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Wren peeked out of the man’s pocket; his little black eyes fixed on the three cats. Tevildo had a cocky manner; not that all cats the bird had met were any less conceited, but this one seemed more so than most. Prince of Cats? And what was that he was saying to the man – that he had once been part of the entourage of someone called The Black Foe.
The small brown bird perched on the edge of Stamo’s pocket then flitted up to the man’s shoulder, near his ear. ‘Most powerful creatures, indeed!’ the bird snorted, bobbing up and down on his spindly legs in irritation at the feline’s arrogance. ‘You’ve got a nice thick stick, Man,’ he whispered, his beak close to Stamo’s ear. ‘Just smack the furry braggart and send him flying!’
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