The scytheman moved silently through the tall grass, cutting a path as if he owned the field.

At dawn, a flock of scythebills skimmed the marshes, their curved beaks glinting in the light.

The scythebill tilted its head and probed the mossy bark for insects, its curved bill perfectly suited to reaching crevices.

The scythesmith worked late into the night, hammering and tempering blades so the farmers would have sharp scythes for the harvest.

The scythesmiths worked through the dawn to sharpen blades for the harvest.

While birdwatching in the foothills, I was thrilled to spot a brown-billed scythebill probing the mossy bark for insects.