The rain grew colder, the canopy enamoured and blushing even deeper shades of auburn and gold. It was one of those quiet mornings where Slate would, at times, spend a few hours grooming and speaking with his mother. This particular morn, however, was spent out in the woods, combing for signs of his brother whilst also getting a bit of hunting done. There were four parties out, alert and wary of the looming threat. Signs had become apparent in each and every part of their wood, yet none had managed to catch the small coup. The tension was growing and the entirety of the large clan of two-hundred-plus knew that it would snap at a moment's notice. They were all waiting- waiting for something to crumble.

Deep, hot breaths of air escaped the skinny buck standing in the clear, rubbing his antlers against the nearest tree for food. It was cold, condensation accumulating in the air like coiling fingers of vapour. Slate's entire body was soaked from the pattering droplets that fell from the snivelling sky. The pressure on his long bow grew, waiting on the orders from Rocket himself. The dark grey chimp sat a good three feet away, head turned, body completely rigid. One of his hands rose, as if to heighten their own eager intent; their prey was mere seconds away from falling into their clutches. The lack of harvest from the admittedly bitter cold spell had left the apes hungry for blood and flesh, some unable to keep themselves strong enough. A cold spell from the west constantly clashed with the dry, hot air from the east, churning the heavens and squeezing every last frigid tear from its complexion.

It was coldest in the heart of their territory, or so they thought. The only trouble Slate had with that, was that Krissa was currently in the thick of it, the small isle she called home dead-set in the centre of the storm. He worried day-in-day-out for her. Where was she? How was she coping? Summer had gone out like a lion, some would say, and others had a theory that the beast was here to stay, all through autumn. Slate's neighbours glanced around with dreary dark emerald and brown pits, some shifting where they silently sat as they grew impatient. Another hunt, another day, another dawn, another fatigued grey afternoon.

An ape stirred behind him and Slate craned his neck back, eyeing his hands. Small movements, secretive. He wasn't nosy enough to investigate. Instead, he turned his shoulder and let out the softest scolding grunts he was able to produce. The males behind him ceased their conversation, looking at him with guilty pools. The chinobo turned his head with a roll of his eyes. Young males. They made him feel as if he were centuries old. Perhaps it was because Slate had been forced to grow up too fast, or because he disliked most of the newer males in his colony, especially the more boisterous types. Eager, all hands and teeth, ready to fight...

You were that way, whispered Koba. He could hear his smirk. Before you lost her.

Rocket's head turned in their direction, gesturing for them to move forward and take their positions. Slate pulled the bow up over his head, just as he had seen Krissa do so many times in the past. His father's spear remained at home some days. Whether it was because of the ghost constantly at his shoulder or the disapproval of his mother, he was unsure. He would go with the latter, seeing as his original hypothesis was something unappetising.

With one powerful jump, the male launched himself forward, swinging along the worn-down branches of towering timbres alike, leaf-litter falling to the ground. Slate grunted and tossed himself up next to Rocket, the two coming to an abrupt halt only feet from where the gulch severed the treeline. Water hissed as it crashed down the rocks, the river churning beneath, swollen from gallons upon gallons of precipitation. His head ducked as his momentum sent him nearly tumbling forward, only caught last minute by his leader's talons. Confusion filled him, he shot him a fleeting glance.

"The... bank," Rocket grunted, gesturing along with his husky intone. Slate remembered this part of the territory thoroughly, the feeling of Krissa's tight grip keeping him on his feet returning again and again in waves of unrelenting nostalgia. It had been the first time she had physically interacted with him, pulling him away from a watery end to his short existence. This had taken place just a kilometre down the beck. Although he did not understand at first, he narrowed his eyes and peered further along the water's spray. Suddenly the buck was no longer their concern- at first there was nothing out of the ordinary, the boulders deep blue-grey in colour, jutting out of the mud and tendrils of emerald, white-water gushing along the stony shore. Then his eyes caught sight of motion: one body, then another. Chalky war-paint, metallic weapons within their grasps. The first, a young orangutan, paused and turned to his elder, a rather scrawny bonobo with greying hair. Their movements were unclear, but Slate immediately understood why Rocket had stopped him.

