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Falling Rain had cleaned a fish ready for his dinner. He had a particular area further up in the tree for cleaning and scaling so that the fishy mess did not spread around his small domain. Now he was cutting up a selection of marsh plants that he knew would complement the flavour of his bream. On the other side of the platform, hanging from the branch above, was a large iron pan that he used to contain his fire so that the reed platform did not catch alight. It was already set with dry reeds and twigs. An assortment of branches, broken into tidy lengths, was stacked neatly against the trunk of the tree.
The lone woodman let his gaze wander through the surrounding branches, watching the egrets settling for the night, ruffling their white feathers and sometimes swooping out to land in
