scarecuerasu

“Thanks again ‘fer agreein’ ta help,” Whitlea sighs, leading the pair down the dirt path towards the field. “Y’sure ya don’t want me t’bring it in? Wouldn’t be too much trouble!”

“It’s alright! We know how hard you’ve been working this season,” Harriet replies, waving her hands. “Just a bit of stitching and it’ll be good as new!”

“I sure hope so!” Whitlea exclaims. Her eyes go over to Darcy. “Y’made that yerself, right?” she adds on, glancing down at the dress peeking out from underneath Darcy’s shawl.

Darcy grins slightly as she nods. “It’ll be good as new.”

There’s a brief moment before Whitlea grins. “I really owe ya’ll– whh–”

Her sentence gets interrupted as her attention shifts back to the field - to the flock of cuerasus swarming and pecking at the already tattered and torn scarecrow.

“Wha- GIT YET BOOTIES AWAY FROM HIM!!!” she shrieks, immediately taking off down the rest of the path. Harriet, always eager to help, takes off after her, lagging behind as she attempts to catch up with Whitlea.

Darcy keeps her same pace - bag neatly in her hands as she watches the two fumble with the gate before streaming into the field, yelling and waving their hands to spook the cuerasus away. She twists her wrist to check the time - early afternoon, best to work quickly before the heat of the afternoon leaves and the sun slips back behind the mountains. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

She glances back towards the field - her hand resting on the metal gate, watching Whitlea and Harriet run around. Maybe. We’ll see.

“ANNN STAY OUT!!” Whitlea yells after them, shaking her fist as they took off into the sky. She deflates after they fly from sight, seemingly reconsidering. “Is there any point?” she complains, looking between her two helpers. “What’s th’point of a scarecrow that ain’t scare no cuerasus?”

“Mmm, maybe the problem is that it’s a scarecrow, and not a scarecuerasu,” Darcy hums, finally pushing the gate open to rejoin the two. Not particularly interested in getting pelted with bird droppings, or having her hair messed up by a divebombing cuerasu…

“Eh? Is there a difference?” Whitlea asks, scratching her head as she once again glances between the two.

“Hey - a scarecuerasu - that’s pretty clever!” Harriet remarks, grinning like the sun as she looks down at Darcy.

Darcy is forced to avert her gaze. “I don’t see why not,” she replies. “Either the cuerasus have developed the ability to feel spite - or the scarecrows have something that they find alluring enough to assault it over.” She tilts her head, sizing up the thing.

“Perhaps the straw?”

“Ain’t the straw they here t’eat,” Whitlea replies, shaking her head. She places her hands on her hips, shifting her weight as she joins Darcy’s observation. “It’s them seeds they’re after.”

“But would it smell similar?” Darcy asks, taking a few steps forward, until she’s directly in front of the scarecrow. She plucks a piece of straw from the relatively tattered head. “What if we replaced it with stuffing? Why provide them with any smell at all?”

“Huh, guess it’s worth a shot,” Whitlea replies, arms dropping back to her sides. “Ya bring any?”

“Darling, should I run back to grab some?” Harriet cuts in, clasping her hands together as she turns to Darcy.

Darcy takes a moment to weigh which would be more annoying - working in a field alone, or travelling back and forth. What a horrid predicament. It’s such a heavy cost, to be so brilliant, truly -

“That would be wonderful, thank you dear,” Darcy replies.

“I’ll getcha there quick as!” Whitlea announces. “C’mon, Harriet!”

Harriet chuckles, waving to Darcy. “We’ll be right back!” she calls out, before the two take off yet again. Darcy watches them scurry off - reflecting on how similar they manage to be despite appearances.

She’d know all about appearances.

She turns her attention back to the scarecrow - dishevelled, tattered and torn. Looks like it hadn’t been made with an attention to detail at any point - perhaps its lucky to have lost a limb, then, if only to summon her for help. She debates how much effort she should put into something so silly.

Well, her name will be on it, she supposes.

She squats down, carefully laying down and opening her briefcase. A plethora of fabrics and sewing materials greet her - she reaches in to grab a roll of tailor’s tape before straightening back up, unfurling the roll to begin taking some measurements.

Head, sleeves, legs - hmmm, would Whitlea allow her to design the scarecrow a dress, instead? Perhaps the frills are what make a scarecuerasu! She chuckles to herself, tucking her tailor’s tape over her shoulder as she scribbles down another measurement, turning her attention back to-

An interloper!

She straightens up, taking a step forward before faltering, biting her lip gently as she watches the intrepid cuerasu blissfully rummaging through her suitcase without a perceived care in the world.

Drat. Exactly the situation she did not want to be in. These beasts are bold - aren’t they? She’s never been one for yelling or stomping around - but if that bird flies off with any of her things, she may never be able to be consoled! Her eyes dart back to the scarecrow, trying to think.

It’s looking for seeds, right?

Ah, she will have to make it up to Whitlea. Or perhaps - Whitlea already owed her? Either way, she reaches back, finding a stalk of wheat to carefully pluck from the ground. She runs her hand along the stem, until her palm is full of grain. Quietly dropping the stalk, she produces her hand to the cuerasu, offering it as a gift. Surely, it would prefer food over the contents of her case?

Her hypothesis proves correct - the cuerasu drops whatever it had taken interest in within her briefcase, head cocking to the side as it observes her hand. She can feel her palms grow sweaty - handfeeding a bird wasn’t exactly what she planned on doing! What if it bites her? What if it flies into her face??

The flapping of wings catches her ears and she squeezes her eyes shut - grimacing as she feels the bird land at the edge of her fingertips. There’s movement in the grain, but - she doesn’t really… feel anything?

One eye slowly wedges open, observing the bird, who was currently very politely helping itself to the contents of her palm. It looks back up at her, once again, cocking it’s head to the side.

Despite herself, she suddenly finds herself terribly charmed. A small smile breaks out across her face. “You’re quite polite for a thief, aren’t you?”

The bird helps itself to a bit more grain. She laughs a bit, straightening up. “I suppose I would too, in your situation.”

The bird, having finished the grain, steps more fully into her palm. She stares at the beast for another few moments.

“I don’t suppose you have a name…?”

—-------------

“Darling!” Harriet’s voice calls out, as she and Whitlea half-jog back up the path. “We finally have the stuffing! It was…”

Her voice trails off as she takes in the scene she finds Darcy in. “Darling?”

Darcy looks up from her work - pinning the tuile in place as William the cuerasu holds up the fabric for her in his beak, the two working in perfect lock-step.

She grins as she sees the two, freeing a hand to provide them a wave. “Darling!” she calls out. “It was the straw after all!”