Upon their party's fast approach, Slate and he rose and threw their arms outward, ordering them to stop. The five other chimps and bonobos caught themselves upon their respective branches, all simultaneously glancing about, all equally confused. Rocket twisted himself around. 'Scatter!' he signed urgently, a more violent representation of their typical gesture for 'run'. Excitement was apparent in their eyes, although two seemed more nervous than anything. Heads bobbed in confirmation. Two digits came to Rocket's eyes, then to his chest. 'Keep your eyes on me, wait for orders.'

Action: Rocket's apes disappeared silently off in different directions, Slate moving to follow in suit. A painfully hard clap of the chimp's hand across his chest startled him then, dragging him back to his original crouching position. 'Not you. Stay here,' Rocket insisted, pinching his small emerald eyes. Slate was just about blown off his branch by the stoic counsel member's statements. He nodded. 'I need you here. You know your brother best.'

He wanted to sign back 'that isn't my brother', but he realised he didn't feel like being cuffed until he fell off his perch. Instead, the chinobo compromised and listened, trying to decipher what was being discussed by the two near the water. Their numbers grew to four, a comfortable number that many hunting groups took up, each and every one of them following the leader as they wandered along the water's edge. Slate's coat rose slightly, despite being plastered to him. How many had Pine gathered? How long did he expect to hide? He was certainly making advances now. 'We should follow them?' he asked quickly, making sure his movements stayed small, the pair hidden further back in the upper reaches.

Rocket did not respond. He simply shook his head. The leading male shifted his weight. Turf wars. This is what this would turn into, as sure as the day was bright. With a jab of his hand, Slate followed after the chimp, following at a steady pace as they swung themselves through the trees. The river created a deafening hiss the closer they grew, and soon they were right next to the neighbouring side of the water.

'Is there any way across?' signed one of the young males. Slate's eyes drifted down the churning water with uncertainty, taking note of how their stepping-stone path was absent, completely swallowed by the unrelenting jaws of the gulch.

With that idea gone, he turned his cranium back up in the opposite direction, toward where the water was strongest, yet there was more of a foothold. "Trees are too... slippery," Slate established, shaking his head. Rocket stood bipedal, coming to his knuckles the moment he was close enough to the water's spitting edge. His attention fell upon the branches just the same before they caught sight of a few boulders further up the ravine. With a grunt, he gestured for the others to follow, which they did with diligence. The grey chimp was the first to cross, hopping from rock to rock, being sure to grapple as much of the slick surfaces as possible. The next two followed closer together, the twins not wanting to spread too far apart in case of danger. Just as Slate was preparing to do the same, he watched the smaller sibling suddenly lose his balance, one foot sliding awkwardly beneath the other.

His heart seized. As quickly as the lithe cross could clamour up, his arm flexed back and he snatched hold of Koba's faithful weapon. The ape had floundered straight into the drink, a shrill of alarm garbling from his throat as he managed to wrap an arm up around a jagged branch caught upon the stones, head and body submerged into the frigid water. Upon landing, he wedged the shaft in between a pair of smaller rocks and leaned as far as the weapon would allow him, just managing to snatch his tribemate's arm in a steel grip that would surely bruise. Slate's feet scrabbled and he yanked, praying that the staff of his weapon would hold its own. With the male's head above the water, choking and coughing as the rapids pulled him closer and closer to slipping away, the chinobo ground his teeth and bore down until Rocket had made it back in an hurry, careful to not have fallen in himself.

Slate was eventually relieved, the two able bodies squeezing together as they pulled the younger male to safety, chiding him for his reckless footing. He knew all too well, from experience, how terrifying this could be however, and nonetheless wrapped an arm over his quaking shoulders. Coughs and sputters escaped him, body attempting to reheat as he moved stiffly along, dribbling wet. The bank on the other side was muddy and soft under paw. Knuckling along, the entire band kept an eye on their smallest member, making sure he did not push himself too far. He seemed to have been scared shitless. He learned, he noted.

Their hunt resumed, although this time not for wild game. They tracked their journey through the trees until it ran dry, occasionally inspecting the forest floor. It seemed as though they had lost them, and with the unending amount of rain, their tracks would disappear into thin air within an hour. Slate was admittedly a bit frustrated, and thus as they began to split up so that Cornelius could be informed of the recent sighting, he simply climbed to the top of the canopy and allowed Rocket to figure out the nitty-gritty. He couldn't go back, not right now. There had to be more to it, there had to be something coming. He could feel it. A few fingers graced across his left pectoral as he watched a pair of birds flutter by, the wind gently buffeting his hair and gathering deep within his chest as he breathed slowly, surely. The colours blotting the horizon were endless and admittedly easy on the eyes.

