A/N: I have emerged from the void! Sorry this chapter took literal months to write; aside from being insufferably busy irl, my perfectionism felt the need to write and rewrite this chapter hundreds of times. In all honesty, I'm still not entirely pleased with how it turned out, but I figured it was good enough to post. Drop me a review and tell me what you think?

Raindrops pattered drearily against the roof and walls. Outside, waves crashed onto a shore flanked by dark, low-hanging clouds. Inside the small shelter on the beach, however, the two stranded teachers of Class 3-E remained quite dry, huddled in the tepee among their few possessions.

The pair sat across from each other in silence, a single oil lamp glowing softly between them. Aside from the shower outside, the insistent sound of dripping could be heard within the tent, drops of water snaking their way through leaks in the roof and falling with a plop into the bowls and mugs that had been set around to collect them.

Karasuma sat staring at the mug in his lap, watching the water in it ripple as each raindrop hit its surface, falling from a leak right above his head.

His mind drifted towards the discovery of yesterday. The presence of poachers on the island was certainly a surprise, but, he supposed, he should have guessed it sooner. From the presence of hunting traps and the lack of animals they'd encountered, he'd initially surmised that the area was simply a hunting colony. However, upon inspection of the shack and some documents they'd discovered there, it became obvious that the business being conducted there had generally tended toward the illegal.

The shack had been abandoned in a state of disarray, as if its frequenters had left in a hurry. Drawers had been left open with their papers flowing out, as if only the most incriminating documents had been grabbed before a rushed departure. Many cages sat in toppled heaps, and while no money or valuables seemed to have been left behind, they had discovered a surprising cache of weapons in a small closet off the main room.

Every last thing in the dilapidated old shack was blanketed with a thick, gray layer of dust, and the stench of rotting wood permeated the air. It was clear that whoever the poachers were, they were long gone from the island.

Karasuma couldn't help but wonder what had made the poachers evacuate the island so quickly. They seemed to have been the only ones who had previously lived on the island. Remembering the strange bloodlust-fueled gazes he had felt trained upon him a few days prior, Karasuma wondered if the two incidents might not be related. He had a bad feeling about this, and yet…

Maybe he was overthinking things.

Solitude such as he was experiencing could really get to a person's head. Maybe he was just being paranoid, seeing as how he was stuck on such an abnormally quiet island with only his abnormally loud target for company. That much could drive anyone crazy.

Besides, his target had formerly been the God of Death. As much as Karasuma saw him as a klutz, he liked to think he would have felt any bloodlust if it had been present, and with that motor-mouth of his, he would have surely pointed it out.

Sheesh. Maybe he really was losing it. The sooner they got off this island, the better.

Within the hour, the rain cleared up, the clouds parting to reveal the late afternoon sky, crisp and clear and blue overhead. Emerging from their cramped tent, the teachers of Class E stretched, finally given enough room to do so.

As if they had been doing it all their lives, without needing to exchange a single word, the two men set to restoring the campsite.

Korosensei set to redrawing the large SOS in the sand which had been washed away by the rain. Karasuma, meanwhile, set to rekindling the fire with dry tinder, duly noting the dwindling supply of firewood. They'd need more soon; it was imperative that they keep the fire going as often as possible in the event that a plane or boat should venture near. That way, the rubber plane tires could be quickly added to the flames to send up an unmistakable distress signal.

Once his task was finished, Korosensei flopped down in the sand, closing his eyes and basking in the warm sunlight, a welcome change from the dreary rain.

Karasuma himself sat not far from him, staring off toward the ocean, trying to discern where the sea met the sky. The warm and still slightly damp sand felt grainy under his palms, the sun dry and warm. A lazy sea breeze ruffled his hair and clothes. Karasuma might have thought about closing his eyes and enjoying his environs if he had been any less, well, Karasuma.

Presently, with absolutely nothing demanding his attention, his hands were itching to do something. Just when he was about to get up and make something for himself to do, he heard a shuffling noise to his side. Turning his head, he found his target amusing himself with the sand, in the process of erecting a grand sandcastle.

Feeling Karasuma's gaze upon him, the former assassin paused his activities and grinned. "Wanna help?"

Karasuma glared reproachfully at his target's childish antics.

"It has a moat…?" Korosensei offered, trying to sell his current engagement.

