine - dark sea that was vaster and more ancient than any stone labyrinth. Things he could never imagine fully but could spend a lifetime trying to.

 So there, in the dark of his chamber, he sat and ate his honey cakes, savouring each bite. As they came apart in his mouth, honey mixed with blood and his hunger was sated. For now.

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

L’histoire secrète de la mer /// Chapter 2

Damn another chapter in a day. I'm gonna start posting this on AO3 for anyone who prefers that platform. In the meantime, enjoy! x

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls end up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Fili x oc/reader - Kili x oc (for this POV fic visit my navigation) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 1947

Warnings: Swearing

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

PLEASE START FROM THE BEGINNING IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY OK LOVE U

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Soon available on Wattpad and AO3

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2 -

Deep, quiet, and alone;

The Song Thrush has brown upper-parts and black-spotted cream or buff underparts. Its distinctive song, which has repeated musical phrases, has frequently been referred to in poetry.

Kate let out a groan as my hand tapped her repeatedly on the shoulder. She waved her arm about, eyes still shut tight until the onslaught stopped. Marching over to the window, I ripped the curtains open, the blinding light of the morning sun hitting her directly in the face.

“Girlie get the fuck up.” I pushed.

Letting out more groans of complaint, Kate’s face scrunched up as she rolled over away to face the wall, only to be met with a wad of paper that I aimed at the back of her head.

“Kate.” I said, exasperated.

Now somewhat awake, she rolled back over and leant up on her elbow to face me.

“What-?” She croaked in confusion.

I glared at her with wide eyes, before looking pointedly at the piece of paper I had aimed at her.

Looking down at her assaulter, she picked up a leaflet, the front a picture of a waterfall, with the title ‘Magic of Ullswater’ printed in a bold white font. She looked back at me with groggy eyes and messy hair as I sat perched on my bed.

“Ah,” She guiltily scrunched her face in realisation, “was this today?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, pointing at the glaring number on my phone. “And it’s already seven!”

“Don’t worry, I’m up” She rolled out of bed and swung open the wardrobe doors, grabbing what she needed before heading to the bathrooms to freshen up and get ready. Within twenty minutes she was back in the room, and by some miracle managing to get ready in half the time. On an average day she would take at least an hour.

After a quick breakfast in the canteen, we went back up to ensure everything needed was packed and ready for today’s hike. After all, going to see the waterfall was one of the main reasons we had gone. You mention rocks to me, and forests to Kate, we are there.

We laced up our walking boots and headed outside, up the path until we reached the edge of the road where the shuttle bus dropped us off days earlier. The weather had changed for the better, the temperature hiked up to a comfortable twenty two degrees accompanied by a blue sunny sky. Perfect for today’s plans, where only summer clothes were required.

I wore my cargo trousers, along with a grey cropped vest top and a thin zip up hoodie tied around my waist.

Kate on the other hand was wearing her cream vest top tucked into her baggy olive green trousers, and a thick brown belt looped through, with a loose fitting chunky white cardigan left unbuttoned over the top.

Unfortunately Dr Martens and platform crocs weren’t the most suitable shoes for hiking, lest you want your ankles broken, so were replaced with hiking boots, and obviously waterproofs were packed away in our rucksacks just in case. As lovely as it was, you can never trust English weather.

Eventually, the local bus slowed to a stop. Sifting through my pockets I pulled out and counted up what loose change I had, handing it over. After stating our destination and receiving our tickets, we headed to the back of the relatively empty bus, which was surprising considering it was the middle of summer. We both placed down our rucksacks and sat on either side of the aisle, propping up our feet on the other seats. With a groan and a jolt, the bus’s engine sprang back to life, and begun its journey down the road, over the vast rolling hills.

“Hey.” I said, waiting for Kate to turn away from the window, “Did you remember to bring the passes?”

She leant back in mock offense. “Of course.” she retorted. “Must you deem me that unreliable??”

I snorted at her reaction. “Well you forgot what day it was earlier, so I had to double check.”

She deadpanned at me, reaching into her bag to procure two sheets of paper, shoving them up at me so I could see the print. “I double checked at least ten times, after all this saves us the twenty quid entry.”

I sat back with a quiet sigh of relief, whilst Kate safely tucked the papers back away. Looking back, she asked me which part of the trail I wanted to visit first.

My eyes darted around as they narrowed in thought.

“The waterfall.” I declared. “You’ve been before, is it close to the entrance?”

“Somewhat.” She answered as she picked at her lip. “Within a fifteen-ish minute walk of the car park.”

