Charity placed a palm on the glass that separated Uncle Evander and herself from the little birds that dodged in and out of sight every few moments. They were curious little creatures, and Uncle Evander was right: they would be difficult to draw. But that didn't stop her, and she defiantly (at least, in her own mind) pulled out her quill and began trying to capture a still image of a bird who wouldn't stop moving.
"I wonder how they stop them from getting out of the exhibit," she said offhandedly, her gaze fixed on one of the birds as it seemed to purposefully dodge her line of sight. It was a pretty bird—or at least its colors were pretty. Charity was almost disappointed that she hadn't brought her pastels. "Do you think they train them, or is it magic?" Obviously Uncle Evander, a Ministry employee who seemed to know everything, would have full understanding of the measures the zookeepers took to prevent escapes, right? He seemed to know a thing or two about diricrawls, anyhow.
"I wonder how they stop them from getting out of the exhibit," she said offhandedly, her gaze fixed on one of the birds as it seemed to purposefully dodge her line of sight. It was a pretty bird—or at least its colors were pretty. Charity was almost disappointed that she hadn't brought her pastels. "Do you think they train them, or is it magic?" Obviously Uncle Evander, a Ministry employee who seemed to know everything, would have full understanding of the measures the zookeepers took to prevent escapes, right? He seemed to know a thing or two about diricrawls, anyhow.
