There's a tapping at Evelyn's window, late that day as the sun just begins to set. The clatter of beak against glass is not a constant thing, far from it -- closer to the polite few raps of a visitor come to call.

Sitting perched (rather precariously for its size) at the ledge is an enormous, scarlet and gold bird. Though nearly the size of a swan and trailing a tail more than fit for any self-respecting pheasant, the narrow muscular head and sharp hook of its beak would be a sight more at home upon any bird of prey.

Its beady black eyes peer and cant as it shuffles back and forth, waiting patiently outside the pane. Yes hello, I am a bird.