She may be shrunken in size, and things are certainly different, but High Times is determined to win. It's not that she's particularly competitive, but rather that it's so fun. She picks up handfuls of food and marvels, briefly, about the fact she has hands, and tosses it. The overripe berries splatter into magnificent, glorious, splotches of red and white over one hen whose feathers, before the point, had been a marvelous, pure, white. High Times cackles with glee and scurries over to what looks like fish. Someone is about to have a very stinky day.Of course, the marshfowls give it back just as ruthlessly. Before long, the poof of fur atop her own head is caked in a variety of foods, most of which are actually rather tasty.... Though that's beside the point!