A/N: I honestly did not realize the name "Dovos" came from "Dove" until I started writing this chapter. I kind of feel like an idiot. It makes so much sense to me now, though. Like...mourning dove. Mourning Dovos. Heh. Bird puns.

Now on to the important stuff. I want to let you guys know that this chapter and the one after contain some darker themes and humor. I wouldn't call this a warning, more of a friendly heads-up. There's just some heavier stuff than what I normally write. I know I'm being vague, but I'd hate to spoil things. Just know that I try my best to maintain integrity in everything I write.

Also, WTF did I just write?

"The right thing...what is it?

I wonder...if you do the right thing...

Does it really make...everybody happy?"

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The Customer is (Not) Always Right

Chapter 18: Another Night at the Lumpy Pumpkin

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"Pumpkin juice! ...hic. It's juuuice. Can you get tipsy off of pumpkin juice?"

I slowly turn to glare at the old man on my right. The one who just sat himself down here and joined in our conversation. Uninvited. He stares straight ahead, his lips pursed in a vacant expression. Who is this guy? Where did he even come from? Why do I care? I exhale and turn back to the man on my left—the man I knew as the Village Idiot up until now.

"You were saying?"

"I can't believe you named your loftwing too. I never met anyone else who did that!" he exclaims. "My mom would always say, 'Dovos, don't do that! Naming your loftwing is like naming one of your body parts. Would you name your big toe?" He chuckles; a husky, blubbering sound that could be mistaken for crying. "I said, 'Yup! I named all of my toes.'"

"Sometimes I think my toes talk to me," the old man says without looking at us. "Do you think I might be possessed by a demon? I'm telling ya, we have a demon in Skyloft. I saw him myself! His lair's somewhere beneath the graveyard!"

I shoot him another askance look, but he's oblivious. "What did you say your loftwing's name was?" I ask, facing Dovos again.

"Phoeni."

"Phoeni..." My mind latched onto that one detail earlier. I ponder a moment. "The name rings a bell. Can't remember where I heard it, though..."

There's a natural lull in the conversation. I take the opportunity to order another round of drinks. Not for the annoying old man, for Dovos and I. Yes, Dovos. I'm still getting used to that. Dovos has been doing most of the talking tonight, which is fine by me. Evidently, he's thirty years old, he's not originally from around here, and as I suspected, he's homeless. His parents kicked him out a year or so ago. Even more interestingly, he's a former Knight Academy dropout. Just like me. Though for what reason he quit, I do not know.

One thing has always been clear. Through and through, this guy's life stinks. He's overweight, he's out of work, and it's obvious how he spends what little money he manages to scrounge up. But for some twisted reason, the longer I sit here listening to him moan about his miserable life, the better I feel about mine. It's terrible, but true. This guy's misery is my pleasure. Deep down, I know that's why I offered to buy him a drink in the first place, and it only serves to remind me how incredibly selfish I am. But that's just the nature of people, isn't it? People are only kind to others for two reasons: because they want something, or because they just want to feel good about themselves. I'd be no different.

Despite that bit of guilt weighing on the back of my mind, it is refreshing to have a drink with someone who doesn't feel the need to run their mouth constantly. Silences don't have to be filled when there's nothing to be said. They don't have to be awkward. Natural silences only turn into awkward silences when people feel the need to fill them.

And yet this old loony on the other side of me seems intent on creating them.

"Hey." He jabs me in the shoulder, looking agitated. "Do you think Kina likes me? Because I'm married, you know."

I sneer in disbelief. "Maybe you should ask her yourself and clear things up."

"I think I will."

I roll my eyes before taking another swig of pumpkin juice, not caring if he sees. The man reaches a trembling, boney finger up toward me, putting his face uncomfortably close to mine. He has a prominent brow ridge and a thin nose. Beads of dark brown pumpkin juice stain his long, gray beard.

"You watch next time she comes over here," he whispers, and I can smell his stale breath. "She keeps coming by to 'check on me.' She's always laughing and smiling around me. She's a sweetie and all, but it just wouldn't be right."

I pull away and let out the breath I've been holding, fed up with this guy. "Maybe it's because...oh, I don't know. She's a waitress and that's her job?" I offer a one-handed shrug.

He shakes his head absentmindedly, his eyes glazing over. "It just wouldn't be right," he murmurs again. Good grief.

