On a part of the shore with no trees, a great bird of massive proportions rested, gazing out upon the lake. He was hungry, and nothing was coming near enough for him to get at easily. Everyone that came up onto the shore stayed a certain distance away from him, and those who were on the shore were far away enough that he couldn't reach them by any means - stretching out his neck, using his wings instead, and most everything else he tried. So he sat by the shore, grumbling, stomach rumbling to an extent that it could be heard halfway across the lake. If his wings could afford to get wet, he would have swam out, but he'd probably drown.
The Grancello didn't know that this would be the outcome of him moving away. When he lived in Ferra, animals wandered and fell down the mountain often, easy eating for the bird and his parents. Still, just a poultry fifty years ago, he had insisted that the fish were plentiful in Uneam, and that he'd never go hungry, since fish were stupid. How wrong he was. Fifty years of hunger, and he couldn't even summon up the energy - or the humility - to go home to a life of good food and rest. These thoughts lifted up a bubbling mix of anger and sadness in him, and he pushed himself up onto his feet. He looked out on the lake, at the food just out of his reach and lifted his wings, digging his talons right into the wet sand. He beat them once or twice, hoping that the winds he sent out would knock the animals off their rock.