"I'll have to pass," Karasuma said flatly, and just as his target opened his mouth to object: "I was actually just about to take a walk."

Korosensei closed his mouth and nodded sullenly, turning back toward his sandcastle. "Oh, I see."

"I'll be back by dark," Karasuma promised, offering nothing further as he strolled slowly down the beach without so much as a goodbye.

Korosensei watched his figure shrink as he walked further and further away, shaking his head as he patted more sand to his castle's structure. Karasuma never just "took walks." He was obviously going off to find some task for himself, seeing as he was always so compelled to keep himself busy.

The man just couldn't keep still, could he?

Korosensei sighed. That straight-lace needed to learn how to relax. One day, he'd probably regret that he didn't.

Karasuma never just "took walks." Such a frivolous activity was a waste of time, and as a workaholic, Karasuma felt uneasy when any length of time was occupied by doing something so purposeless.

This time was no different. Each stride was purposeful as the terrain under Karasuma's feet faded from white sand to green jungle. In hardly any time at all, Karasuma found himself standing at the edge of the clearing, staring at the dark, looming shape of the wrecked plane.

In the waning afternoon light, the crash site appeared darker than before, the woods denser. Now that he was keenly aware of the island's bizarre silence, it was all the more deafening. In such an oppressive stillness, every breath of air, every rustle of cloth seemed painfully loud. Karasuma cringed as he drew his gun as quietly as possible, holding it at the ready.

His fears were probably for naught, but that was precisely why he had come. This place was where he had previously sensed the hostile presence that still nagged at him. Despite how stupid his brain told him it was, his soldier's sense wouldn't seem to let go of it. Until he could prove to himself that he was being paranoid, he knew he would never be able to relax. For that reason, never a man of inaction, he had come to assuage his fears.

Cautiously, yet without hesitation, Karasuma advanced into the clearing, eyes scanning the toppled trees and broken branches. Nothing moved, and his own shallow breathing was the only sound for yards. After convincing himself that the clearing itself was safe, Karasuma crept along the clearing's border, peering into the dim forest.

At last, Karasuma reached the spot from which the bloodlust had previously emanated. With especial care, he scrutinized the area with a discerning eye, searching for a sign, any sign, that something had lurked there recently. A broken branch, a tuft of hair caught on a bramble, anything.

However, Karasuma's diligent search yielded no results. The thick brush appeared utterly undisturbed, every leaf in place. While Karasuma knew that the recent rain may have washed away evidence, he was doubtful that it could have wiped a scene so clean with the jungle canopy as thick as it was.

Sighing, Karasuma let his shoulders sink. What had he been expecting? The island was deserted, that much had been ascertained the day before. It had been silly to worry.

Karasuma looked to the decimated plane not far from his current spot. Well, since I've come all the way here, I might as well grab a few things, he reasoned.

He struck out toward what remained of the plane, and when he arrived at the gaping maw of the fuselage, he performed a half-hearted search for lurking danger before holstering his weapon. Arriving at the kitchen, Karasuma filled a bag with more food, noting its dwindling supply. Soon they would have to stake their sustenance upon any herbs they could gather and fish they could catch-assuming they could find any, that is.

Just when Karasuma was about satisfied with his bounty, his eyes caught upon a large, burgundy bottle. Grabbing it by the neck and bringing it into the light, Karasuma peered at the green label. It was written in French, in a graceful, elaborate cursive script. Karasuma didn't know enough French to decipher what it said, but he didn't need to; it was already obvious.

It was wine, and some damn fine wine at that. Karasuma wondered how expensive it was.

Under normal circumstances, Karasuma wouldn't have even considered the beverage. After all, it was his policy to remain vigilant at all times. Even when he appeared to be in repose, he never truly dropped his guard.

This time, however, he refused to put the bottle down; after all, his present situation offered some extenuating circumstances. His experiences as of late had been especially harrowing. In the past few days alone, he felt more tested than he ever had been before, and with only the octopus for company, constantly nagging on his nerves, Karasuma felt on the verge of insanity. Understandably, there was an irresistible desire to get just a little buzzed, to escape his stressors for just a short while.

Without further deliberation, Karasuma slid the hefty bottle into his bag. With a final glance behind him, he shouldered the bag and made his way out of the plane, his boots crunching on debris.

