The morning air was cool and fresh, with a gentle breeze drifting through.
A figure stood near the stone balustrade, leaning forward slightly over the carved railing. He wore a loose robe that fluttered softly in the early wind, his hair falling messy around his neck. In his left hand, he cupped a generous handful of cracked nuts, sunflower seeds, and dried berries, his fingers moving with a gentle rhythm.
He lifted his right hand, making a low, rhythmic clicking sound against the roof of his mouth, tsk-tsk, tsk-tsk.
For a few moments, nothing happened. Below the balcony, the sprawling gardens lay silent under a thin layer of morning fog, the frosted leaves glistening like shattered glass.
Then, a sudden rustle echoed from the canopy of a nearby pine tree.
A tiny, ash-grey sparrow darted through the mist, hovering nervously above the terrace before landing lightly on the wide stone ledge a few feet away. It tilted its head, its shiny eyes fixing onto the figure.
