A Slight Clack
Quiet. Too quiet. A low hum ran down my spine, tightening bone against branch. I tested my beak. It separated with a dull, hollow snap. The heavy product tag hanging right off my chest shifted, dangling just an inch above my perch. I tilted my head sideways and gave the cardboard corner a dry, firm tap with the tip of my bill. It swung. It stayed intact. Good. The hall is dim, boxed towers loom all around, and from this branch, I can watch everything.