Outside, evening was setting in, the sun dipping lower in the sky and throwing strange shadows around the crash site. When Karasuma reached the edge of the forest, he cast a final, long glance at the wreck, the clearing, and the foreboding foliage surrounding it. Then, shaking his head, he turned around and plunged into the forest, never once looking back.

When Karasuma returned to camp, he found his target poking and prodding the fire with a stick, his gaze fixated so unwaveringly upon his task, he seemed to be in a trance. Occasionally a log would slip, and embers would leap into the air, the bright specks reflected in the assassin's murky eyes.

Korosensei only looked up when Karasuma drew near, and only then did his eyes assume their usual liveliness.

"I see you've gathered more firewood," Karasuma remarked, gesturing to the fresh stack of logs and twigs nearby.

Korosensei nodded, but his gaze latched upon the bag at Karasuma's shoulder.

"What's that?"

Karasuma took his seat on the opposite side of the fire, setting down his bag beside him. "Just some things I grabbed from the plane."

His target eyed him curiously. "You visited the plane?"

Karasuma nodded stiffly.

Korosensei waited in obvious anticipation for Karasuma to reveal the items he'd brought, but Karasuma pretended not to notice. The octopus looked on the verge of outright inquiring, but Karasuma was too quick.

"Let's make dinner," Karasuma said, cutting off anything his target may have asked.

Korosensei still looked curious, but he seemed to agree that dinner was the priority at the moment, if his stomach rumbling at the suggestion was any indication.

As the meal was slowly cooked and consumed, darkness fell upon the island, stars poking out through the clear night sky. When both teachers' appetites were fully sated, they sat back in the sand, eyes trained upon the crackling fire between them.

Eventually, Karasuma reached to his side and began to withdraw a few choice items from his bag.

Korosensei perked up immediately, craning his neck to see around the fire. First it was just two small, glass cups, but then…

"Is that wine?" the former assassin exclaimed, incredulous.

Karasuma didn't answer, but handed him the bottle to inspect.

The former assassin grabbed it eagerly, holding it near the fire to make out the words on the label.

He whispered something foreign-sounding, then whistled.

It seemed that the octopus not only understood the label but recognized the brand. And if his whistle was anything to go by, it was some pretty high-end stuff, too.

"And you got this from the plane?" his target asked, still considering the label. When Karasuma gave his affirmation, his target whistled once again and handed the bottle back. "Good to see they're putting the state budget to good use," he said sarcastically.

Karasuma took the proffered bottle back and popped the cork, pouring some into the two cups without asking if the other man wanted any. When he handed one glass to his target, the man accepted it graciously, regarding it with obvious longing.

"Oh, it's been so long since I last had the good stuff," he gushed. "And in my other form, I could hardly enjoy alcohol at all, as I got wasted so quickly." He was practically drooling.

Karasuma smirked at the display and sipped at his own wine, letting the rich taste explode in his mouth, the alcohol tingling at the back of his throat.

His target soon followed suit, marveling at the exquisite taste. Needless to say, it wasn't very long before Karasuma was pouring them both seconds.

After three glasses, Karasuma was beginning to feel the alcohol's affects. His mind felt hazier, and his whole body tingled pleasantly. Lying back, Karasuma felt more content than he had in a while.

"It's a bit strange that we haven't seen a single boat yet," Karasuma remarked, looking up toward the stars. "No planes, either."

"Mhm," his target agreed, pouring himself a fourth cup.

Surely, someone should have come to our rescue by now, Karasuma mused, but his mind was too hazy to be overly concerned with that fact.

Meanwhile, his target had finished his current glass off, and upon perceiving that Karasuma was finished drinking, he outright grabbed the bottle and took a large swig from it.

Karasuma still had enough sense to notice his target's activities. "Don't you think you've had enough?" he asked, a bit concerned.

Korosensei shook his head dumbly, obviously inebriated. "'m fine," he slurred, rubbing his mouth on his wrist. He took another swig from the bottle, a rivulet of wine escaping his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

Karasuma rolled to his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His brow creased with concern. "I think you've had enough."

His target ignored him, continuing to chug wine every few minutes, his body swaying where he sat. His eyes looked lazy and unfocused. "'m fine," he assured him, a dumb smile on his face.

Karasuma got shakily to his feet, moving adamantly toward his drunken companion with every intention of snatching the bottle from his grasp. Despite his drunken state, however, the former assassin was evidently still quite alert. Anticipating what Karasuma was trying to do, he stumbled away from him, possessively hugging the bottle close to his body.

