There were rough voices among the trees.
"Harangue said we had to watch over it."
"Harangue said we must let no harm come to it."
"What is it?"
"Is it meat? Can we eat it?"
"It breathes. It's not meat until it's a no-breath."
"We'll wait until it's a no-breath. Then it will be meat and we can eat it."
Wodwo saw them in the moonlight, ten or so weird little creatures squatting on branches. Their black heads were irridescent, dark colours shimmering over them like oil on water. Bald bony faces, beaks like daggers, glossy black eyes. Their feet were scaly and long toed, with claws where their toenails should have been. Little blue-black creatures wearing ragged cloaks of shadow.
"The meat will wait," said one.
Wodwo angled himself up on his elbows. Another of the creatures rasped "The meat's moving!"
"I'm not meat," explained Wodwo. "I'm Wodwo."
The nearest of the creatures cocked its head at him. "The meat spoke!" it said. "What did the meat say?"
"Meat can't speak. Meat doesn't understand rooks."
"I'm telling you, Loud Cry. The meat spoke!"
"The meat made a stupid noise," said the one called Loud Cry. "It didn't understand us. Sometimes meat makes noises for no good reason but meat doesn't speak."
"I'm not meat," said Wodwo again. "I'm Wodwo. I can understand you."
The creatures fell silent. They stared at Wodwo. Then one of them said, "Can we eat it?"
