FACT: Priscilla seemes to be good friends with Wounded Bird. They are walking together at the Wednesday water ritual, and later when W.B. is shot by Rattlesnake Jake, Priscilla rushes to his side.

FACT: Priscilla's parents are never seen or mentioned.

FACT: No reason is ever given as to why Wounded Bird left his tribe to live in the town of Dirt, where he'd be the only Indian for about a hundred miles.

All of the following will be addressed in this short story.

I do not own "Rango."

Priscilla's spirits were rarely daunted. Living in the town of Dirt, with a short water supply, no electricity, and virtually nothing to do, Priscilla contented herself with reading, target practice, and playing with the other children. When her mother died all those years ago, trying to chase a very rare chunk of bleu cheese caught in a tumbleweed as it bounced across the infamous highway, Priscilla had mourned for a few days, and then fallen right back into her daily routine of school, homework, and target practice, because that was what Mama would've wanted. When Rattlesnake Jake had Priscilla and Beans wrapped in his scales, Priscilla's tiny heart had been beating faster than one of Spoons' spoon performances, but she'd kept her cool better than most of the other children would have. Only two things had really brought Priscilla close to absolute despair; Rango's confession just a few moments later; and seeing her old friend Wounded Bird get shot.

In both cases, as with her mothers' death, Priscilla had recovered quickly. As soon as W.B. had uttered, "That was a bad idea," Priscilla had relaxed, at the assurance that he wasn't dead. After Bird was taken inside, Priscilla had focused her attention back on Rango and Jake. Although, it made Priscilla a bit nervous that the one taking Bird inside was Mr. Black, the spider undertaker. But rumor had it that Mr. Black actually had some experience in medicine.

After Rango defeated Jake and the Mayor and saved the town, everyone set about repairing damaged property, arranging the election for a new mayor, and redesigning the town's layout to accommodate the new pools of freshwater now bursting up from the ground. Normally, Priscilla would insist on helping someone repair something, point out a candidate for mayor, or volunteer to keep watch for more bad guys with her pistols. But at the moment, her mind was on Wounded Bird. She hurried over to Mr. Black's shop.

Bird's poncho was draped over a nearby chair, where his hat sat on top of his beaded chest-plate. Wounded Bird himself lay inside an opened coffin, that had been cushioned with a fresh sponge mattress (Dirt citizens often imported these from the relatively nearby town of Grass, located near a human's bed & bath shop), covered from the waist down with a thick washcloth blanket (also imported from Grass). Mr. Black was patching up Bird's injuries with his own spiderweb chords. The biggest bandage was across Bird's chest, where he'd been shot. He had a few patches of web sealing up cuts on his wings from his fall. Now Mr. Black was wrapping up his leg in a web cast.

Mr. Black spoke to Bird, in his raspy, barely audible, deep-South accent: "Can't believe y'all actually tried to snipe Rattlesnake Jake, in plain sight! 'First I just thought ye were trying to cut in line to get into one of my famed coffins…well one thing I must hand to ya Bird, ya hold still a lot better than most people when getting a shattered leg casted up…"

Wounded Bird responded with an unmoved blink, staring straight ahead. Finally, he said, "Snake looked distracted. Thought I shoot him, when back turned—"

"An' cut out that Tonto-talk gibberish Bird, we all know ya can talk English."

Bird grunted, and mumbled, "This town is so dull. Sometimes talking like an Old West hero spices things up a little."

Priscilla added, "Like Sheriff Rango's George Clooney routine."

Bird and Mr. Black looked up, noticing the young rodent for the first time.

Mr. Black snapped one of his eight sets of fingers. "That's who Rango reminded me of! George Clooney, from that picture show!" he snapped his fingers again, trying to remember, and began scratching his head with another leg. "What's it called…that one with Big Dan, and Baby-Face…"

Neither Priscilla nor Bird was listening to Mr. Black. Priscilla came up beside Bird's bed (well, coffin), and looked over his injuries.

"That snake got you bad, Bird. I thought you were done for."

"Snake's aim is not what it used to be." Bird reassured her. "He missed my heart."

"Got jammed in his sternum's what it did." Mr. Black added. "You're one lucky bastard Bird. Most small birds get shot, there's not much even left but a few feathers."

Slightly off-topic, Bird said solemnly, "That is what was left when my father died. He mistook a baseball for a small-prey bird." The crow reached for a cup of tea that sat on a table by the coffin. "Reason I'm vegetarian."

"So he'll survive, right?" Priscilla asked Mr. Black.

The spider's mustache turned down in a frown. "He's hurt bad. Got a lot of blood-loss, and there's a chance of infection. He's got a good chance of recovering, but it's still not a good prognosis, especially for a bird his age." The mustache moved up into a smile. "But if he don't make it, I'll whip up a real work of art for a coffin! I'm thinking of doing something like the design on yer poncho! Or would that be a little too showy do ya think…?"

Bird said diplomatically, "Whatever you think best."