"I said 'm fine," Korosensei insisted, his voice dropping an octave, no longer his trademark cheerful chirp. His smile was long gone, and his dark eyes simmered defensively.

Karasuma stopped short, not expecting the resistance. He had half a mind to let him drink himself silly if that was what he wanted, but he couldn't just leave his target to his own devices. If the octopus drank any more, he would be sick. At the rate he was going, he might even get alcohol poisoning. That was the last thing they needed. He considered wrestling the bottle from his target's hands. Should he risk it?

"Why does everyone always try to take everything from me?" Korosensei asked, lowering to his heels and huddling protectively around the wine.

Seeing his target act so strangely made Karasuma want to take the wine from him even more. The octopus' behavior disconcerted Karasuma more than he liked to admit; seeing his target so vulnerable felt deeply wrong somehow. He had to do something. "Octopus, you're drunk. Why don't you hand over the wine before you make a fool of yourself?"

"Dammit!" Korosensei suddenly cursed, making Karasuma start. The former assassin struggled to his knees before taking one last chug from the bottle, practically holding it vertical at this point. "Dammit!"

Karasuma stood stock-still with his mouth agape, watching the scene unfolding before him. He had always found himself especially inept with emotions, and generally made an effort to steer clear of them altogether. Faced with such a display as he was presently beset with, he was at an utter loss.

Without warning, Korosensei took the bottle by its neck and brandished it savagely. Karasuma took a shocked step back.

"Why 'm I so useless?!" Korosensei bellowed, addressing the unforthcoming darkness of the ocean. When he received no answer, he fell sideways onto the sand, curling in on himself, his back to Karasuma. "Why am I so useless?" A hint of a sob was creeping into his voice.

Karasuma advanced cautiously, unsure of what he had to do. All he knew was that he needed to get that alcohol away from him, which would hopefully calm the man down in the process.

"What are you talking about? You're a very capable person," Karasuma stated rather matter-of-factly, despite his efforts to leak some measure of sentimentality into his words.

"No!" his target shouted, his voice muffled as he curled himself tighter around the wine bottle. "I can't do anything right!"

Karasuma tried not to be intimidated as he crept ever closer. "Nonsense. Why would you think that?"

"Because Karasuma-sensei is always mad at me!"

Karasuma frowned at that, halting where he stood. Had he heard correctly?

"No matter what I do, it's never good enough," Korosensei continued to babble. "It's always 'you're too frivolous,' 'you're too carefree,' 'you're too this,' 'you're too that.'"

Karasuma had no answer to this unprecedented turn of events. The octopus was bothered by what he said?

"Where's your usual confidence, octopus?" Karasuma asked softly, hoping to thus inspire some back into him.

The answer he received was not at all what he had expected.

"What confidence? There is no confidence," Korosensei spat. "There never was any."

Karasuma sensed that things were spiraling out of hand. Geez, and all he had wanted from the night was to get a little drunk and forget it all. Typical of the octopus to mess it all up for him.

Karasuma continued to creep towards his target; he was nearly to him. "Hey, why don't you hand over the wine," Karasuma beckoned, trying his best to sound inviting. "You'll feel much better."

Korosensei sat up abruptly, almost causing Karasuma to leap backward. "Don't you get it?!" he screamed. "It's all just a façade!"

Karasuma barely had time to still his heart before the tirade continued, bursting forth as if a dam had been broken.

"The kindness, the capability, the confidence, all of it, it's all just a fucking lie! I'm no kind person, not with all those people I've killed, completely innocent people—" his eyes blazed. "I'm not like her, who knew everything—I don't know a single goddamn thing about teaching, I can only feel around in the darkness and hope I'm doing half as well. Having someone like me—ME!—teach them, what kind of fucked up story is this? They'll probably just turn out like my last student, all fucked up and hating me like everyone else fucking does!" Korosensei stopped to catch his breath.

Karasuma sucked in a breath of his own; he hadn't even realized he'd been holding it.

Korosensei's breathing finally calmed, the fire in his eyes soon fading altogether. "How can I—how can I even be considered capable when I couldn't even save one woman?"

There were tears in his eyes, his voice strained. As if all his anger had been spent in that one outburst, he sank back down to the sand, crushing the wine bottle to his chest as tears streamed down his cheeks. He tilted his head down, and when he turned his back to Karasuma, he sniffed, as if trying to stifle any noise.

