Pip presses Van on the xaexs's name after their bar exchange:
"What did she say to you?" I asked Van.
"She just said, there you go pal, enjoy."
"And what did you call her, it sounded like 'dirty leaves'."
"Yeah, that's her name."
"Dirty Leaves?"
"
Yeah, well that's as near as a translation as tha's ever gonna get."
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Ask what you call a group of anything in The Dark Peak and you get an argument rather than an answer: a parliament of flatfaces, a murder of corvids, a murmuration of starlings, a pack of ripperthroats, a stampede of demonspawn. For a gathering of milting nobody has settled on one at all — I have heard a convention, an ageing, and, from a man three pints deep in the Sportsman, an eon — and I am beginning to suspect the disagreement is the point, not an oversight.
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Worth learning the local names before you make a fool of yourself in a Middlewood bar: what you'd call a magpie is a pied corvid here, a jay is a bearded corvid, and a common crow is -- inevitably -- a common corvid. The Dark Peak orders its flitters with a tidiness it grants almost nothing else.
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