Marsh narrowed his eyes, his ears flicking back. If looks could kill, the colourful little bird would have keeled over by now.
One of his eyelids twitched as he stared. The creature was sat on a low branch not a foot from his face, twittering and gesturing and quite clearly having a wonderful one-sided conversation with the silent predator below. Did it think this was funny? Had it been just a few inches closer to the ground, Marsh would have taken his chances and lunged for it. After all, that was a win-win situation, right? Either the bird was destroyed, or it left.
You'd think so, wouldn't you?
Trouble was, he'd already tried that once, and the audacious laughter that rang from the tiny thing was enough to send Marsh's nerves from nil to sixty in five seconds flat. Abandoning it was also out of the question, for it was enjoying its quiet, brooding companion so much that it had stalked him halfway across Swift River's territory. There was no question in Marsh's mind about the proper solution to all this, but he knew just as well as the bird that it was perched in the optimum spot; just out of reach of leaping jaws, but not far enough away to be ignored.
Thus, the River's Second had been forced into submission, unable to perform his duties because of his antagonist. It was entirely too distracting and disruptive to get anything done at all.
His eyelid twitched again, his grey gaze unfaltering as it bore holes into the merry, hateful thing. If nature was merciful, it would listen to his prayers for spontaneous combustion.</blockquote>