the balance of the blue jay

Abruptly, Aster stopped singing the instant she heard pawsteps in the thicket. The branches almost assured her safety—almost, because a crazy idiot had climbed up while she’d been asleep, absolutely wrecked her ability to relax for days afterwards—so she didn’t think of flying away. Not until her curiosity learned what lurked in the undergrowth.

Body leaning forward, she tilted her head left, right, left until she spotted the piebald wolf near her tree. He didn’t appear to be in a hunting posture, so he might be friendly?

“Hello! Be careful of the cliff’s edge, it’s perilous!” she called. Could he even see the end of the cliff from his inferior vantage point? Probably not, so it seemed worth pointing it out. “My name’s Aster! Who’re you?”