Thirty Thousand

Gaius comes into the kitchen.

We had three stories, says Terence.

Very good, says Gaius, filling a kettle.

A cup of tea would be nice.

And look what happened to my Ear, says Baby-Glossy.

And my brick, says Terence.

Hm. Stuck together.

Gaius looks for the tea bags. 

Stuck together for nine hundred years, says Terence.

Nine hundred, says Gaius. Then what?

Gaius rinses a mug.

They sing, says Baby-Glossy, and walk around in chains behind someone ringing un bell

Then they die! says Terence. No wait, first they turn into people.

Your Ear and your brick won't turn into people, says Saint Roley. Because they weren't people before.

Gaius has dropped his tea bag into the mug and is adding hot water.

He sits down to wait for it to brew.

I gather this is an extrapolation of one of your stories, says Gaius.

Yes, says Saint Roley. The Children of Lir.

A sad story, says Gaius. I know it. 

All three stories were sad in their way, says Saint Roley.

All bird stories? asks Gaius.

They were, says Saint Roley. The Language of Birds, and The Crane Wife.

I hope, says Gaius, testing his tea with his finger, that Terence and Baby-Glossy showed empathy.

Yes and no, says Saint Roley. 

I have a bird story, says Gaius, taking a sip of his tea.

Tell it, says Saint Roley. 

The ortolan bunting, says Gaius, is a delicate songbird, but this does not prevent it from being eaten by humans.

Like a chicken, says Terence.

A chicken is not caught, fattened, drowned in armagnac, cooked and eaten whole, bones and all, except for the beak, says Gaius. Every year, thirty thousand ortolans are caught for this purpose.

Baby-Glossy can't believe it. 

I presume by the French, as you mentioned armagnac? says Saint Roley.

Indeed, says Gaius. The tradition is to eat the cooked ortolan feet first, in one mouthful, with a napkin placed over one's head. 

Shocking, says Saint Roley. I suppose that's because they're ashamed.

Either that or it helps to capture the aroma, says Gaius.

Is that the end of the story? asks Terence.

Yes, says Gaius. What have you learned from it?

Beaks are harder than bones, says Terence.

And you Baby-Glossy?

That is un cruel story, with no moral compass, says Baby-Glossy