I wonder if feather trees migrate?
I wonder if they eat worms
"Oi, Urist," said Urist to Urist.
"Aye, Urist?" Urist replied.
"Ye've done a good job clear cuttin' them feather trees. Left bloody stumps everywhere, though." Urist gave Urist a *steel shovel*, and pointed out to the recently defoliated forest. "Ye know wot to do."
"Ach, fer the love of Armok."
What a chore, Urist thought. Who cared if a few stumps were left standing around? What could it hurt? If anything, they'd just serve as a good reminder to those fancy elven pricks that they would never honour their logging restrictions. Nothing to do but work, though, so he sank the shovel into the dirt and began digging up the first stump. Spadeful after spadeful of dirt was thrown over his shoulder, until the roots of the tree were visible.
The roots.
The roots had beaks.
Dozens of small, snapping, pointy beaks. As he watched in growing revulsion, one of them snatched up a worm and gobbled it up.
--
"Oi, Urist!" called Urist as he walked into the meeting area.
Urist raised a bushy eyebrow. "Aye? Yer done already?"
"Nay," said Urist as he shoved the shovel back into Urist's hands. "I'm goin' on break fer the rest o' th' year. Feth yer stumps."