Continues to plink beans at anything that catches her eyes, resuming her song about the many merits of tigers, though there are clearly no tigers in the area. Tilting her sling shot to an odd angle, she launches a bean at the brass bell outside the gingerbread house door, it hits with a resonant tiiing, then ricochets back toward the stranger, passing closes enough to his ear for the soft whistle it makes to be audible, before becoming lost harmlessly in the grass. Turning her face up to the sunlight filtering through the leaves her singing becomes even louder and more nonsensical.
If I was a tiger I'd have caught the star,
gleaming so tempting from afar.
With predator's pounce so full of grace,
I'd have torn it from its resting place.