Several times tonight I've looked at Dovos on my left and wondered, is this what I could have become, had I given up? And then I look at the crotchety old guy on my right, and I know: this is what I will become, whether I'm okay with it or not.

And then I order another drink and try not to think about it.

"So why did you want to come out here with me?" Dovos asks me, picking at his goatee. "Working people don't usually come here on work nights...unless they work here, huh huh. What's troubling you?"

I pinch my brow. I'm not too keen on chatting about the actual reason I'm here, but I suppose I owe him this much after reaping a self-esteem boost from his misery. It's only fair.

"Oh, it's really not that bad," I say in a nonchalant manner, but I know on the inside I'm still trying to convince myself of that. "Just girl problems."

"My wife's probably wondering where I am right now," interrupts the old man. That's it. I've had it.

"Okay. Nothing you have said has contributed to this discussion in any way whatsoever," I snap, whipping my head toward him. He hiccups in response.

"Look. Why don't you go out back and get some fresh air for a while? Go on," I urge him, in a tone I might use to address a toddler. I wave him away. "Yes. That's right."

In extremely slow motion, the man scooches off his stool and slinks off toward the corridor. He walks unevenly without picking up his feet, dragging one foot right after the other. Good riddance. What was that guy trying to pull? Did he think if he hung around long enough, I'd accidentally order him a drink too and he'd bum some free booze off of me? Idiot. I give Dovos a wry glance.

"Girl problems huh?" he drawls. His speech is becoming sluggish, but then again, it always was. "I've had those before."

"Really?" I fail to filter the skepticism from my voice.

"Yeah," he says glumly. "I tried drinking stamina potion to lose weight—"

"No. I meant problems with actual girls. Women I wish to date."

"Oh! I've had those too."

I sigh, feeling empty inside once again. To think I was in this very same place only a few days ago, cooking up ways to win Peatrice over. I had no idea I would jump at the chance to vy for her heart the day after, only to be shot down. Somehow the atmosphere in here seems...sadder, compared to then. The chandelier that's stinging my eyes from above does nothing to brighten the mood. Even Kina's song seems more melancholy than usual. It might be the accompaniment. Someone is up on stage strumming a harp and it sounds wretched.

I shake my head slowly, as if trying to rid myself of something deep. "It's dumb," I say, brushing the subject off. "Normally I wouldn't even care this much."

"You're probably going through your quarter-life crisis," Dovos empathizes. "That's what I'm going through. I think I'll still be in it until I hit my mid-life crisis." He groans, gazing down at the counter dismally. "When I get depressed, I eat my feelings. And then I get even more depressed because of my weight. And then I eat some more. It just gets worse and worse."

"So it's like this abysmal cycle that repeats over and over again."

He gives a solemn nod. "Mmhmm."

I look down at my hand, squeezing my mug. "I think...I might be that way too. Only with money instead of food." I wince a little. I can't believe I said that aloud. "Does that make sense?"

Dovos's jaw drops, revealing two large front teeth. "You eat rupees?!"

"No! No, Dovos. What I'm trying to say is..." I rest my chin on clasped hands and try to come up with an explanation he'll understand, but my drowsy mind fails to piece any coherent thoughts together. "Nevermind," I grunt, going for another drink. It occurs to me that I've never admitted my money obsession to anybody. It's surprisingly easy to have a heart-to-heart with someone you just met and don't plan on associating with ever again. But I still don't want to talk about my problems. I like hearing about his problems.

"So tell me more about your time at the Knight Academy," I say. I shift my head to my left hand, starting to feel lightheaded. I should actually order some food. I tell Pumm to bring us two bowls of soup as he passes by.

Dovos takes his time responding. He fingers the handle of his mug, lost in thought.

"I went there for two years. I guess it would have been a decade ago now," he mutters. "I was in the fourteenth graduating class, or...I would have been if I hadn't left. I dropped out near the end of my second year."

"That's three years before I started," I comment, counting back in my head. "Sorry. Go on."

"I always wanted to be a knight since I was a little boy. I was never the fastest flyer or the sharpest knife in the...place where they keep the knives. But I studied hard. I worked hard. My sparring grade helped bring up my average..."

He sloshes the liquid in his mug. All this slow, meandering speech and trailing off in the middle of sentences is starting to get on my nerves.

