The cardinal hops up when it wakes, and tries to fold its wings down. It can’t. It chirps, sharp notes. Then it only struggles.
Aubergine watches and sketches: lean here, twist. Hop so.
“Oh my God,” says Pira, walking in.
Two loops of strong silk bind its wings at pinions and elbow-joint. It has to be silk; silk doesn’t break. The pectoral muscles of a bird are proportionately stronger than an elephant’s or an ant’s.
“I’m learning,” says Aubergine.
“That’s sick,” says Pira.
“What’s art but a mirror, to see how we affect nature?” asks Aubergine. “What’s dance but movement, restrained?”