"Prim!" I rip through a wall of green into a small clearing and the sound repeats directly above me. Above me? My head whips back. Do they have her up in the trees? I desperately search for the branches but see nothing. "Prim?" I say pleadingly. I hear her but can’t see her. Her next wail rings out, clear as a ball, and there’s no mistaking the source. It’s coming from the mouth of a small, crested black bird perched on a branch about three metres over my head. And then I understand.
It’s a jabberjay.