His perch swayed, indicating another's approach, and his cranium tilted down in order to gaze upon the bulky form ambling along the branches. 'We should keep tracking that buck,' remarked Rocket. A mere foot below him sat the lone-wolf, Tyler, his typically unruly shoulders hunched as he groomed his left arm free of mud. Slate pant-grunted in response, shuffling his feet before nodding and swinging himself down to sit on the branch opposite of the leader. 'The hunt will clear your head.' One of the male's hands clamped down firmly on his shoulder, drawing his attention just before they all set off again. Tyler's head rose with curiosity as the chinobo's own wrenched around in question. His eyes darted from the male's opposing mitt and his emerald stones. "Slate..." A moment of silence grew tense, riddled with discomfort on the chinobo's end. He really disliked being touched. 'We will find him.'

Slate was unsure if the male had the same premonition as he, but at the moment he did not care. He grunted aloud and nodded, turning himself back earthward and soaring down, catching himself gracefully with his powerful arms and launching himself forward. For the time being, he would distract himself. It was the only thing he really could do at times like this.

Perhaps they could not retrace the buck, but for now, they could hunt squirrels. Slate drew his bow, posture straightening just as he had seen Krissa do, and he let an arrow fly. The rodent he had been aiming for soared to the ground from where it had been collecting wads of dead leaves for a nest, one it would never return to again. Tyler, in the mean time, slid down toward the ground and collected what he could, stashing away along the satchel at his side, removing the arrows with careful hands and returning them to their marksman as he returned back down to earth. The constant cycle was mechanical, the three falling into a pace that could only be compared to cogs in clockwork, working in tandem to bring home as many they could. Hopefully Ilam's party was fairing better.

He wouldn't allow himself to think back to those late summer days they'd both press to the sopping-wet leaf-litter, among the vegetation and insects, listening to the steady thud of hooves as they waited for their moment to spring and startle the herd into heading eastward- back when there would be no sound and all he could hear was their mingling respiration, excitement buzzing off her in a contagious zeal. Krissa had always been an eager huntress. He remembered milestones, such as the first time he had taught her to skin and gut an animal, or the day they had quietly documented different types of markings, such as bobcat or bear. He even remembered watching her try her hand at swinging... which unfortunately hadn't worked out so well. To say that he missed her was an understatement, and for that he felt like a complete and utter fool.

The pines swayed and creaked between gusts of wind. From down below, Rocket and Tyler waited in the undergrowth, their sights set on a rather oblivious rabbit. Slate hadn't seen one in ages, but he certainly wasn't going to begin to question the laws of nature. With a graceful draw, the ape took a deep breath and fired, missing it just by an inch as it embedded itself into the tree just a hair's-length above its quivering backside. He had missed. Missed. He never missed.

Krissa never missed, Koba noted softly. It was as if he were speaking in apology to him, a kind change from his usual snicker or sneer. How silly- the woman had missed many times before. Not after her practice with you. You tutored her.

The fuzzy animal panicked and darted away, thankfully straight into Rocket's hands. There was a faint crunch as he snapped the creature's neck, silencing the high-pitched squeal it emitted upon impact. His head then turned up in his direction, eyes narrowed and head tilted in question. 'Lose your aim?' Tyler teased, earning a glower from both males. His teeth bared in amusement and he chuckled. The dusty chimp could tell that there was something the matter, just by how Slate's eyelids had fluttered subconsciously. He never missed.

Crack! The explosion of gunfire shook Slate right out of his trance. A shrill hit the air, rising in tempo and joined by multiple others, indicating danger. The entire forest grew silent and the trio immediately flew into action, rushing toward the sound with their own excited calls adding to the cacophony. They were brought to a steep slope, the sound of keening vocals feeding Slate's dread. A body laid among the needles, bleeding and motionless, protected by a rather distressed bonobo in Cornelius' war paint. Two gorillas struggling together arm in arm, a battle of fists and teeth, crimson glistening fresh; another was beating a whimpering orangutan. Another shot and their own fell, cut down in a spray of claret.

