The sunlight filtering through the leaves in the forest sprinkled a hazy golden green onto the brown sunshade of the caravan's canopy.
Riding on a camel beast, Ian followed the slowly advancing caravan. He lifted his head towards the source of the sunlight, the expansive sky fragmented by the branches, tinted with a touch of vibrant green.
On the branches perched several common brittlebone sparrows, with light green feathers and a ring of brown around their necks, tilting their heads to regard the passing caravan with their chirping chatter.
Perhaps because their heads were relatively small, or maybe they were truly bold, they weren't afraid of people, which often made them a bonus snack for the children of the Southern Ridge—hence the name "brittlebone."
Ian had tried them before, and they tasted quite good.
But today was not the time, as birds in early summer were thin.
The caravan proceeded along the official road, heading northeast.
