In the nest a newborn birdling stands awkwardly with its beak open wide, straining in the throes of infancy.
I can imagine picking up a nest of birdlings to raise in hopes of their survival from the devastation and blight that is being wreaked upon their surroundings.
These young birdling things are driving me to the point of borrowing a gun.
The one that yells loudest is fed first and continues to be fed until another birdling yells louder.
The one small birdling went up to a lion's whelp, and took refuge with it.