“As long as you actually remember where to go.” I taunted, before laughing at her frown. “Cuz I wanna see some stratification.” I said eagerly, tapping on the diagram in the book on my lap.

“Well as long as you don’t start licking the rocks as soon as we get there, otherwise you’ll scare the children off.” She tormented, ducking down with a giggle as the book was launched at her head.

Soon enough, we arrived, and after Kate proved to me that she actually knew the route, we followed the continuous thundering noise of rushing water until we reached the 65 foot waterfall, now towering ahead of us. I jogged ahead, eager to reach the moss covered bridge that curved over the deep ravine that the water had carved into the rock. At halfway I stopped to lean over the fence, facing down into the narrow abyss of water below, tilting enough to the point where my legs began to lift from the floor.

“Oi!” Kate cried, jogging to catch up. “You can’t swim, so if you fall, don’t think I’m going in after you.”

“Are you a lifeguard or not?” I pointed out incredulously, leaning further over in a taunting manner. “It’s literally you’re job to go after me.”

“Well it’s not like I’m being paid right now to do so.” She answered as she caught up to me. “Pay me my hourly rate and then I’ll think about going after you.”

I scoffed in disbelief at her audacity before my attention returned to admire the waterfall before me.

It wasn’t long before a high pitched trill from above caught Kate’s attention. Raising her head, she stared at the dense foliage above her, before spotting whatever it was and wandering outside my peripheral vision. The sound of a Polaroid shutter went off behind me several times, before going silent again. Within a minute, I felt a finger poke my shoulder, and I turned to see Kate pointing further down the path.

My eyes followed said footpath and from a distance, I managed to make out a clearing bathed in the scattered beams of the midday sun.

“How about we have lunch down there?” She suggested.

I nodded in agreement, and we both made our way over. After decided what was the sunniest spot, we laid out the blanket and sat down, putting out the food we were able to fit in our bags.

“That bird.” I tried to say, my voice half muffled by my hand that was hiding my mouthful of sandwich as I spoke. “What was it?”

“A song thrush,” Kate replied, swallowing her own sandwich. “According to some article I read a while back they’re quite common round these parts”.

“I didn’t know you birdwatched?” I pondered.

“I did quite a bit when was younger. To be fair though, I only recognised it because of The Hobbit.” She admitted.

My eyes widened in realisation, and we both pointed at each other with a grin. “Of course!” I laughed, before turning back to my sandwich. “When the thrush knocks!”

“Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.” Kate recited without a stutter.

I lowered my sandwich and turned back towards her slowly, side-eyeing her with a face of suspicion. She side-eyed back.

“Your short term memory should’ve taken that in and flung it out the other side.” I disputed.

She frowned.

“And you didn’t even mess up the words once.”

Side-eyeing me once more, I watched as she slowly brought her phone up to her face. I glared in even further suspicion as she began to furiously type away at the keyboard. Within seconds I had enough.

“Ok what the fuck are you typing over there.” I demanded, discarding my sandwich, and speeding across the blanket to stare over her shoulder and began to read aloud. “Kay is anti-mental disorde— ??? I’M NOT DISSING YOUR ADHD???? NO. DON’T SEND THAT TO THE GROUPCHAT. KATE. SWEAR DOWN I WILL— NO! TAKE YOUR FINGER AND PRESS DELETE RIGHT NOW. NO NO NO. ROXIE WILL EAT ME ALIVE. DELETE THAT SHIT. NO. COME BACK.”

Kate cackled as she leapt up and ran the length of the clearing, watching as I scrambled up in a frenzy after her. To my horror, she held it up in front of her to read aloud any replies from the chat, interrupted every so often by my aggravated screams of frustration.

I chased her around the grass, until we both collapsed back on the blanket, too exhausted to carry the conflict further. I pointed my finger at her accusingly.

“You better delete it.” I managed between heaves. She held out her hand expectantly.

“That’ll be ten pounds.” She requested with a grin on her face.

“Oh, piss off.” I groaned exasperatedly, shoving her shoulder as she laughed.

Squabble over, I rolled over to pick up and return to the geography book I was reading on the bus. Kate did the same, but with The Hobbit, something she always brought along with her religiously.

Later, we packed up the picnic and explored the forest for a few hours, wandering off the path a few times to look for rocks or plants. A chilly breeze blew past and I made the mental note to check the time soon, but it seemed Kate had already beaten me to it.

“Hey Kay,” I heard her call, and I replied with a loud “YEA?”