"Sword fighting was the only thing I was ever good at. It was my passion. I'm out of practice now, but..." he trails off again. "I always thought...if I could use my passion to protect people, to help people...well, wouldn't that be just great?"

"Passion, hmm?" I say. "I never really considered that." I've never had passion for much anything in life. Save for money. And occasionally, revenge. "I suppose that is what a lot of people want out of their jobs."

"Yeah..."

Pumm slides a steaming hot bowl of pumpkin stew in front of each of us. Now that I think about it, there are lots of people around me who have passion for what they do and have found a certain amount of satisfaction in it, even if they're struggling as much as I am. Gondo comes to mind, and Luv. Even grouchy Piper. My shields, on the other hand, have always been more about pride than passion.

"Here's what I don't understand," I say, digging into my stew. "If you loved it that much, then why did you quit when you did? You were almost a trainee."

He shifts in his seat.

"A lot of things happened then...a lot of bad things."

He takes a huge yawn and goes quiet, eyes downcast. I can sense he doesn't want to continue talking about this, so I don't press him any further. He looks as though he might start crying into his soup.

"...You know, that was nice," he says after another lull, "what you did for me with the toilet paper."

"Oh, psh. It was nothing. Don't mention it." Really, please don't. "Anyone would have done it, ahaha." I smile to myself and nod. "Yep. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time..."

For at least the third time that night, it hits me again: I'm at the bar with the Village Idiot. The Village Idiot. Never have I thought I'd find myself in this situation with him of all people. This is so surreal. I take another large swallow of pumpkin juice, and it doesn't seem quite as weird.

Suddenly, Kina rushes over, looking frazzled. Her quick pace stands out against the lazy atmosphere and draws several gazes.

"Has anybody seen Rusta?!" she yells, a little panicked. She pants and brings a hand to her heart, holding the other flat in the air. "He's about this tall, he's old, and he has dementia. We promised his wife we'd keep an eye on him while he's here and we can't find him!"

My eyes widen as realization hits. I bite my lip. Dovos perks up, looking like he's about to blab. Uh oh.

"Nope," I say under my breath, patting his arm to get his attention. "Just look straight ahead..."

I emulate my own advice and take a long drink, letting the fire rush down my throat. Dovos follows suite a second after, seeming unsure of himself. Other people return to their food and conversations as they realize Kina's plight has nothing to do with them. No one seems to care.

"Rusta. Old, gray beard, kind of loony?" she repeats in an impatient tone. "Hasn't anyone seen him?"

I just cringe into my drink.

"I'll help you find him, Kina."

I glance over my shoulder. A young man I recognize as the dweeb who bought some deku seeds from me recently strides up to her. Kina smiles at him and balls her hands excitedly.

"Oh, thank you, Keet! That's so kind of you."

Turning bright red, Keet hesitantly places his hands on her shoulders and guides her away, saying, "come on, let's check upstairs first!" Looks like someone's trying to get on Kina's good side. I keep to my lips to the rim of my mug until they've left. Dovos does the same.

"Hey Muffintop," a rough male voice jeers behind us, "the pumpkin patch called. They're running out of pumpkin juice! Save some for the rest of us, would ya?"

There's a chorus of snide laughter. Muffin top? Heh. That's a good one. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Dovos slowly lower his drink. He stiffens up, a pained expression on his face. Wait—

Did that guy really just say that to his face?!

"Hey!" I whirl around, ready to gives these schmucks a piece of my mind.

A rather hairy, ogre-ish man hovers over me, flanked by a pair of generic meatheads. He has a bristly layer of beard scruff and a long, jagged scar arcing around his left eye. He stomps closer in an attempt to intimidate me. It's working.

"Yes?" He prompts me, folding his arms across his massive chest.

I just balk. "Uh..." I gulp, "you...look like...AN ARCHER!"

The man's eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

I bounce out of my seat and get up in his grill, letting a huge grin creep across my face. I make a point to look him deep in the eyes, until he's so uncomfortable he has to break eye contact.

"Ahaha, yes! There is no mistaking it. Those fierce eyes! Those...chiseled biceps." I wring my hands together and lean in close enough to drool on his arm. "I can just imagine them pulling back a bowstring..."

He looks horrified.

"How would you like a discount on some of my custom made arrows?!" I practically scream, jumping up and down. I reach in my pocket. "Here! Let me give you my business ca—"

He's gone in a flash. Thanks goodness, because I don't have any business cards.

