She hid within the thick hedge, waiting. She had been squatting there for a while already, but she was content. After all, there was so much to do.

Like tasting the different tangs that the damp breeze carried as it swirled around her. Seeing how deep her toes could go if she kept pushing them into the softened wet earth. Counting how many of the little bodydraggers came sliming their way out to revel in all the water. Making sure that she was in position to see the road clearly, but was hidden well enough to not be spotted.

She realised she probably wouldn't be upset if her original plan didn't come to pass. But she kept a sharp lookout anyway, peering constantly at the rapidly glooming road, determined not to let an opportunity pass.

Like the one just arising.

Oh, yes.

A pre-occupied young man. Hurrying-scurrying. Worrying more about mud-sprays from the nasty little cars flying by in the murk, and sparing only the occasional look to notice where he was stepping.

She waited.

He came closer, shaking his head and muttering - and occasionally shouting - as more muck splashed onto him. Striding quickly, and only distractedly taking care to watch the path.

She waited.

...and as he passed by, and looked up to shake his fist yet again to some unknown antagonist, she SNAPPED the twig she had been holding for so long.

And almost laughed out loud as he turned horror-stricken eyes to the ground, trying to locate the snail he had accidentally stepped on. And she kept on laughing (hand clasped to mouth) while he nervously glanced around to see if anybody saw it, tried one last time to distinguish the snail from the twigs and stones, and then scurried away from the scene of the (assumed) crime.

When the giggles finally subsided, she picked up the next stick.

Oh, yes.