Karasuma was nearly upon him now, but he no longer knew what to say. What could he say? He never would have guessed that his target was holding so much inside. Naturally, he knew his circumstances—it was in his file—but he had just assumed that his happy-go-lucky target was of the flippant variety, utterly unconcerned and living in the present. Who would have guessed that such heavy baggage was dragging him down?

Karasuma's mouth moved before he could second guess himself. "I don't think you're useless."

His target didn't turn, but the sound of suppressed sobs quieted, the now nearly tangible silence punctuated only by intermittent sniffling. "You're not useless," Karasuma repeated, squatting down to his colleague's level. "I know that maybe it seems like I think that sometimes, which I do—er, I mean, you're not always useless—no," Karasuma gritted his teeth in frustration. This emotional stuff just wasn't for him. He sighed, giving up on trying to find the best wording.

"I guess what I mean is that we may have misunderstood each other."

Korosensei was completely silent now; even the sniffling had died down.

"I didn't know you felt that way. I'm not good at noticing those things," he carded a hand through his hair, unsure of what to say next. "So, if we're ever not seeing eye to eye about something, just say it out loud." There, he said it. It was a bit curt, definitely ineloquent, but he'd said it. To fill up the sudden vacuum between them, he hesitantly brought a hand to his colleague's head and patted it awkwardly.

Before he knew what had happened, Korosensei had turned himself around and hurled himself into Karasuma, hugging him tightly and burying his face in his chest. As if a dam had broken, suddenly he was crying, and not quiet sobs like before, but loud wails; his whole body shuddered as it was wracked by years of suppressed tears, his face wet with tears and snot.

Karasuma was paralyzed by the sudden embrace, his arms out as he stared down at the pitiful man who clung to him. While under normal circumstances he would have found himself annoyed, briskly peeling the man off of him and shoving him callously away, strangely enough, this time he felt no such urge.

Maybe it was because he was a little drunk himself, or that he saw it as a good chance to wrest the bottle from his grasp. Or perhaps it was because he understood his target a little better now and recognized that the octopus needed the catharsis that a good cry could provide. Regardless of the reason, he allowed him to stay where he was, even if he was making Karasuma's shirt quite the mess with all the tears and snot running down his face.

This time, Korosensei didn't resist when Karasuma reached around him and took a hold of the bottle's neck, gingerly tugging it from the former assassin's grasp and setting it well out of reach. Indeed, he seemed to barely notice it.

Awkwardly, Karasuma petted his head once again, his other arm reaching around him in some clumsy attempt at a loose hug, patting his back lightly in what he hoped was reassurance.

It was a long while before Korosensei's sobs died down, and when they did, his body rested limply against Karasuma's chest. It was as if all the liquor and the crying had left him completely sapped, which seemed to be the case.

"Octopus," Karasuma prompted, wondering if he had fallen asleep.

Korosensei groaned in response, Karsauma feeling the vibration of it through his clothes. So, he was still awake. Karasuma withdrew his arms from him, and when his colleague didn't stir, he ventured a question that had been at the tip of his tongue since the beginning of this incident.

"Why do you go out of your way to act so cheerful when you're suffering so much?"

For a minute, Karasuma thought he wouldn't answer, but then he felt more than heard the response mumbled into his chest.

"When I'm gone…that's how I want everyone to remember me."

Karasuma was taken aback by that, by the brevity of such a statement. Yes, that was right, wasn't it? This pitiful man in his arms, trying his best to be the ideal teacher, this broken man who was striving to keep this ridiculous façade of his up for the sake of the children in that classroom—

Yes, this man was his assassination target.

Regardless of however anyone felt about it, he would be dead in less than a year, whether someone killed him or not.

Karasuma did not have long to ponder the implications of such a statement before his target tore him from his thoughts with a warbled, helpless plea.

"Karasuma-sensei…"

"What is it?" Karasuma asked softly, his attention back in the present.

"I don't…feel so good."

And with that, his target promptly proceeded to vomit the entirety of his stomach's contents all over the distinguished ministry of defense worker.

Had Karasuma not been feeling a bit more lenient that night, he might have gone ballistic.

"Uuuuhhhn," Korosensei moaned, clutching his head as he sat at the fire. The mid-morning sun was bright overhead, only serving to further aggravate the former assassin's headache.

