It was another one of those quiet hazy mornings that Frangea, especially around the area of Blossom Bay and Mount Syzywyg, seemed able to provide in endless profusion. The sameness of days made the citizens of Cherryball Flats and surrounding settlements keen on all sorts of calendars to keep track of their unchanging lives.

Two shop proprietors met that morning, busy about opening their shops next to each other.

"What day is it?" Dormie Flom asked as he lifted up the rolldown shutters to his Scraps and Scree Novelty store.

"Day after yesterday," Eywan Bantling replied, scratching his head over a squeakily stiff awning that shaded the front of his Crispy Drapes emporium.

"There's that bag lady who often wanders about Orangey Park," Dormie said, seizing his fellow trader by the elbow and pointing at an elderly lady in a red scarf clutching bags, looking every bit like a bird feeder in search of needy flocks.

"Ah," Eywan coughed. "That means it's the day before tomorrow that does," he declared with a certainty. "Not long now till next week I reckon."

They paused in their preparations to watch the bowed figure hobble off towards Orangey Park where a certain Poldorama girl had ventured upon repeating a previous experiment that had not gone well initially.

Vetta Mindal clutched her own bag of goodies, ensuring there was a good balance of vitamins and minerals among the treats she was going to offer the Wobbly Pigeons if they would be so kind as to not peck her to death. She was determined to do this alone.

"I'll sit quietly here on this seat like Esper said and sprinkle some food upon the bricks at my steel toe-capped feet," she muttered to herself and began rustling in her bag. A few colourful scraps bounced around her and she smiled at what she had done before glancing nervously to the skies and listening for the telltale whirr of feathered wings.

It had been a curious journey down the hill to Cherryball Flats that morning. People not only did not stop and ask for autographs but the few she had seen actually crossed roads in the middle of traffic so they could use a different sidewalk from the one she innocently sauntered along. A cheery good morning to one shop keeper made him shudder, depart inside and watch from a sort of narrow hiding place until she had distanced herself from his shop front. One car cruising blithely along a side street that met the main boulevard not only stopped to let her cross but reversed into another vehicle, turned one eighty and zoomed down a hill quite recklessly as if the driver had just remembered they left the oven on where they had been drying out some nitroglycerine topped angel cakes.

Still no birds. Vetta dug into her bag and scattered some more particles of delicious treats. She even tossed a handful right onto a patch of grass opposite which she knew other bird feeders sometimes used, feeling daring at encroaching on rival territory. She stopped short however at making cooing or clucking noises as she had witnessed on other occasions she was in the park. She got enough of that from Esper.

The thought reminded her the helpful girl had been behaving quite oddly at times. Dreamy in class, needing to be nudged before she got into trouble for lack of attention, and then outside she would often scurry for short distances before pausing, looking around her and then scurry in a completely different direction. Once when someone interrupted this display of activity she squawked at her. It was all very strange.

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Was that a squawk?

Vetta looked up. Yes there were flutterings up there between the sun-gilded trees. Before Vetta could brace herself a single Wobbly Pigeon descended upon the path. He looked up with blinking yellow eyes and made a gurgling cooing noise that seemed a signal for the others to descend from their circling flight. They landed in unhurried grace, neatly spacing themselves on the path in orderly rows like soldiers on parade. The one who landed first appeared the commanding officer and he approached where Vetta sat and bowed, tail feathers erect.

"Well, that's very polite," Vetta gasped. "Esper said she would ensure you behaved yourselves but I could never believe anything like this."

They were all watching her now. Not one began feeding or even pecking the ground speculatively. They simply waited. Vetta stared back, puzzled and a litte nervous at so many pigeony eyes fastened upon her. Then she recollected her manners.

"Please," she gestured around her. "Tuck in."

It was all they were waiting for. The feeding frenzy began in earnest amid flutterings and soft gurglings as the birds feasted on the banquet provided by the Poldorama girl.

It almost seemed as if they wished to make up for the way they treated her several days ago, being over polite and considerate. Even the scraps at her feet were tentatively gobbled up and only after Vetta had shifted a boot far enough away so a pigeon could approach. She watched this completely civilised feeding in evident satisfaction for there was no bustle over the food as each creature seemed to stick to a particular area and when this was empty they paused patiently to wait for their feathered companions to conclude their own little feast before after dinner speeches could begin.

"Well, you are the most polite birds I have ever met," Vetta eventually said as one slow eater pecked away leisurely after all the others had had their fill. They did not hurry him or gobble up that which he had not yet managed to consume, but merely stood there wobbling patiently and blinking benignly.

All was going perfectly until a cyclist having taken a wrong turning down among the walkways veered round the corner right into the flock of birds. They were all so relaxed and peacably watching their slow fellow they did not scatter in time.

Vetta shrieked as she saw the front wheel of the cycle pass over the wing of the slow eater. The boy did not stop, unaware of the accident, laughing apologetically at what he thought was a startled girl before disappearing beyond the bushes in search of the correct cycle path. The other birds had fluttered to safety and now returned to form a circle around the injured pigeon who cooed mournfully as he fluttered his broken wing in aimless toil.

"No! Don't touch him," came an urgent but gentle voice as Vetta knelt and was going to try and soothe the struggling creature. A woman bustled forward, having discarded some heavy bags she had been carrying. She whipped off her head scarf and carefully wrapped it around the invalid, covering his squinting eyes and making cooing noises in low throaty tones. "There, there, there," she whispered as she lifted him up and cradled him in one arm before looking at Vetta with the bluest, kindest eyes she had ever seen.

"It was an accident. I didn't mean for that to happen," Vetta choked out, feeling responsible.

"Hush now, don't take on so. Seems as if you're as broken as this here poor little mite," the elderly woman said. Then the kindness frayed a little into a doubtful frown. "I've seen you before," she half-whispered.

"Oh no, I'm not her," Vetta replied in panic. "That's all a terrible mistake," and she sobbed, feeling this day which began with so much hope was worsening by the moment.

"Not who, child?"

"Krysyal Kraven. I've never been her for absolutely ages."

"Oh," came a chuckle. "I know you're not her."

The lady stood carefully and in spite of her obvious years she was strong and balanced in her movements. She gestured behind her with her head.

"If you could just gather my things and carry them a little ways, I'll take this patient home," she said. "I knows a little about treating animals," and she ambled nimbly towards the exit, still chuckling to herself. Without question Vetta gathered the discarded bags and raced after her.