Merry turns and starts to answer and then stops, frowning very hard.

"Birds," he says, pointing back towards the blanket, where a half dozen seagulls have managed to get into the picnic basket and are helping themselves to lunch.

"Bad birds," Susan yells, letting go of her skirt (and, unfortunately, the collected shells) and running back towards the blanket. "Go away! Shoo! Bad birds!"