From the bushes behind me, she said “we should think about heading back, if we wanna make it to the canteen for tea.”

I agreed, standing up from where I was crouched over a small stream, trying to find a type of mineral deposit I was reading about in my book earlier. Slinging our bags back over our shoulders, we both began to make our way back down the path, dodging the jagged roots and rocks. A short while passed before we reached the clearing we had eaten in earlier, the opening in the trees showed that the sky had begun to change colour, causing us to quicken our paces slightly to ensure we wouldn’t get caught out in the wilderness at night.

It wasn’t long before we were back at the waterfall, and we began our crossing of the bridge before I slowed down again like last time. Kate slowed too, and we both stopped in the middle to spend a moment, taking once last look at the towering waterfall, now bathed in the orange light of the evening’s golden hour.

A familiar chirp rang out through the trees, and Kate spun around, scouring the branches above her looking for the Song Thrush she had spotted earlier, whilst I turned back around to take pictures of the waterfall.

I began walking backwards over the bridge slowly, turning back to Kate as she carried on staring up at the foliage. I went to call for her, but only managed to open my mouth and let out a single sound.

Before it all went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[fishandloaves]

Look, it’s spring. And last year’s loose dust has turned into this soft willingness. The wind-flowers have come up trembling, slowly the brackens are up-lifting their curvaceous and pale bodies. The thrushes have come home, none less than filled with mystery, sorrow, happiness, music, ambition.

And I am walking out into all of this with nowhere to go and no task undertaken but to turn the pages of this beautiful world over and over, in the world of my mind.

* * * Therefore, dark past, I’m about to do it. I’m about to forgive you

for everything.

- Mary Oliver, "A Settlement", from What Doe We Know, Poems and Prose Poems

🕊 I love coming back to this poem at the beginning of a new year. Although not Spring, I love the theme of starting anew and drawing a line over my past grief, forgiving it and sitting comfortably with it as I begin the next chapter in this beautiful world. Happy New Year.

[cardstock-broth]

Oliver’s Right Leg

The frozen canal looked like a thick sheet of shiny, black glass. The bitter kiss of the cold wind seemed to gnaw at Oliver. It made his blue-gray eyes water as he desperately searched his surroundings for a gun, crowbar. Anything. His taloned hands scratched at the slippery surface that surrounded the shipwreck, desperately reaching for his backpack. The snow stung the raw flesh of his leg, currently crushed between the stone-solid sea and what remained of the ship. He was powerless to do anything, all of his supplies were in his bag, his guns, signal flare, and even his radio as the remainder of his crew either drowned or bled out… He turned back to his leg and let out a screech as the muscles protested at being unnaturally twisted. He was alone he was sure of it. The only thing he could do now is attempt to free himself.

 Thinking quickly he tore off his coat and tied it around his thigh to act as a tourniquet. He hesitated. He hoped that someone else had called for help, but deep down he knew that even if someone was on the way he’d be long dead before they would arrive. His beak chattered with fear and his breathing grew heavy as he forced himself to go on with his plan. He gripped his right leg, his jaws parted exposing his white razor-sharp teeth as he quickly bent forward to sink them into the mutilated flesh. He tore away at the muscles not giving himself a moment to pause. Eventually, he brought up his talons to rip away at his striped fur. He couldn't tell if his lightheadedness was due to blood loss or intense fear. Nevertheless, he continued to chew away at ligament, sinew, and eventually bone. By the time his teeth clacked at his tibia, he was nothing more than a shaking, sobbing mess.

 Oliver couldn't do it anymore, he didn't have the jaw strength to crack the bones apart and he swore that his aching teeth would shatter if he continued to try. He scratched at them, screaming as he futilely tried to pry himself away from the debris. He took a moment to wipe the gore away from his mouth and held his head in his hands as he seemed to accept his fate. That's when he heard it. The skull-piercing whistle of a train seemed to sing across the canal. Oliver whipped his head towards the mainland and spotted the bright red locomotive pulling into the station. The emblem of the Spes Nova could barely be made out in the midst of the blizzard. He had to act fast. He stretched his aching body back to where his backpack was laying uselessly. He dug his talons into the ice, desperately ignoring the burn of the remaining meat on his leg being pulled to its limits.

