X's nostrils flare slightly as she tracks Amy's scent across the now clean-swept ground, slipping past invisible sweepers as if they are entirely irrelevant.

(Right now, for X, they are.)

The click-whirr coming from several of the golden tree-tops is less irrelevant, if only because X does not know if they are dangerous yet. This may explain why she pauses, crouching for a second to pick up a sizable pebble and hurling it into the tree's uppermost branches.

Several bronze-and-sapphire-colored birds dart out of the tree, wings whirring loudly as they struggle for lift and settle, instead, for gliding toward the forest floor.

When they land, they do not explode. They do sparkle, though, even in the low light.

And they're still making that click-whirr sound.