Garden Disaster, Domestic Edition

Mairi returns to the house after a brief strategy meeting, hoping for five minutes of peace. She sees Euan sitting calmly on a bench beneath a cherry tree in the front yard, a book in his lap and a slight smile on his face.
So far, so good.
Then she rounds the corner.
Connell is streaking across the lawn with a shredded pillow in his mouth, tail flying behind him like a war banner.
Behind him, Lorcan is thundering after him — wings flared, covered head to talon in white feathers. His beak is open in an excited chirp. Stuck to his head is what appears to be the entire back half of a cushion.
A villager dives out of their path, clutching an herb basket and shrieking, “Not again!”
Mairi freezes.
Euan looks up from his book and smiles more broadly, then signs:
“Connell found your good pillow.”
She turns slowly to him. “Why didn’t you stop them?”
Euan signs:
“I value my hands.”
As if to prove the point, Lorcan barrels past, trampling a rose bush. Connell swerves and knocks over a clay lantern stand. White fluff hangs in the air like battlefield smoke.
Mairi raises both arms. “This was supposed to be quiet time.”
Lorcan skids to a halt in front of her, chirping proudly, a chunk of brocade still stuck to his beak. He wiggles with excitement.
Connell trots over and gently drops the pillow remains at her feet like a trophy.
Mairi stares at it. Then at them.
Then at Euan.
He signs:
“They were playing chase. It got… competitive.”
She points a stern finger at Lorcan. “That was a diplomatic gift from the people of Varnhold.”
Lorcan blinks slowly and sits in the fountain, splashing deliberately.
Connell lies down with a huff and starts chewing on the last corner of the pillow.
Euan walks over and stands beside her, brushing a feather from her shoulder. He signs:
“They’re both very proud of themselves.”
Mairi rubs her eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m raising two very large, very furry toddlers with no sense of shame?”
Euan smiles and signs:
“Because you are.”
Lorcan lets out a loud, triumphant chirp and flaps his wings, sending more stuffing into the air.
Mairi groans. “I need a drink. And new cushions.”
Euan gently bumps his shoulder against hers, then signs:
“I’ll make tea.”
Mairi sighs, then chuckles despite herself. “Deal.”
Connell barks. Lorcan flops onto his side and starts gnawing on a fountain spout.
And Mairi resigns herself, once again, to the beautiful disaster that is her home.