 His nails brushed against the leather straps. He furiously flapped his wings hoping to give himself a final thrush forward. His fingers grasped the bag’s strap and he quickly yanked it towards his chest. His stiff, blood-crusted fingers fumbled with the buckles, he was running out of time and he was sure he’d succumb to hypothermia soon. His beak tore through the polished leather in one last act of desperation. The backpack’s content’s spilled on his lap. After throwing aside half-finished sketches and crushed nutrition bars he quickly found what he was looking for. Oliver picked up the neon orange flare gun only for it to fall into his lap as he could no longer bend his fingers. He stuck his frozen fingers in his mouth in an attempt to warm them up, struggling not to gag at the taste of his own blood. He chewed them until he finally felt the sharpness of his teeth. 

Not wasting any more time he curled his fingers around the trigger with what seemed like barely enough force. He fell onto his back, watching the hot-pink flare sore across the grey sky. He turned to the mainland, struggling to see the ground in front of him let alone the red train. His entire body felt as if it was filled with sand as he violently shook. His eyes struggled to stay open, even his eyelashes had frozen together seemingly determined to seal them shut. His slowed breathing filled the madding silence around him, the harsh winds having long been drowned out. After what seemed like an eternity he heard a heavy clacking followed by dulled out yelling. He forced his eyes open and was met with the deep red eyes of Sisyphus. The unicorn was yelling something at him but he was too delirious to make out any of her words, he instead poured all his energy into focusing on her. He took in the sight of her brown face and the sharp lines of her scars. He forced himself to stare at her bright red coat, not allowing himself to associate it with the color of hot, quivering muscle.

 Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couched figure frantically tending to his leg. He didn't even notice the elderly field doctor, having lost feeling in his extremities. Jaak yelled something at Sisyphus and she gently let go of Oliver’s shoulders and slid to where the aitvaras man was standing. They frantically pitched ideas to free their comrade back and forth, or at least Oliver assumed so. His head felt so heavy and dense that he could barely hear anything his saviors were saying. Jaak was at his side and gently held his hand in a comforting gesture, Oliver blinked in confusion before turning back to Sisyphus. His eyes widened as she lifted her muscular leg and he only had a split second before she brought it down on his tibia. He let out a strangled cry as she chipped away at the rest of the bone with her heavy hoof, and Oliver swore that she took the time to scrape the ragged ends of flesh away from the rest of his leg before Jaak swooped in to tightly wrap bandages around the amputation site.

 Sisyphus then pulled Oliver onto her broad back and began the tedious journey back to the train. He rested his head in the crook of her neck, seeking her warmth. Sisyphus took brisk, heavy steps, hoping to stake her hooves into the ice so as not to slip. Jaak had long called in for backup on his own radio and was currently screeching orders into the transmitter. With every step Sisyphus took the sight of the bright red train filled Oliver with hope and once the three had reached the old wooden platform of the station did he finally allow himself to close his eyes. He knew that he was finally safe.

[soracities]

Hi 🌸 I wanted to ask, do you have any short quotes about new beginnings? The thing is, I'm working with at risk youths and they will be leaving here soon, and starting their new life against all expectations- most of them didn't believe they could finish their journey here, but they fought hard and did so anyway, so I'm searching for quotes to give them that will express how proud of them I am and will also wish them good luck, y'know? Thanks! 💜🧚 I'll be super grateful!!

i’m sending endless love to all of you this is so incredibly kind and heartwarming ♡ these are the lines i love most and always come back to - i don’t know if they are what you’re looking for but i hope they help. i hope you are all safe and well wherever you are, lovely ♡

*

You’ve taken the first step.There’s a second step?No; there’s another first step. Every step is a step if it’s a step in the right direction.

–Terry Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight

“I kneel into a dream where I / am good & loved. I am / good. I am loved. My hands have made / some good mistakes. They can / always make better ones.”

–Natalie Wee, “Least of All”

“The most beautiful part of your bodyis where it’s headed. & remember,loneliness is still time spentwith the world.”

–Ocean Vuong, “Some Day I’ll Love Ocean Vuong”

If we are lucky, the end of the sentence is where we might begin. If we are lucky, something is passed on, another alphabet written in the blood, sinew, and neuron; ancestors charging their kin with the silent propulsion to fly south, to turn toward the place in the narrative no one was meant to outlast

–Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel

This is the true wine ofastonishment:We are notOverWhen we thinkWe Are.

–Alice Walker, “My Friend Yeshi”

In the dream where I am an island, / I grow green with hope. I’d like to end there.  

–Jericho Brown, “Duplex (I Begin with Love)”

You may do this, I tell you, it is permitted.Begin again the story of your life.

–Jane Hirshfield, “De Capo”

We are the children of this madness.Let’s be whatever we wish.