I plop back down in my seat with the long, deflating sigh. Dovos gawks at me, open-mouthed. I feel his eyes on me, but I just sip my pumpkin juice, avoiding his stare.

"How did you do that?"

I snort, giving a small shrug. "It scares people away at the Bazaar, so I don't see why it wouldn't work here too," I reply bitterly. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Well, I never take it that far, but you know what I mean."

I take another prolonged sip. Now that I think about it, that was actually really stupid and I'm lucky I didn't get punched in the face. It's a good thing Pumm's up here. People are afraid to start bar fights in front of him because then they would get kicked out of the Lumpy Pumpkin. Permanently. And nobody wants that.

"I wish I could stand up for myself when that happens. But...it's true, what they said about me," Dovos laments hopelessly, cradling his mug against his bloated belly. "I am fat."

He says that with such resignation that it irritates me. I can't say I disagree. "Hey. It's all right," I assure him in an even tone. "Admitting you have a problem is the first step to fixing it, after all."

He pushes out his lower lip, looking more miserable than ever. Somehow I'm not so sure that was what he wanted to hear. Just then, I hear heavy footfalls behind me, getting louder by the second. Who is coming over here now? I take a peek and immediately whip back around. Peater. Oh Gods. it's Peater. I guzzle my pumpkin juice nervously, frozen to my seat. He staggers up to the counter and stops right next to me.

"Twinkle Toes!"

I peer up at him with reluctance. His face is ruddy all over, resembling an overripe tomato about to explode.

"...Excuse me?"

"Twinkletoes!" He slurs, pointing over his shoulder. His eyes are watery and bloodshot. "That's what they were calling you over there. Pretty funny, right? Haw haw."

He sways, nearly losing his balance. I squint and follow his finger to the big table in the middle of the room, the one below the chandelier. The three men from earlier are sitting there, sniggering amongst themselves. I scorn at them, facing front again. "Sure. Hilarious."

"Wrong!" Peater barks. He slams his fist on the counter, startling everyone in the immediate vicinity. "I told em' that's BULLHONKY! That's not Twinkle Toes! That's RUPIN THE BLOODY GEAR PEDDLER!"

He laughs so hard his stomach convulses and tears gush out of his eyes. He swerves to the side and grips the counter to prevent falling on the floor, spluttering and coughing. I'm not quite where he is yet, so I have to force an outburst of laughter. He slaps me on the back. Apparently, everything is hysterical. And we're the best of friends now. I honestly did not think he knew my name.

Peater hacks a few more times and wipes the water from his eyes, settling down. I try not to think about the germs raining down on me.

"So Rupin, tell me..." he rests his arm on the counter, makes himself comfortable. He smells like he's been sweating all day long. "How's old Henry doing? You whippin' that boy into shape?"

"Henry...?" The word sounds foreign to me. I blink through the pumpkin juice-induced stupor. I'm totally blanking. Henry...Henry. "Oh. Henry! Yes."

Peater smirks and nods for me to go on. I wrack my brain, but it's not working fast enough.

"You see...the thing is, Henry..." My mouth crinkles up. "He died."

Peater's tiny eyes go wide with shock. He slowly turns from me and stares off into space, confounded.

He slumps down onto the stool next to me and stares straight out in front of him, arms dangling uselessly at his sides. After a long, intense moment, he swipes a mug I'm sure was not his and downs it. He slams the empty mug down with a loud clunk, not bothering to wipe the juice he slopped down his chin.

"Gods!" He cries. He grips his head with both hands like he's about to tear out his remaining hair. "Gods!"

He flops his puffy arms onto the counter and turns to stare me in the face, wide-eyed. He looks so floored that I question whether somebody really did just die.

"When did this happen?!"

"Just yesterday, I'm afraid." I take on a somber air. "There...there was no body."

His eyes only grow wider.

"He took his own life," I explain in a soft voice. "Henry took the leap of faith."

A long silence.

"No," Peater gasps.

I give a small nod. "He's beyond the cloud barrier now."

"Ohhh," he moans, rocking back and forth. "I'm so sorry to hear that son. Oohhh..." He slaps his hand down again. "Dammit Henry! Why would you do somethin' like that?!"