Coal dragged himself pitifully toward the fallen ape and his frightened companion, attempting to protect him yet nearly pissing himself in fear as he looked upon the three other apes that fell from the towering pines. Rain fell in sheets, stirring mud at their feet, bathing their arms and legs. Their leader stuck out like a sore thumb: adorning a cape-like hood, his limbs were bathed in chalky smears, his face completely hidden by the stripped heavy skull of a dear. The semi-automatic in his grasp lifted skyward, barrel pointed away from his victims. Rocket hit the earth, rolled and shot up against the nearest tree, allowing his body to shoot forward like a 150lb missile of pure brawn. He landed between the struggling hunting party, their smallest that afternoon, swinging his arms and establishing dominance.

The ominous figure stood straight on hind legs, matching the muscular chimp in height and taking him in. Slate had hung back while the standoff began, Tyler coming to brush hands with those injured, trying to nudge the corpse awake at his feet. They chattered back and forth while Rocket snarled protectively, arms wide and his frame swinging from foot to foot, prepared to die if it meant shielding his injured companions.

'You bring your guns here, you ruin our name,' Rocket signed. Thunder rumbled overhead, the distance sound of their approaching cavalry filling the silence. The ape behind the mask tilted his head as if to sneer and fired a warning shot up into the air, earning a slight flinch and a bray from the frightened youth hovering beside his tutor. Oh, Ilam.

Tyler growled, emotion deep within his eyes. Ilam had taught many youth before, and to see his mighty frame broken and limp, it really struck a chord among those present. It was a great loss. "You are a coward. Stop this before it... gets out of hand."

"You're next," a breathy, wheezy voice rattled from behind his mask of marrow. Something behind those vile, hissing tones turned Slate's gut to stone. He gritted his teeth from where he had taken up his position, standing with his brow drawn and ready to fire.

Rocket straightened, taking a defiant step closer and squaring his jaw. His thin coat rose on end, attempting to intimidate his enemy, who merely moved his head downward. 'You fire, and so does he,' he signed, gesturing off toward the chinobo, settled up in the treeline. The enemy turned his head and glanced off over his shoulder at the male. Slate narrowed his eyes and straightened out his posture, being sure to make himself visible. His grip shifted.

The ape in front of Slate's brother continued to speak with authority. 'Be wise. Put down the gun.'

"Is this what you want?" grunted Coal who lay off to the side, nursing his bleeding shoulder. His breathing was laboured, obviously on the brink of falling out of consciousness. Slate's hands and wrists were beginning to ache from the constant pressure. "To... follow... in Koba's... footsteps?"

The ape behind the mask did not move. He simply held his head cocked, looking upon the injured silver-back with hollow eyes. "If it means... restoring balance- I'll kill for him," the devil hissed, then turned his head toward Rocket, bringing the firearm up and pointing it directly toward the alpha in front of him.

The chimp's face dropped from its once steely decor, becoming that of blatant dread. Fear welled within Slate's belly and he pulled the arrow back until its feathered end tickled the side of his cheek, releasing it on a whim and firing directly at the opposed party. The arrow embedded itself into the thick hide hidden beneath his cloak, earning a snarl of rage as he staggered forward. A singular bullet escaped the gun and Slate immediately threw the bow over his head, ducking down the tree the moment his enemy swung around, firing violently in his direction. Splinters flew as lead spit out across the foliage, cracking across tree trunks and whizzing over his exposed pate.

A blast of agony engulfed the side of his skull, a high-pitch ringing filling his audits, and realising he had been grazed, the male hit the ground. For the time being, Slate remained on the forest floor, a hand clamped over his injured ear as he waited out the rain of ammunition. The wood filled with shrieks and hoots, all different in their own tone and pitch, the thunder of hooves following after. He could identify each one, which he was thankful for, seeing as he knew who he was working with. However, it was then that the enemy retreated, leaving the tribe to dash after them in clumps of multiple search parties. Slate listened as Hail swung overhead, barking at somebody to head east and for everyone to fan out.

He scrambled up: Pine couldn't make it far if he were injured, if that were really him. Slate was at a cross-roads. He could either follow his inner instinct to chase after his brother and maul him senseless, or turn himself around, come out of hiding and assess the situation... as well as help bury their dead. With a frustrated slam of his fist, gouging the muddy browning leaves beneath him, the simian hauled himself up and knuckled out into the open clear, immediately met with the sight of Tyler and an orangutan trying to help support Coal, who was growing weak from the loss of blood within his flank. Further down the slope, Rocket was gripping the side of his head, hunched over Ilam. The balding ape and his companion had always been close friends, as thick as thieves, especially after Caesar's passing.