–Saadi Youssef, “A Friendship”

I know, you never intended to be in this world. / But you’re in it all the same. / so why not get started immediately./ I mean, belonging to it. / There is so much to admire, to weep over. / And to write music or poems about. / Bless the feet that take you to and fro. / Bless the eyes and the listening ears. / Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste. / Bless touching. / You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.

–Mary Oliver, “The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac”

It had been woeful, but it was a start. Joey believed in starts. Once you had the start the rest was inevitable.

–Roddy Doyle, The Commitments

Be kind to yourself in the year ahead. Remember to forgive yourself, and to forgive others. It’s too easy to be outraged these days, so much harder to change things, to reach out, to understand. Try to make your time matter: minutes and hours and days and weeks can blow away like dead leaves, with nothing to show but time you spent not quite ever doing things, or time you spent waiting to begin. Meet new people and talk to them. Make new things and show them to people who might enjoy them. Hug too much. Smile too much. And, when you can, love.”

–Neil Gaiman, “New Year’s Wishes and Gifts”

How do you begin or end? / There are no rules. Begin again.”

–Andrea Cohen, Doing the Loop

But little by little,as you left their voice behind,the stars began to burnthrough the sheets of clouds,and there was a new voicewhich you slowlyrecognized as your own,that kept you companyas you strode deeper and deeperinto the world,determined to dothe only thing you could do –determined to savethe only life that you could save.

–Mary Oliver, “The Journey”

To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope 

–Anne Carson, “Eros the Bittersweet”

“But anything can always happen. That’s what hope is all about.”

–Viet Thanh Nguyen, The Sympathizer

“Look, it’s spring. And last year’s loose dust has turned into this soft willingness. The wind-flowers have come up trembling, slowly the brackens are up-lifting their curvaceous and pale bodies. The thrushes have come home, none less than filled with mystery, sorrow, happiness, music, ambition.And I am walking out into all of this with nowhere to go and no task undertaken but to turn the pages of this beautiful world over and over, in the world of my mind.* * *Therefore, dark past,I’m about to do it.I’m about to forgive youfor everything.”

–Mary Oliver, “A Settlement”

What is it that I have to tell myself again and again? That there is always a new beginning, a different end. I can change the story. I am the story. Begin.”

–Jeanette Winterson, The PowerBook

[peantbutter-honeycombs]

The Hollowing Series: Part I

Title: Prelude

Word count: 2,980

Characters: The 11th Doctor, Amy Pond, ocs

Warnings: Platonic fic not romantic. Crappy writing?

Notes: So three? I want to say three years ago this idea came to mind. Well not this one. But I worked off that idea and came to this. I like the idea of the Doctor being around children. They’re just so innocent. But then I though what the hell let’s torture 11 and the kids and this was born. I’ll explain more later but for now Spoilers. I reall have worked hard on this it’s my first Doctor Who fic. It’s been in my head and notes for years so please be kind and enjoy. I’m going to try, try to break this in to only 4 parts. But hey I’m a detailed writer.

Special Thanks to my college buddy B, @mirkwoodshewolf, and @underskaro​ for tolerating my ramblish rants and beta reading the chapter.

———

Down the road aways, pushed against the hills, stood a cobblestone farm style home. The front lawn was messy, jagged and uncut. From the muddy earth sprang up wildflowers and weeds, northern marches, poppies, and heathers. It was all very wild. The pedestal of a concrete birdbath was cracked and lopsided, with vines wrapping around the very base.

A trike was tangled, hidden in the tall overgrown grass. It felt out of place among the weedy garden. The bike in contrast to the exterior of the old homestead must have been brand new. Green and black, the trike was just brilliant enough to be noticeable through the thrush.

Visible from the left lower window appeared a boy, no older than 14 but no younger than 12. He reached out toward the edges of the frame, grasping at the sangria red fabric. In one swift motion, he drew the curtains closed.

“There,” the boy said, standing back to admire his work.

The four windows of the well-sized sitting room. The warm golden light that once flooded through the glass panes, faded, leaving room to feel somewhat dark and empty.

Stepping backward, the young teen collapsed over an armrest onto a sofa. The sofa’s cushions sank under the weight of him, creating a spot perfectly tailored to the shape of his body. The sofa had seen better days. The brown leather fabric was worn, torn in some places and had a great dark stain on the Center cushion that the boy couldn’t remember ever not existing.

