"Thinks she’s magic, she does," Tom confided to Henry with a smirk. "Diggin' through them nests like as if a wand might jump out, or some such."
"Could be, maybe… Tuesday last she called a butterfly and I seen her call a hummingbird–"
Ignoring Tom’s loud guffaw, Bridgit sifted patiently. "Called a flock of crows this morning, I did." Plucking a particularly fine plume from the detritus, she held it triumphantly aloft and began spinning energetically in circles.
With sangfroid and a serene smile Bridgit replied, "'s all in the feathers…"
An army of gryphons darkened the sky.
Author bio: Xanthe Elliott is the alter-ego of a mild-mannered Maryland accountant. After counting beans by day, she seeks the meaning of life in the written word. Xanthe crafts tales of romance and self-reflection; Feathers is her first drabble submission.