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't drank so much last night," Karasuma reminded him, stirring the pot over the fire, in which a late-morning brunch simmered.

"You could have stopped me," his target whined, instantly regretting his rebuttal as he winced against the sudden flash of pain.

"I already told you that I did." Karasuma continued to stir breakfast.

Karasuma's target, quite predictably, was currently experiencing the hangover of his life. According to what he could get out of his whining target earlier, he remembered next to nothing from the night before. Apparently, his memory went right up to about his fourth glass of wine, and everything beyond that was anyone's guess. Karasuma, for his part, was rather glad that his target recalled nothing from the night before; it saved them both from embarrassment.

Unfortunately, Korosensei vomiting all over Karasuma may have been the first time Korosensei fell sick that night, but it certainly was not the last. After extracting himself from his target's embrace, a thoroughly disgusted Karasuma had located and donned another clean set of clothes, but when he returned to his target's side, he found him hurling once again. Korosensei spent the better part of the night sick, but Karasuma stayed by his side all the while.

When his target seemed to have nothing left to throw up, he collapsed, utterly spent, and it fell onto Karasuma to make sure that he drank some water. It wouldn't do to have him get dehydrated, and after all that, Karasuma could only imagine the raw burn of his throat. After downing some water, his target had blacked out completely, and Karasuma begrudgingly gave the poor man a piggy back ride to their tepee, where Karasuma laid him down for the night. Naturally, it was Karasuma who had to deal with the mess that was made, and after resigning himself to the task, he was finally able to lay down for the night at a very late hour.

Needless to say, Karasuma had seen a side of his target that he hadn't necessarily wanted to. It felt icky to him; like he'd been prying, like he knew something he was never supposed to know, something very private and personal. After all, his target wanted him to remember him as his goofy octopus self; but Karasuma could not so easily erase the image of the broken man collapsed in his arms.

This feeling of knowing his target's secret, when his target wasn't even aware of what happened, was terribly awkward, and it ate away at him more than he liked to admit. Karasuma could barely even look his target in the eye.

"The sun is hurting my eyes," Korosensei complained, squinting.

"Then go into the shade," Karasuma suggested flatly, refusing to look up from his task.

Korosensei grumbled and staggered to his feet, his hands still pressed to his head as he shuffled away.

Karasuma stopped his task to stare at his target's retreating form.

Sheesh, he thought he hated his target.

He watched Korosensei stumble and nearly trip, only just barely managing to keep himself upright.

Hate, huh? It was a shame that things could never be as black and white as that.

The only thing on Korosensei's mind was the pain. This particular hangover was definitely the worst one to date. He cursed his past self to the crescent moon and back for drinking so much.

The sun was bright today, too bright, he thought as he made his way across the sand. He had thought that maybe some breakfast might help, but with the way his brain was throbbing, he was starting to think he should have never gotten out of bed.

He decided that he would go back to sleep in the relative darkness that their small shelter provided, for the idea appealed to him immensely. First, though, he was headed toward the blessed shade of the forest. He had to relieve himself.

The densely packed trees provided ample shade, much to the former assassin's relief. After finishing his business, he stood and basked in the cool darkness, wanting to get back to the shelter but reluctant to walk across hot sand and through glaring sunlight to get there.

It was just when he was about to make the trek to their shelter that his hair stood on end and his blood ran cold.

His heart stopped. It was bloodlust, and more concentrated than he'd felt in a long time.

Emanating from right behind him.

He turned around slowly, his heart thumping erratically against his ribcage. A native? A poacher? His muddled brain whirled with possibilities.

When his eyes alighted upon the object of his fears, he almost breathed a sigh of relief.

Before him stood a vibrantly colored, exotic-looking songbird, cocking its head sideways to regard him. He might have laughed, had the rather disturbing bloodlust not still been present.

"What are you doing here, little guy?" he asked it, trying to appear amiable even as he scanned the area for the source of the bloodlust. He was a little shocked, honestly. He hadn't heard the bird arrive at all. No flutter of wings, no rustle of leaves.

His addled brain was a bit slow, but it eventually occurred to him that this was the first animal they had yet seen on the island. Strange, especially considering the fact that it was accompanied by such bloodlust.

He only began to connect the dots when two tentacles began to extend from the bird's neck, arcing gracefully before plunging toward him.