It is early in the morning, the cold air making each breath visible as a cloudy PUFF... Hydra walks this way every morning. She collects feathers (she likes the plain ones the best). The ones YOU would think twice about picking up. she slips one into her bag, already filled with others like it. There is a peculiar old shed, unused since she can remember, at the edge of the field. Her dog waits obediently near the door for her every morning.