I sigh. "It was quite the adjustment for him, moving to Skyloft and taking on his first apprenticeship. He was from up north...the Northern Arch. So most people around these parts wouldn't know him." I bring a hand up to cover my eyes, emitting a dry sob. "He never talked all that much, but I could tell from his accent."

I peer at Peater through the cracks between my fingers. He just shakes his head from side to side in a daze, his gaze unfocused and grief-stricken. Suddenly, he scoops a champagne glass and a spoon off the counter, rising to his feet with a purpose.

Before I can process what's happening, he whirls toward the crowded restaurant and hollers at the top of his lungs. "Attentioooon!" he screams, banging the spoon on the glass over and over. I cower beneath him. Each ring feels like a death sentence.

Within seconds, everybody in the establishment has their eyes on Peater, waiting with bated breath to hear what it is he has to say. The awful harp playing cuts off, stopping a few seconds after the chatter.

The rotund man takes a giant step forward to address the crowd, commanding the attention of every face in it. My eyes frantically switch between him and the hoards of people in the room. It takes me a moment to realize I'm shaking.

"I have a very sad announcement to make tonight," he begins. My stomach churns. It's coming. It's coming like an onslaught of vomit and I can't stop it.

"It has just been brought to my attention that this man's good apprentice and friend—" He flails his hands in my direction. I grin and go with it. Wait—no. I shouldn't be smiling.

"—Henry of the Northern Isles...!"

Peater's voice breaks off, his words running together. He takes a laborous breath and strains, "tragically threw himself into the cloud barrier yesterday!"

The news is met with gasps astonishment and sadness. I grip the edges of my seat, feeling faint. When the babbling dies back down, Peater purses his lips and inhales deeply through his nose, looking out over the tavern with a wistful air. I try to maintain a grim demeanor.

"Not even a week ago, young Henry came to my island, looking to slice up some bamboo and make a man out of himself," he recounts. Wait.

What?!

"This is what I told him on that day."

Everybody is holding their breath, deathly quiet. Eyes wet with emotion, Peater summons a stern expression and points a finger in the air, speaking in the most sober voice I have ever, ever heard out of such a thoroughly drunken man.

"I looked Henry in the eye that day and said— 'Young man. If you can mow down this entire forest of bamboo in one hour's time, I will let you go on a supervised date with my daughter.'"

Silence. I stifle a hiccup. Well. Henry came closer to dating Peatrice than I ever did.

"He didn't manage do it, but," Peater breathes heavily, "the fire in his eyes after I told him that...the tenacity! It was like nothing I've ever seen before."

He blinks slowly, a faraway look in his eyes. He's cracked.

"What I didn't see was his pain," he continues, "nor his hardship. Nor did I hear his silent cries for help. And alas, now Henry is gone."

There's an unusually long break. People look at him as if expecting him to say more, but he doesn't. He raises his champagne glass high in the air.

"To Henry. May he rest in peace."

People all over the Lumpy Pumpkin lift their own drinks in turn, chinking them together with awkward murmurs of, "to Henry." I dump some more pumpkin juice down my throat.

Peater throws back his head and the champagne glass along with it. It takes him several seconds to realize it's empty. With a loud groan, he unceremoniously flings the glass into a nearby garbage can. He digs his knuckles into his reddened eyes and smooths back his greasy hair.

"I'm done here," he says. He reaches toward me and clasps my shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, son."

I stare back into his flushed face, pinching my eyebrows in sorrow. I'm sure mine is a similar shade of bright pink by now. "I will."

Peater snivels and belches at the same time, if that's even possible. With one last, shuddering breath, he leaves and trudges off across the tavern, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. Pumm fishes the glass out of the trash and cleanses it with a dish towel, throwing dirty looks at his retreating form.

Very soon after Peater's exit, conversations resume and the clinking of silverware echoes throughout the tavern again. Anybody who just walked in wouldn't know the toast ever happened, the tragedy of Henry forgotten within minutes. As I'm returning to my own food, the twanging of that out-of-tune, headache-inducing harp assaults my ears again. Ugh. If I have to hear that harp any more, I might kill myself. I glance over at the stage. It's him, really? That loser Peatrice has a crush on? I have half a mind to march up there and tell him he sounds like hell. It's no wonder people who frequent this joint are coming down with dementia.

"You didn't mention Henry before," Dovos remarks drearily. I turn my head toward him in mild surprise. He's been so quiet I almost forgot he was here.

