You know those situations where you brain is all "This! Do this!" That, and a discussion on Tibarn's scars, gave me the idea. My original plan has been in the works, but sitting here incomplete, for a very long time. Discussing Zara with a friend, however, led me to the ending.

If there was only one member of the hawk tribe to not complain of pain, it was their king, Tibarn. It was not just about showing a brave face in front of his people; it was also partially because he held a higher tolerance for pain. Besides, he had a few scars as it was, so what would one or two more be, really?

That was why, after a raid on a Begnion ship that sailed through their waters, he did not seem to care about the blood that splattered across his chest and stained his clothing. That, and most of it was not his. Two of his men had worse injuries, and they deserved to be tended to first. He would not allow them to endure any more pain than necessary as he was examined for a little scratch.

He passed several of his people, young nestlings that were pleased to hear of Begnion getting what they deserved, and some who wanted to go with the adult hawks as soon as they could. Their mothers scolded them, but only slightly. They were not happy with the ships sailing close to their homes. "Think you've run them off?" an older hawk called.

"For now, but they'll return. They always do."

He and Tibarn shared a quick laugh before the hawk king continued to work his way through the noisy, curious crowd of hawks. A sighting of the Begnion ships always sent the hawks in a flurry of excitement.

"It's not Begnion, is it?"

Tibarn stopped short and turned. He did not see Zara at first. She stood away from the crowd, yawning and stretching in the sun. She shook out her wings and raised her arms skyward. Her tone of voice had little concern in it, but her arms quickly dropped to her sides as she finally realized how bloody the bird king was. "What happened? Let me see," she insisted as she hurried to close the gap between them.

"Did you just wake up?" Tibarn asked with a laugh. It appeared she had been dozing in the sunlight as fighting raged in the water below. He could easily see her stretched out in the warm sun on a flat area of the cliffs, her dark purple wings tucked around her. He had caught her napping that way a few times before. His bloody state did not concern him, and he did not wish for her to fret. He even took a step back so she could not examine his chest.

"I did," she admitted, "but how can you worry about that while you're wounded?"

"Most of this isn't mine," he said to assure her. He looked down at his front. The wound on his chest had stopped bleeding. All he needed to do was clean himself. "It's nothing. An overeager soldier who wanted to try to make a name for himself. Another scar isn't going to kill me." He made a halfhearted attempt to gently push her hands away as she reached for him.

"Please," she said softly, "let me look at it." As he continued to try to stop her fussing, she reached out and took his right hand. Her hands were so much smaller than his that it took both to hold one of his. She looked at him imploringly. "Please?"

Tibarn found himself chuckling and shaking his head. "You worry too much, Zara." But he gestured for her to follow as he returned to Phoenicis Hall. Once inside, away from the hawks who celebrated another victorious attack against the Begnion ship, she helped him remove his jacket. She folded it and draped it over a nearby bench. "You really don't need to," he told her.

"I know," she admitted. "I doubt it even nags at you. I'll be right back."

He shook his head again as he removed his shirt and placed it with his jacket. He would need to change his clothing anyway. He sank down on the bench and waited for her return. He hoped she would bring a snack. Fighting made him hungry. Instead, the female hawk returned with a basin of water and a cloth.

"This won't take long, will it?" Tibarn asked of her. He did not mind spending time with her, nor did he mind the attention. He only asked the question simply to put up a frustrated front.

"It shouldn't," she replied as she sat the basin down, wet her cloth, and rung it out. "Sorry if this is cold," she added. She bent down to check his injury and gently placed a hand on his chest. Her touch was so light he hardly felt it.

He started to say it did not matter but he flinched as the cold cloth touched his skin. Zara ducked her head to try to hide her smile behind her mess of hair. She murmured an apology again, which earned her an exhausted sigh from Tibarn. She had not always been so timid, respectful, and apologetic. She had once been feisty and full of spirit; more often than not, she was just as eager as the younger hawks with her pleas to join in on attacking the Begnion ships. Those requests ceased after a different ship had put up more of a challenge. Hawk causalities had been few compared to the beorc soldiers losses, but one of the more recent losses had been Zara's father.

Since then, she had retreated within herself, staying out of trouble and becoming more and more demure. Tibarn, on the other hand, had found himself trying to bring the old Zara out. As of late, he had found himself thinking that perhaps something should have been done about her change in behavior long ago.

"I don't even think this is going to scar," he heard her murmur more to herself than to him as she ran a finger along the cut on his chest.

Tibarn fought the urge to tell her he had told her such. Instead, he asked, "Do you feel better now?"

"Yes," she said, her voice sincere.

Tibarn watched as she dropped the cloth in the basin and stood. Before she could leave, he reached out and seized her by the wrist. "Wait a second," he began sternly. "I want to talk to you."

"About?"

He gestured towards her with his free hand for a moment before saying, "This. Your behavior." She tried to step back but he held onto her, though not so tight that he might accidentally hurt her.

"We've discussed this," she replied. She shook her head as she spoke, her purple hair flying every which way. "I do not wish to be scolded again."

"I know, but we'll discuss it again. I know you were worried about me when I returned today, but I've been worried about you for a lot longer than this. You aren't acting like yourself and haven't for quite some time. I do not expect you to beg to be allowed on raids against beorc ships, even the goddess herself would understand you not wanting to be anywhere near a beorc soldier, but I miss that fire you once had."

She said nothing at first, only looking down at his hand, her face shielded by her hair. Just as Tibarn wondered if he had hurt her with his words, she spoke. "I hate that it took losing my father to realize where a feisty outlook, one in which you think before you act, can get you. I do not blame my father, nor do I expect everyone else to act like me. I, too, do not wish to be stomped under the beorcs' boots, but I do not think I can bring that "old Zara" back out as you want. I'm sorry."

He released his grip on her wrist enough for her to slip away. She ducked her head, grabbed the basin, and hurried away. Tibarn could only sit on the bench and shake his head slowly in frustration. What was he going to do with her?