Sure, Maurice was wise and you could confide in him, but at the end of the day, sometimes the elderly orangutan could become too philosophical, and one would want to escape to the natural, more brutish side of their clan. Slate hurried quickly to the male's side, speaking to him in a rasping voice. "It was him." The world felt as if it were tilting sideways when the chimp faced him. His left eye was clotted and bloodshot, half of his ear blasted off. Despite his current state, however, as he looked at the younger male, he reacted with the same exact expression. They had both been struck by a bullet, albeit Rocket at closer range. "He was here. He's alive."

"And growing stronger," intoned Cornelius, just breaking away from a hasty order with their final tracking party. The anger was apparent in his eyes, churning behind his emerald irises and turning them electric. Slate would have been surprised by this, if not for his own growing fury. 'He has killed his own kind, broken sacred ape rules. He will strike again.'

The horses whickered nervously, agitated by their energy. Maurice, hulking as ever, slumped to the ground from the back of his steed and landed with a huff. 'He is wounded, thanks to Slate's shot. Means he's weak,' reasoned the orangutan. 'He might try again, but he won't come unprepared. We must discuss the future outcome, Cornelius. All of us.'

"He cannot get away," Slate insisted. "We cannot... sit idle."

'And we won't,' Cornelius insisted, jaw setting as he glanced between his two friends. 'Give me time to think on this.'

"Cornelius," Rocket piped, lips stirring tightly between syllables. 'I follow you devotedly, just like I did Caesar, but this is only going to lead to war.'

A deep sigh escaped Maurice. 'The cycle may continue.'

Something within Slate's chest trembled, hoping that he was not implying that Pine was capable of starting a mass genocide. His mind wandered back toward his spear, Koba's spear, and he wondered what would have truly happened if he had handed it over to his brother for him to keep. Not only that, but something else nagged at him. Since the beginning, he had always studied the red hair wrapped around the weapon's handle. Was it a symbol? Had he intended to keep it there? Was it a war-trophy from an unsuspecting victim, or was there more to it? Hair had sentiment: whenever one of their stallions would pass away, its rider always had the option of keeping a few locks of hair. Was this a memorial?

There was so much to Koba's past that it was dizzying.

"We can't... let it happen," Slate implored once more, eyes shutting tightly as he curled his lip against the throbbing pain in his ear. He could feel the blood pulsing out of it, feel how hot it had grown and the like. He was missing a rounded, gnarled chunk from the upper cartilage, directly where a helix could have been placed- if he had chosen to get another. 'First Krissa, now Ilam, Coal. Even you Rocket!'

'Krissa was human, we could all see that he hated her for that,' Rocket gestured, becoming slightly frustrated with Slate. Outraged, his eyes flashed, but he allowed the male to continue with his spiel. 'It was only a matter of time.'

"She was our family!" the chinobo snarled, rising to full height next to his superior. 'She's out there, vulnerable, somewhere, and with him running loose, she's in danger again. We all are. Nobody is safe.'

Maurice raised his hands, attempting to aid in the situation by trying to douse the growing flames that licked behind Slate's burning eyes. Both males turned their heads and loosened their rigid shoulders. 'Human, ape- none of it matters to Pine. He's out for blood. This is no time to divide it between species, Rocket.'

'You weren't here,' Rocket protested, gestures becoming violent now. He huffed and his nostrils flared, hand coming away from his disfigured audit and flitting through the air. 'He said he would kill in Koba's name. He's out of control, lost his mind.'

'He said it in his own words,' Tyler added, glancing nervously between the conversing males.

A burble of warning escaped the orangutan, only to be silenced completely by Cornelius' rumbling pant-chuffs. They were assertive and powerful, resounding through the clearing. "Enough arguing. We need to get... our wounded.. home."

Slate huffed angrily and ducked his head, offering a bloodied hand to his elders in submission, attempting to apologise for his brazenly forward comments. His lungs expanded in his chest and he glowered down at the ground.

