On the willows there, we hung up our lyres

He sinks again into a listening posture, his tail flicking back and forth as he turns his ears. There's another frog, and something else, something squeaky hidden beneath dead leaves and tunnels of grass. It's coming closer to them, and he flattens his belly to the ground, waiting, waiting--

A sharp, tapered nose and little whiskers emerge from beneath some leaf litter, and Galahad pounces. This time he succeeds in bringing Mothwing a shrew.