Surely you are jesting with me.

After that field trip to Winter’s Bayou, you would think the human female would have had enough stomping about looking at nature, wouldn’t you? And you’d think that foggy, drizzly 44 degrees F with a stiff north wind (so it feels like freezing or below) would be enough to keep her at home.

But no. Here she is, in two pairs of socks, rubber boots, two sweaters, a coat, a scarf, gloves, and a hat within a hat, toting binoculars and The Bird Book. Apparently she saw some little brown birds down by the creek when she was walking home from the store yesterday, so she’s traipsing down there again today to see if she can see what they are. She’s dragged us along. "Moral support," she says. I think she wants someone who can run for help when she falls in the creek, as she undoubtedly will. (The rubber boots make her clumsier than usual.)

Brrr. I’m a Frost Giant and when I think it’s cold, you know it’s unpleasant. Can we just get down there and look at the stupid birds and get back home where the hot cider lives?

I guess not.


Sigyn has found flowers to play in. Oh, I must be involved too? Sigh. Very well.


Finally, Sigyn, you’ve found a plant smaller than you! The human female says they’re Bluets, but they really should be called Pale Pinkies.


But do you have to stop and smile at all the flowers? Oh! I’m so sorry! Don’t cry! I’m sorry. Forgive me. Of course you do! You smile at all the flowers you want. Here—look at this one! Don’t you like this one?


You have to love a plant with heart-shaped fruit.


All right, here we are at the spot where the human female saw the birds yesterday. I don’t see anything. Well, other than very cold water and very cold mud and very cold, muddy plants. Brilliant. The human female is just going to stand here and hope they show up. I give it five minutes before she starts mewling about the cold and goes home.


<Twenty minutes later> She surprised me. I didn’t think she had it in her. However, I suspect she was just frozen in one spot and not actively waiting and watching. Well, glory be. We’ve turned and headed for home. No birdies today.

Auuuugh! We are stopping AGAIN! What is it this time? Some sort of tree. Our frozen idiot botanist says it’s a winged elm with little furry developing fruit.


Sigyn likes the red furry bits. (Furry and red are two of her favorite things.) I’m more intrigued by the corky wings on the twigs. Hmmm. With a judicious application of magic, I bet I could get one of these trees to fly. An army of flying trees…. I shall file that idea away for possible future development. In the meantime, let us go home and get warm.

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