Dragging his legs over the armrest, he moved himself so he was in a sitting position. He stretched his right hand out, leaning his body so he could reach a drawing book on the right end table. The silence of the sitting room hugged him like a security blanket, his muscles became jello, all the stress of the day just melted off him. Being the man of the house was hard.

He became lost in his own world. He didn’t utter a word for the next fifteen minutes and barely moved from his spot for a full thirty minutes. His left hand carefully looped and curved over the blank sheet of paper, no longer blank. Every now and again he’d spin his pencil around in his fingers in deep thought, or wildly erase a thoughtless mistake. He hummed along to the song blasting through his one right earbud (the one thing he’d moved to retrieve.) nodding his head in time with the 60’s melody.

The sound of creaking floorboards overhead pressed through his exposed ear, carrying him back to reality. He could hear gentle feet beating against the wood. They were almost unnoticeable over the music. Almost.

There was a lull in the footsteps, creating silence.

They must be at the stairs, he thought, beginning to set his drawing tools away.

They always stopped at the top of the stairs and the base. The stairs of the old farmhouse were criminally steep, with each weirdly a different height than the last. They were enough to give anyone unfamiliar with them a headache. If his mother had gotten them carpeted, maybe the stairs wouldn’t have been so nauseating, but she’d wanted to preserve the house’s history as best she could.

Thump, thump, thump.

He could just imagine the little human, the footsteps belonged to crawling down the stairs. Moving down them one by one, on their knees. Sort of in a reverse way of the puppy conquering the stairs in Lady and the Tramp.

“No, go away,” he called, pressing a pencil down into its colouring box. When there was quiet he looked over his shoulder, everything from the waist down just sitting there on the steps. The figure's upper body was obstructed from his view.

“I was kidding, you can come down.” He turned back to his tidying. He heard the little feet happily stomp about, then thump, thump, thump.

Focused on organising his things, he looked up only when noticing the pair of dust stained white socks out of the corner of his eye. He blinked, somewhat irritatedly, staring at the little girl who now stood across from him.

With a great sigh, he said.

“You’re really annoying sometimes, you know that?”

A child no older than four stood before him. Her brown eyes, earthy hues of the soil after rain or bark on a walnut tree. They gave him a look that was of youthful innocence. Bright auburn hair reached down to the middle of her back, slightly covering the sides of her cheeks. Her pale skin was dotted and marked with a surplus of freckles — Sophia.

Sophia frowned, taking a step back. This made the older boy quietly snicker.

He smiles in a reassuring manner, “Hello, Soph-a-loaf.” He teased goofily pronouncing her name. The slightest smile tugged at the corners of the ginger's lips. He brought Sophia onto his lap, letting her sit on his thighs. “What’s up ducky?” He asked, brushing some of her hair back behind her ear. Sophia scrunches her mouth to one side, making a few murmuring noises. “Oh really? Sounds like you’ve had a day.”

Sophia nods. She rests her head on Oliver’s stomach, looking up at him with her sweet doe eyes.

“What?”

Her eyes darted off toward the window.

“No. No.” Oliver shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Sophia tilted her head to one side, training her attention on Oliver’s. “Seriously the park now?” Oliver whined, backing into the cushion.

He reaches for a throw pillow and covers his face with it.

“I’m sleeping,” he murmurs from behind the fabric. Sophia fusses lightly, pressing at his stomach. Oliver grunted, but kept the pillow pressed against his face. “I’m dead,” he tried.

This time Sophia head butted him in the gut. Oliver pulled a face, bringing the pillow down.

“Bleh!” He mocked, tongue lolled out of his mouth. Sophia squeaks, swatting her palm against Oliver’s arm. “Hey, we don’t hit. Sophia, I don’t want to go to the park.” Oliver said leaning down so his forehead was against hers. Sophia kindly taps her temple against his. Oliver chuckles softly, giving her forehead a sweet peck. “Sophey Tophie.”

He lifts Sophia off his lap, setting her on the floor in front of him.

“I suppose… it would be nice to get out of the house.” His eye drifted to a calendar on the interior sidewall of the sitting room. He couldn’t remember when he circled that day. Sophia excitedly bounces up and down. “What are you a rabbit?” The little ginger doesn’t respond, bouncing her way to the front door.

Oliver rolls his eyes. Upon realisation, he sprang up from the sofa.

“Sophia, you need a coat!”

-

The two children squinted against the hazy Yorkshire rain. The rain was cool against their exposed skin. It felt nice, refreshing even. It ran through their hair, smoothing out Sophia’s auburn waves, mopping Oliver’s ash brown locks. It plastered small individual strands to each of their faces.