"Is that the reason you came here tonight?" he asks me. "To grieve for Henry?"

I delay answering a moment too long. "Yes. That's why." For some reason, an insane laugh bubbles up within me. I pass it off as a sniffle and bury my face in the crook of my elbow, choking on my words, "I just keep wondering if I could have done something to prevent it. Like if I had paid him more..."

"No. Don't blame yourself," says Dovos. "I'm really sorry for your loss. No one else here knew him better than you did."

"Yeah. Henry was special." I put my arm down, failing to swallow the lump in my throat. I need to move this conversation away from Henry. "But it's not an uncommon thing, you know. Falling past the clouds," I deviate. "My father died that way."

Dovo's jaw drops yet again. "He did?"

I nod. I'd much rather discuss something true than be caught in a lie. "His name was Ruffus. He didn't go willingly, at least I don't think. He volunteered for a dangerous mission in the thunderhead. The skytail population was booming like mad, and the knights had to snuff out a full-scale invasion before it could start." I prop my head up with a sigh, my gaze coming to rest on the back wall of the kitchen.

"He's still MIA to this day. No one saw him go down, but it's assumed he fell. Not an unusual death for a knight. It's a big sky and a lot of times there's nobody around to see..."

I turn and look at him, gravely serious now.

"Dovos, it wasn't a bad decision to quit."

He has an odd expression on his face that I can't quite interpret.

"I mean, I know it was your biggest aspiration and all, but it wasn't for me. Not at all," I say. "Getting out of that Knight Academy was the best decision of my life. Nothing wrong with a little self-preservation."

"No, it's not that. You're probably right. I just—" he splutters, getting choked up, "I feel so bad about your dad!"

"Oh, ew." My lip twitches in revulsion. "I wasn't looking for sympathy."

He gives me a bewildered stare, his mouth hanging wide open. He looks like he just got gutted from behind.

"It happened before I was born," I recover. "I never met him, so..." I shrug a shoulder. "Oh well. Tough luck."

Dovos furrows his brow, blinking multiple times in a row. "Oh well?" he echoes. "That's all?"

"Yep." I don't know what he was expecting. I locate my spoon and try to shovel down more of my stew before it gets too cold and disgusting to eat. I notice Dovos's dishes are completely empty. I never really see him eat or drink. I just look up and it's all gone. He's like a vacuum. For a while we sit in silence, and there's just the sound of that harp hitting some unpleasantly dissonant tones.

"Uh..."

I glance sideways at him. Dovos looks down and fidgets anxiously, like he's not sure he should voice what's on his mind.

"I was thinking of taking it too...the leap," he says. "Until you asked me to get a drink."

I drop my spoon.

"Are you serious?"

He averts his gaze. "Yeah," he says quietly.

There's an uncomfortable bout of silence. He inhales.

"Well, I have to go to the bathroom."

I clutch my mug. I can't bring myself to face him. "...Oh. Good idea," I respond idly. I lift my drink with both hands but stop short of my lips, neglecting to sip it. "You can find me outside then."

He hauls himself up and shuffles around me, heading for the corridor.

"Dovos."

He turns around.

"Make sure there's toilet paper in there before you go."

He smiles sheepishly. "I will."

And then he's gone. Only when I'm alone do I allow everything to sink in. I drop my mug and press my palm to my forehead. So wait. What's he saying...that I saved his life? I saved this man's life?! Is that what he's saying?!

...Maybe every terrible thing that's happened to push me to this point was by fate's design. Maybe everything really does happen for a reason!

I stare down at my mug in a haze. Or maybe I've had too much pumpkin juice to drink.

It would appear my bladder agrees. Time to get out of here. I leave half a pint on the counter and walk briskly down the hallway, making for the back exit of the tavern. I pass Kina and Keet guiding the old man back inside on my way out.

I breathe in when I step outside, inviting the crisp night air into my lungs. I leave the bustling Lumpy Pumpkin behind and stroll all the way through the pumpkin patch, to the very edge of the grassy island. It's a clear night with a light, refreshing breeze. Innumerable stars dot the sky and a full moon shines low on the horizon. Its light reflects off the billowy white clouds below, illuminating the entire sky. I can almost see as well as I can in the daytime. It's nights like these when I consider flying home, but of course, if I can see well, then so can the night patrol. Even all the way out here, I can make out the shape of the thunderhead in the distance, a vast bubble rising out of the unbreachable sea of clouds. The glowing clouds stretch as far as the darkness.