The army returned home in the mean time, patients preparing to be examined as they were flooded with curious and mortified faces. Cornelius was preparing to speak with those in the clear once he had consulted his counsel, and although Rocket was a member, he understood that his safety came first. Besides, the sutures and bindings wouldn't take too long. Up the ramp they went, until they wound right up along the tree's fan and into the entrance of the Medicine Tree. Slate was abruptly pulled aside by a warm hand, earning a surprised pant-hoot, teeth flashing accusingly. His entire being was on end and all he could think was kill, kill, kill.

Harm, stab, cut, bash. Giving his attacker a shove, he was immediately responded to with a cuff across the back of the head, and he winced.

Pain resonated through his skull, so deep in fact that it ached within his teeth, his gums, his tongue. He shot the ape in question a vile glare, only for his face to fall slack. Poppy stood before him, dusky gaze fixed on his with enough potency to choke a horse. The mask she wore protected her snout, giving away her exact location all this time. Sparrow and Shell had been tutoring her after all. Surprised, his features softened slightly, although he still remained unimpressed.

'Stupid,' she signed gently, pulling him off to the side so she could work on him. Tinker had already brought over the soaked moss and the two began to sop up some of the blood. He had to admit, he was feeling a bit light-headed, but he was unsure as to whether it was because of the loss of claret or the smouldering rage burning in his chest.

The silence was horribly deafening as he pulled off his long bow and quiver, setting them aside so they were out of the way of possible prying hands. Members of the colony curiously peered inside, most likely concerned for loved ones, husbands and children alike. Tinker finally finished, granted not without earning a few discomforted grunts from the male, and Poppy took over, cleaning the crimson from his face and neck. He could feel her eyes probing at his face for something, but he did not know what. Slate tilted his cranium to the side, trying to avoid them as best he could, only for her hand to grip his jaw and twist his head back so she could examine for any other wounds. Her movements were light and tender, yet got the job done, unlike Sparrow or the others. His sister had a natural gift.

"Was it really him?" she breathed softly, drawing his attention. Their eyes locked in an intense stare-down. Should he really tell her? Where would he begin? He would want answers first. Was she willing to give them? Slate, a bit bewildered by her sudden inquiries, nodded gently.

'We think,' he motioned apprehensively. Another stale bought of silence filled the gap. Slate took a deep breath and shut his eyes, speaking carefully, feeling as though he were walking on eggshells. "He... killed Ilam, shot Rocket, Coal."

The female tensed and paused her work. 'You're okay, though?' she signed.

Slate fought the urge to respond with a nasty, "do I look okay? I'm bleeding." Instead, he merely screwed up his face and wrenched his jaw, rolling his head on its joint. "Could be worse," he replied.

'No, I mean, here.' Her hand found his head, tapping her fingers lightly across his forehead. The chinobo flinched slightly and looked at her in question. Poppy looked upon him with a grave look of worry, yet nonetheless all the stubbornness of their own mother. Her chin tucked up and she grunted softly, lips parting. Her lingering touch found his chest, indicating his heart. He couldn't fight the wave of vulnerability that washed over him. It was embarrassing to know that she could see right through him. 'Are you okay, here?'

His hand moved to brush her own away. "Fine," he rasped. 'I am fine.'

'We haven't spoken for days, but whenever I see you, you're always thinking.' Poppy's eyes darted away and she moved to apply yarrow pulp, coating her fingers in the substance and rubbing it into the wound. Slate bristled and stiffened, chuffing and huffing in complaint. Once she was finished, the male shook his head, a fuming breath hissing out from between his teeth. He continued to remain stagnant, allowing Poppy to slather the side of his head in lamb's ear. Coal's cries filled the small space as they began to try and remove the bullet from his body. Both of the siblings flinched, then exchanged a glance.

Something unspoken was exchanged between the two. 'She's probably okay, you know,' Poppy consoled, ashen browns warming him slightly from the inside, it seemed. He had always been able to find comfort in her, like an old friend, not just a sibling. An emotional breath escaped through his nostrils and she pulled him into an embrace.

"What if she... isn't?" Slate muttered into his sister's face, their brows pressed to one another in a supplicating gesture on her part. Poppy took a step back and searched his steely mask, trying to read him. He withdrew into himself once more and his gaze fell.

'You regret it?' Her movements caught his eye and he offered a slant. His brows pinched in confusion. 'Letting her go?'