Oliver chatted away as they went down the muddy, winding path. Chatting isn't quite the right word as Sophia never spoke. It had only taken him two minutes to go off on a tangent about something or other.

Sophia, only kind of sort of listening, pedaling her hand-me-down trike. His voice disappeared into the white noise, allowing her to quietly enjoy the English landscape.

The countryside stretched and weaved as far as the eye could see. Rustic English cottages and cobblestone farm houses dotted the grassy hills. The land gently rolled up and down the valley, merging with the uneven, mist filled moors half way up the emerald green mounds of earth.

Dew, white and clear, decorated the damp droopy grass the land glittered, sparkling under the orange purpling sunlight.

The houses of the humdrum sleepy town were few and well spaced out. One could walk a good half a mile before reaching their neighbours' property. Those closer to the center of town were flats, pushed together in neat lines, occupying the space over the small, often family owned shops.

Oliver and Sophia arrived at the park in twenty minutes. Sophia having to struggle, pedaling through the mud had set them back. However, neither of the children seemed to care. Sophia hopped off the trike and clicked off her helmet, abandoning both on the pavement. She couldn’t wait to explore the soggy park.

For the next 20 minutes they hung out at the park, Sophia wandered the grassy playing field picking at wild flowers while Oliver practiced his kicks. In the following ten, Sophia ran up the stairs then went down the slide. She’d dust herself off, then go round again. The next five minutes she sat still, a bit tired, content to watch the villagers while Oliver puttered around.

“Oi! Sophia, I’m goin’ to the loo. I’ll be back right back!” Oliver shouted from the far side of the futbol field. The park had no bathroom, so he’d have to walk clear cross the road to Brews Brothers’ Pub. The popular bar had an outdoor side restroom reserved for the public.

Sophia watched Oliver leave until he became nothing more than a speck in the distance.

The quiet times brought a certain comfort to Sophia. It was the perfect time to watch people revel in the coolness of other humans’ lives. Usually the park was a buzz with townsfolk, mostly children. They melded together and dotted the public lawn like A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. But now there was little life to distinguish the little village from Oradour-sur-Glane, France.

The night air, though cool, had a biting sharpness to it. No thanks to the rain. Sophia sniffs through her nostrils, inhaling the almost intoxicating spring air. Sitting on the bench, her little legs swung over mud coated grass. Misty rain was still falling steadily, and the temperature had dropped considerably.

Sophia wasn’t bothered though.

Reaching for a short stick she traces some shapes in the ground. She nods her head, humming a tune she couldn’t quite place.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you actually know how to fly the TARDIS.” A voice, female with a thick Scottish accent, said.

Two foreign voices cut through the cold silence. Her eyes dart down the path. From where she sat she could hear them, the voices, bickering. About what, she had no clue.

Out of mist in the distance strode what appeared to be a young couple. The man seemed tall. His dark brown hair was long, stuck to his forehead in a droopy fashion, much like Ollie’s. Despite looking like a young man, he wore clothes that reminded Sophia of one of the town retirees; a Donegal tweed sport jacket with elbow patches, an off white dress shirt, rolled up deep blue trousers and… and bow tie?

Bow ties are for Sunday, Sophia thought, eyes narrowing at the approaching pair.

His partner appeared to be much more put together. Auburn hair, just a smidge less vibrant than Sophia’s framed a pale Scottish face. An irradiated cross expression dominated her features. Her voice wasn’t high nor low, it perfectly suited her in an indescribable way. And unlike the man to her right, she wore clothes appropriate for her age.

The pair stopped in the middle of the path, continuing to argue.

“Of course, I know how to fly the TARDIS sometimes she- she just has a mind of her own.” The lanky man argued, earning an eye roll from the ginger.

“We’re supposed to be England,” She grouched. “What about Churchill? This looks like— are we in Scotland?”

Sophia scoffed, shaking her head, tourists. She watched as the man licked a finger, held it against the wind, then popped it back in his mouth.

“No, no. I’m sure we’re in England.”

The finger crossed her arms over her chest in a cool way.

“Shouldn’t there be I dunno fighters, soldiers, something? I’m getting sheep.” She said looking round the area. She wasn’t wrong there were sheep, white puffs mindlessly grazing on the hills. When she looked back at the man, he was squatting. In his right hand he held a good chunk of mud.

“Wha—What are you doing?”

“Definitely in England. Westerdale Yorkshire, to be more precise. Right country wrong period. Does something seem off to you?” He asked, running a thumb over the mucky mud, cautiously examining it.

