Cold in here. Cold and wet. Why so many places cold and wet? Almost everywhere cold and wet! What point? No point! Silly! TREES. Wooooow. So many trees! Lots of trees! Want to climb. Run, run, run! Toward the trees! Pick a tree. Mm… That one! Look like all other trees, but not same. Still different… somehow. Not matter. Ugh. Cold water. Muddy water. Mud… Guck. Squish-feel. No like squish-feel. Feels gross. Quick, climb tree. Get out of gucky mud. Climb. How climb…? Never climbed before. Hmm. Okay. Go. Lift paw, up, grab tree. Tree slippery cos wet. Hold tight. Tighter. Good.

Up more. Other paw up. Good. Now last paw UP. Okay. Climb! More climb! Slipping! Go UP. UP, not DOWN. NO. Falliiiing! OW! Owie! Mean tree not letting she climb! Why nothing ever work! Everything mean and hurting! Ewww. Now stuck in gucky muddy mud. Yuck! Smells weird. Back hurts. Side hurts. Landed on tail funny. Now covered in black mud! Worst day ever! Don’t like trees! Don’t like waterfalls! Don’t like anything! Stomp away angrily. Stomp, stomp, stomp! Give up on life! What point in living when everything SUCKS? Ugh. Paws stuck in mud. Too thick. Gross! Now what?!

Cetus Cave had become a place of dulled silence since the lake had drained lower. The constant humming wasn't so present anymore, not like it had been, as if distant now. The lone constant resident of the misty cavern was pleased with this. It allowed him to sleep, though now he had problems hunting for those swimming food things. They always heard him approaching, now that the vibrations had died off. The bird ruffled his feathers at the thought of it.

Silver stood on one leg in the center of a reed patch, hidden from view in the shallow water, his neck tucked back and wings folded high and tight. His sweet, sweet cave was his and his alone, and this was a magical thing to the thoughtful and pleased to be isolated heron. Then, disaster.

The bird shot upright at the sound of breaking twigs and wails of complaint. Something small had fallen from the tree across the stone path. The bird stood upright. Was it a running food thing? Those rarely fell from the branches of the trees! What a delightful surprise! The bird stepped forward, once, twice, then stood on the land with head stretched out and sideways, to get a better look. Oh, this food thing was too big. He'd never be able to swallow that! Disappointment washed over the bird and he recoiled.

It wasn't welcome here, this not-food thing. The bird stretched his wings wide and ran a few steps towards it, screeching a warning as loud as he could. After about five steps, he lept and landed with a flash of his crystaline beak...

...he'd launch a mighty force of energy at the poor fallen thing, to send it away from where he landed. The act was a sharp jab of his armored beak against the ground, the sound loud and echoing as he recoiled and flared those big wings again. Someday, it'd be a far more powerful attack and impressive show, but for now, the needle-feathered bird was hardly a sight to behold, and the push no stronger than that of a toddler's.