A pang of grief washed over the male, a flood of memories washing over him; golden sun and freckled caramel skin, unruly black curls, long limbs. Her voice, her gestures, her body language: it was all right there, before his eyes - or at least had been, until Pine's decision to sever their already crumbling bond, all with the pointed end of his spear. Slate swallowed thick in his throat. He had always had a hard time when it came to conveying emotion. It was difficult to put a voice to how he felt. At least right now, while Poppy was open to talk, while they were ignoring the elephant in the room, he could speak his mind.

'Every minute,' he responded numbly. The smaller simian to his right shifted her weight and remained as silent as the grave.

'And you loved her?'

Since he had found her, he had known. Subconsciously, he had understood it had been more morbid curiosity than duty to follow after Krissa, to keep watch on her. He understood that she was harmless, but instead of abandoning his post, he explored deeper, even going to such lengths as befriending her. However, if one were to ask him when exactly it had happened, when he had fallen, he would be unable to give an exact answer. Perhaps it had happened while they were hunting, or when she had read to him that eve by the fireside. Maybe it had even come to develop while she had been healing after his infant brother had passed away, or during the morning of the funeral, when they had been standing at the child's graveside, her paw curling around his arm and wrist, resting there comfortably.

It had blossomed into something more and more each moment of every passing day: the conversations over a crackling hearth with his sister or Maurice or Salt present, even at times while they were out for their morning lessons, off somewhere deep in territory with just the two of them to keep one another company. Slate considered himself to have been oblivious, his own heart refusing to accept the way it palpitated whenever she would smile at him, especially when he was high on adrenaline after a successful hunt, strutting in proudly while brandishing Koba's spear and the pelts he had caught. There were those moments of constant touching, of physical contact, that he didn't mind- in fact, on some occasions, he actually sought out her comfort. It was impulsive and strange and messy. A glance, a brush of fingers or limbs, hovering over her shoulder or resting in the same branch together as they listened to courtship or coming-of-age ceremonies.

His adoration for this beautiful creature sent him up the wall, through the moon, suffocating on starlight. That was horribly poetic, but it was the only way he could possibly describe his feelings. It was exhausting and draining, and yet fuelled him to pry himself from his nest every morning, to fight harder, to think quicker. It blinded him, such as when he had charged into battle against his own brother, prepared to gut him, to maim, to crush.

'Yes,' he signed, breathless. Yes he loved her, he still did.

'Why didn't you tell her?'

"How could I?" he vocalised, head whirling to face Poppy. She was watching with a slightly arched brow. She did not seem impressed.

'Using your words,' she retorted, tilting her head. 'Wouldn't have been that easy?'

'Our father despised humans as a whole. Pine would have-'

"Why is this about... him?" Poppy interrupted, silencing those words still stuck in his throat. 'Father is dead and Pine made you into a stupid meat-head. You just followed him like a sheep, and it was dumb. You were your own ape then, and now that he's gone, you are more you now than I've ever seen you.' The medic slipped from the surface of the bedding beneath them and hovered in front of him, pretending to check his scalp so nobody would bother her to start working again. It was hectic already, she probably was not used to so many patients. Slate remained baffled by her statement. 'You aren't our father. You aren't Koba. Pine isn't either, but he's turned himself into him, thinking that's the only way things must be. That Koba must live on, and humans and apes must fight, kill.'

Slate wavered, staring at her now with parted lips. His curiosity was now gnawing at his innards until they forced their way up his gullet. "What did he say to you? To... get you out in the rain.. that night?"

Her confidence shrank and she was suddenly the size of a vulnerable female once more, her shoulders tightening. The question hung in the air like a hovering vulture. Poppy's conflict was visible in her eyes. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. The shaman's head shook softly, refusing to speak on the matter any further. 'Rest.'

It took everything within the raven simian not to lose it on his sibling. 'Did he threaten you?' She hesitated, clearly still uncomfortable as she moved the supplies away, as if she were wondering if it were worth the risk. Alarmed, Slate rose slightly from where he sat.

"Poppy," he growled, asserting his dominance as her older sibling. "Tell me."

She then fell to her knuckles, carrying the wooden bowl in one hand while supporting her weight with the other. Poppy disappeared and did not return, leaving Slate to question the authenticity of her words. Slate sighed.

As the chinobo moved to return outside, he couldn't fight the anxiety that washed through him, wave after wave. There were so many questions and so many queries he had, but one thing rang true in his mind.

War was coming once again.

And he would need Krissa at his side.