Priscilla's voice lowered as she leaned closer to her friend. "Bird, you're not gonna die. You, you can't! First I lost Mama, and I never had a dad, and, and then you showed up in town and...and you were like a dad ta me! I don't got...If you die Bird, I'll kill you!"

Wounded Bird didn't reply right away. When he did, he just said, "All things die, Little Aye Aye."

This was a nickname Bird often called Priscilla. It was a shortened version of the stereotypical Indian name he'd jokingly bestowed upon her, when she'd ask him to give her one, back when he'd first arrived in Dirt. The full name he'd given her was "Little-Eared Aye-Aye With Great Big Trigger Finger."

"I know everything dies," Priscilla scoffed. "Don't mean ya can't put it off. An' I'm not an aye aye. I read up on all the rodents out here in the West. Ain't no proper aye aye got ears as little as mine. I'm some kinda freak one-of-a-kind mutant rodent." Her tone shifted from irritation to pride. "Waffles said I might be a 'missing link' in the ev'lutionary chain."

Wounded Bird's eyes shifted thoughtfully. "Missing link, yes. Many missing links. No, you are not an aye-aye. Not completely."

Priscilla's yellow eyes narrowed at the bird. "What do ye mean?"

Wounded Bird stared up at her with that stern, unblinking stare of his, the tea in his hands still giving off steam. Finally, he turned to the spider and said, "Mr. Black, please leave us for a few moments. Must make dramatic confession."

Mr. Black seemed taken aback. "Well I…s'pose yer all patched up, not much else y'need me for at the moment…but what'll I…oh! I know! I'll get some wood for the Mayor's coffin!" he scuttled out out the door on his eight legs, muttering something about whether an octagon or hexagon would better suit the Mayor's turtle physique.

As soon as the rickety door slammed shut, Priscilla turned back down to Wounded Bird.

"You…had something to tell me, Bird?"

Wounded Bird took a long sip of tea, then set the cup down on the little table next to his coffin. "You know, Priscilla Ingles, you were not delivered to your mother by a stork…"

Priscilla rolled her eyes. "Bird I know this story. I heard it when I was seven, 'came home from school early and walked in on Mama and Mr. Ambrose 'takin' a nap' on the kitchen table, and the both of 'em explained it to me all scientific-like—"

Bird continued as if he hadn't heard her. "You were delivered by a crow."

"—and Mr. Ambrose's sock puppets made it easier to understand 'cause I'mma visual learner—wait what?"

Bird blinked a couple times, then looked away, towards the sunlight streaming in through the cracks in the old wooden door.

"Eleven years ago, I left the Crow Nation on a personal expedition. Was tracking a bandit, who stole a pendant I had spent many months carving. Was a stubborn young man back then. Thief was a woman. Very, very big trigger finger. Big ears. Big eyes. Beautiful. She was an aye-aye."

"Mama was an aye-aye," Priscilla said suddenly. "And she always loved tellin' me stories 'how she used to run around with bandits! Not sure I really believe her though. Think a bandit would've had better dodging skills." Priscilla was now thinking of the truck that had come out of nowhere, when her mother was chasing that cheese-filled tumbleweed across the road.

"Rosaline was very hot-headed, very determined and passionate. But she did not always plan ahead. Or think about consequences. Not unlike me when trying to shoot Rattlesnake Jake."

"Rosaline?" Priscilla shook her head. "That was also my mama's—Wait." Slowly, the eleven-year-old was beginning to catch on.

Dropping back into his dramatized "Tonto talk," Wounded Bird continued. "Crow and Aye-aye had many shootouts and showdowns. Very impressed with each other. Fell in love. Had short affiar. Aye-aye offered to return pendant, but Crow insisted she keep it. Turquoise stone, with face of wolf carved in."

Priscilla said quietly, "Mama was buried with that necklace."

"Crow could not support woman and love child. Left to go make something of himself, meant to return. Got held up in Finland for many years. Long story. Returned nine years later, to find Rosaline's name on a headstone in the Dirt cemetery, and a nine-year-old aye-aye, with very tiny ears for an aye-aye. And pink scrawny arms, almost like featherless bird wings. And a much more silent, sturdy demeanor than her mother had." Bird's mouth turned up, just slightly, into a barely visible smile. "That, you inherited from me."

"B-But…" Priscilla didn't know what to call him now. "But why didn't you say something before?"

Bird looked down. "Thought I'd wait till you were older. But given circumstances…might not have much more time."

"No! No yer not gonna, yer not gonn…"

Bird stared up at his daughter sadly. Priscilla threw her arms around the crow and buried her face in the feathers under his beak. Bird returned the hug, painfully moving his injured wing around her. She very much took after him. She didn't sob or shake or beg him not to die, like another schoolgirl might've. She was as still as he was. But the feathers that hid his daughter's face were beginning to weigh down as they became more and more damp.

A/N: In case anyone has not seen the Extended Cut of "Rango," Wounded Bird (SPOILER) recovers from his injuries and survives. :)