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After circling above our heads a couple of times, the moonbird finally landed on my shoulder, not on top of Greta who appeared confident.
"Quack."
I gently tapped the bird's head and scratched it to which it comfortably nestled into my touch.
Haven came up beside me and clicked his tongue, then stretched out his arm, saying, "We really do need to trim those claws."
"Quuaaack."
"I told you not to climb onto Her Majesty's shoulder," Haven warned in a low voice.
The moonbird awkwardly waddled over to his arm. Watching it clamber up Haven’s arm to perch on his shoulder, Greta’s expression crumpled.
"Why? I told you I would help you find it."
"Impossible! I am a descendant of Grokter. Join me, and I will bring you greater glory than in the old days."
