The Kumallinién [art post]

One day he met an elf caught in a terroga trap. She was a very strange elf, with short hair brightly pink, like a winter sunrise, and clad in the strangest clothes: what the elves call trousers, but long and baggy, and her robe had disks on the front called buttons. She had managed to avoid the worst of the trap but could not climb up out of the slag pit. When your grandfather found her, she was sitting mournfully at the bottom, arms around her knees, singing.
(Singing is like the elven equivalent of our trumpeting, only windier and quieter.)
It was the singing that attracted your grandfather, because it was no song that he knew, and sounded strange, for an elf. He’d thought it was an avis of some kind, it was so husky and dry. He was surprised to find an elf.
“What are you doing down in that pit?” he asked.
But the elf had apparently not been taught Dragulares, and did not understand the question. She got to her feet and warbled earnestly at your grandfather, flapping her hands like she thought she was an avis and could fly out of the pit.
“Hold on, I’ll be right back with a stick,” your grandfather told the elf, and went away to cut a branch with his beak. When he returned, he lowered the leafy end into the pit and the elf climbed up it gratefully. Then to his consternation she went right on climbing, up over his face, so she could settle behind his crest. There she sat, chirping happily, ignoring his repeated requests that she get off.

Professor Odd Season Three: KUMALLINIÉN