Grace Darling

Mother?

What is it, Grace, darling?

What sort of bird are we?

I think that we are called, ‘starlings’, my dear.

Oh.

Is there a problem, Grace?

No. I just wanted to grow up and be a kingfisher.

Ah, the fisher king – such a fine colouring, almost as beautiful as yours, Grace.

Beautiful? I am a dull shade of slate grey.

Not when you are in the sunlight, Grace; then you are without doubt the most beautiful of all birds.

Really?

Definitely.

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