Ten seconds. That's all it takes. That's the amount of time you have to call your loftwing. The amount of time a rescue knight has to catch you. Once someone plummet below the cloud layer, there's no saving them. Loftwings won't fly below it, no matter what their riders command.

No one knows for sure what happens to those who fall. Only those who have taken the leap and been to the other side know. Maybe they die. Maybe they fall through the clouds forever. Some people think the demonic realm is down there and falling past the cloud barrier is a one way trip to hell. I don't have an opinion. All I know is no one who fell down there ever came back, and that's reason enough for me not to do it.

I was thinking of taking it too, the leap. Until you asked me to get a drink.

It beats me why Dovos would share something that personal with me, a complete stranger. What does he have to gain from it? Was that supposed to be some kind of twisted compliment? A plea for attention?

No. I think that's what I would like to think, but it's not so. For some reason I get the feeling he meant what he said. It would be more accurate to say it was a plea for help. Well then what do I say to him when I inevitably see him again?! 'Hey Dovos, don't kill yourself'? That just doesn't seem right. There has to be a way to approach this sensitively. Should I even bring it up at all? Should I just treat him normally and pretend like it never happened? That doesn't seem right either.

I groan. To think I've spent so many years silently thinking people should just go and kill themselves. Why me? I don't know how to deal with this. I don't want to deal with it. How did I even get into this position? This is all my fault. I wouldn't have made up that stupid story about Henry if I had known there was an actual suicidal person sitting beside me! Why oh why did I have to say Henry died? I should have said I fired Henry! That would have been a good power display. And I probably wouldn't be in this mess right now. If I had been more on the ball, I wouldn't have blurted out the first nonsensical thing that popped into my mind. I could have come up with a much tighter story, but no. I blame the pumpkin juice. Stupid pumpkin juice. All it does is make me tired and slow, and inarticulate and...slow.

Frustrated tears gather in my eyes. Sometimes I don't even know why everybody drinks it. What's even the point?!

Ugh. I have to pee.

"Wingy!"

I know she never left. I can see her silhouetted on the roof of the Lumpy Pumpkin, sitting on the giant pumpkin's stem. She turns her head in my direction.

"Come down here. Your services are needed."

She stretches and glides over the pumpkin patch, landing right beside me. I don't think there's anybody else out here right now, but it doesn't hurt to take precautions. It's convenient having a built-in curtain.

After relieving myself over the edge, I retrace my steps through the pumpkin patch. Wingy follows close behind, taking short strides to match my pace. The owners don't usually like loftwings coming back here. A lot of them eat pumpkins and would all-but destroy the place if given the opportunity, but Wingy doesn't have a taste for pumpkin. She prefers flesh. I turn and stroke her on the back of the head. Her pupils are dilated, giving off the impression that she can't see well. Stupidly, I wave my hand in front of her eye. She cocks her head to opposite side.

I pull my hand away just as she clamps down. Yep, she can see all right.

Dovos's loftwing Phoeni is just ahead, roosting near the gate to the pumpkin patch. From what I've seen of her, she has a gentle temperament and is very trusting of strangers. At first I wasn't sure if that's her personality or if she is just dull, but I'm starting to think it's the latter. The first thing I noticed after her gray plumage were her eyes. They lack that keen awareness that is present in any healthy bird's eyes.

Phoeni lifts her head and looks at us as we pass by. I feel like she's staring through me rather than at me. She retracts her neck and folds her wings closer to her body, displaying the same submissive gestures she did when she and Wingy met earlier. Even though Wingy is an entire weight class smaller than her. It's pitiful, really. Giving in that easily. I can tell Wingy is thinking something similar, that Phoeni has a weak presence.

The sound of the back door creaking open draws both my and Wingy's attention. Dovos's large silhouette appears in the doorway. After a few seconds, he spots me by the gate and starts ambling over, a little unsteady on his feet. My bleary mind scrambles for something to say as he plods up, but he looks like he wants to talk. I give him a moment.

"...At the Knight Academy...there was a girl," he begins, bowing his head down. Shadows pass over his face, hiding his eyes from view.

"Phoeni. Her name was Phoeni."