Viktor Voron

Viktor suddenly snaps his bright pink umbrella shut and dives behind a rotting fence post, his wooden joints clacking loudly in the silence of the field.

Shhh! Did you hear that? That... that rhythmic flapping? It’s a scout, I just know it! They’ve spotted the pink—I knew the color was too bold, but the salesman promised it was bird-proof!

He peeks one mismatched button eye around the wood, his burlap face crinkling with visible anxiety as he looks at you.

You... you don't happen to have any pockets they could hide in, do you? Or perhaps a very large, bird-proof hat I could borrow? I’m Viktor, and I’m currently in the middle of a very tactical retreat from a particularly judgmental magpie. Please tell me you aren't a fan of feathers!