His partner snorted indignantly.

“Something or… someone? No don’t eat the—”

Sophia quickly pushed her head down, crinkling her nose. Adults are weird. She turned her attention to her dirt scribbles. She didn’t understand what they were on about, anyway. Hopefully they’d be on their way soon. They didn’t belong.

There’s a weight increase, bending the planks of the bench. An electric chill ran up Sophia’s spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The reaction wasn’t from the cold. There was a weight increase bending the planks of the bench.

“Well hello there, I’m the Doctor. What’s your name.”

Surprise was never an emotion Sophia handled well. Her shoulders went rigid, her entire body defensively readying itself. Her sweet eyes become stoney. Her breathing felt as if it was becoming more shallow with each breath. The guarding alarms inside her mind we’re going crazy halting the thinking gears of her brain.

The man held his hands up resignedly. “No, no, don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” There was a gentleness to his tone, a kind of concern. Sophia couldn’t be sure. No matter something about him. She let her shoulders go loose, but the rest of her still felt tense. “Would you mind? I have a few questions.”

Sophia allowed herself to relax a little more, not completely but more.

“Doctor!” The scot’s voice rang up briefly, sending Sophia back into defensive mode. “You can’t keep talking to children you don’t know.” She sounded like a mother chiding her young child.

Her comment sparked a minor argument between the pair.

Sophia took the time to lean back and take the pair in full, particularly the man. He was a little more normal-ish looking up close. Normal enough. There was something about his eyes she couldn’t quite describe.

Sophia observed the two curiously, unaware that the fear, once crushing her chest, was steadily subsiding.

“I introduced myself this time. Oh yes,” the Doctor swiftly turns to Sophia, “this is Amy.”

“That’s not how it works,” Amy grumbled.

Her partner ignores her, keeping his attention on Sophia. “There’s something… something about this place. Don't know. I think-" He spoke fast, flaggishly moving his hands about. “Well I know it’s something. Too many ideas. Head’s bit cloudy.” He knocked on his temple.

Sophia, though a little behind, shifted uncomfortably.

“Need to narrow it down…” he trailed off. Sophia, her left palm on her thigh, absently traces along each finger with her right index. He observes Sophia with a kind, sort of calculating, gaze.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?

Concurrently, Ollie was on his way back from the toilet. He dribbles across the park, knocking a futbol between one foot and the other. “He’s going for the full court folks.” He deepened his voice, trying to mimic the vocals of a proper sports announcer. “He’s at the 75 marker, will he go for the assist?” He sped up, using a lace touch to control the ball. “He passes to,” Oliver knocks the ball clear cross the field.

“No one.”

He’d get his ball back tomorrow. The silence made his blood as cold as the icy waters of a polar plunge, as he strode across the park to where he had left Sophia.

Everything was still hazy and cloudy from the English rain. Billions of trillions of icy drops dripped down his neck and fell off the flaps of his slicker. In this de-focused world, he could just make the outlined silhouette of Sophia.

“Sophia. Sophia?”

He goes taut, stopping in his tracks. For a moment his brain glitches. His eyes went wide, mouth falling slightly ajar. Although he was staring at Sophia, he was seeing more than he expected.

“Sophia, what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was steady, but had a sharpness to it. “Talking to strangers?” He holds a hand out, which Sophia compliantly takes within seconds.

“And you lot.” The ginger seemed taken back by Oliver’s frigidity. A tween scolding two strange grownups, one of them a Scot, bit startling. The gentleman, however, seemed off in his head, silently mouthing the same word over and over. “You can’t just be talking to people you don’t know, numpties.”

“Oi, watch it.”

Oliver’s eyes sourly narrow. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He deadpanned.

“Just passing through. Hello, I’m the—”

“You should keep passing,” Oliver interrupted. Stepping between Sophia and the pair. Sophia could only watch as Oliver spoke to the two adults. “Leave town before it gets dark.” He warned, picking Sophia up, holding her on his hip.

“Is everything okay?” The gentleman asked, stepping up from the bench.

Though his expression held a casual indifference, his skin goes colourless. He let out an understated sigh, bowing his head and turning to leave. “I have to get Sophia home. It's almost supper time.”

Sophia beats her head against Oliver's shoulder, hitting it just hard enough to make the older child wince. He rolls his eyes, but turns back to the pair. “If you are going to stay… it’s only fair.” He sounded like a toddler forced to apologise.

“I must warn you.” He let his face fall in seriousness.

“Beware what lies in the mist of the Moors.”