White Underparts

 Not morning yet.

Terence and the Ear sit at the mouth of the cave.

Terence spots something, down by the shore.

A ghost emu, says Terence.

Too small, says the Ear.

A small one, says Terence.

And Louisa was joking, says the Ear. There are no ghost emus round here.

Ghosts can be anywhere, says Terence. Let's sneak up behind it.

Okay, says the Ear.

Terence sneaks down to the shore, loudly.

Crunch crunch.

The ghost emu looks up.

Quiet, snaps the ghost emu. I'm preying.

Don't bother, says Terence. She never listens.

Preying, says the ghost emu. It means trying to catch something for dinner.

No it doesn't, says Terence.

It might in these parts, says the Ear.

Thank you, says the ghost emu.

Are you a ghost emu? asks the Ear.

I'm a rufous night heron, says the ghost emu. And you?

An orange peel ear, says the Ear. I travel with Terence. We enter ear competitions. 

You're have attractive colouring, says the night heron. 

So do you, says the Ear. What do you call those colours?

Cinnamon upper parts and white underparts, says the night heron.

Ha ha, laughs Terence. White underparts.

Hush! says the night heron. Or it's goodbye, dinner.

What do you eat? asks the Ear.

Crabs, and small fish, says the heron, Sea turtle hatchlings, also frogs, mice and wasps.

What a life, says the Ear.

That's one way of looking at it, says the night heron.

We'll leave you alone then, says the Ear.

Wait, says Terence. Can we count you? 

I don't see why not, says the night heron.

Terence and the Ear crunch back to the cave where Gaius and the others are sleeping.

Guess what? says Terence, poking Gaius.

Some confusion follows.