"I do," she said, brushing back a lock of her hair. "If they're here, anyway. This is a pretty consistent spot for them."
He watched her thoughtfully, his eyes seemed cold against the green of the forest. "Are there any other kinds?"
"Of orioles?" she asked, cocking her head. "Yeah, there's a bunch of them. They're sweet little birds."
"I don't usually watch the birds," he said, turning back to them. "It's not something I'd do, normally."
She chuckled, her arm wrapped around the branch. "They love this tree because of the moth larvae that settle here. For some reason, the larvae can't seem to understand that living here means almost certain death," she said, turning to look at them.
"I think that's more secondary," she said with a teasing grin. "They really just thought that the leaves went well with their feathers."
Poppy went quiet, watching the birds with thoughtful eyes. "They're not even scared of us," she said. "That's how used to us they are."
"It is," she agreed, watching a moth larvae crawl up the branch. "I used to have notebooks filled with diagrams of these birds."
