"Find anything?"

"Nothing, Rask."

"Y'got a swollen eye, mate."

"So?"

"How'd you get it?"

"I met a local."

"That so? You and 'em have a nice chit-chat?"

"Something like that."

Nothing interesting happens the next day, or the day following that one. Planning, hunting, gathering, with little success. On the second day I return to the clearing, but no one's there. Rask seems to take it in jest, but I would like nothing other to forget it.

I didn't mean to get into a fight on the first day in Mossflower. I mean, I gained satisfaction from the scrap and setting things straight, but I don't feel like I had to.

That otter went into the day with a preconception that I was a thug and criminal scum. I proved his opinion wrong by trying to dislocate his shoulders.

What a charming beast I am.

About a week in, we've struck gold. By that, I mean we've succeeded in a hunt for once.

It's a wounded bird. Of what species, I don't know, but it arrives in the camp tied with an arrow through a wing. It's writhing madly and snapping at anything near. It pecks ravenously at the rat unlucky enough to drag the bird by a rope, in a blur of talons and black feathers.

Us members of the camp, we just stare. I'm watching, not sure what to think. Few of us do, and as a result we watch,

Watch and see this bleeding bird shrieking like a banshee and jerking around at breakneck speed, each individual spasm like a boat crash.

"Good fight, ah?" Someone sniggers from the crowd. A few murmur in agreement before the bird tosses itself in their direction, causing them to scatter.

A rat to my left whistles in admiration.

Now, the rat who has been hanging on this rope, poor being that he is, cries out for help. At this point, he's more wrapped in rope than the avian is, and is dragged across the clearing mercilessly. The bird crashes into a tree with a shallow thunk and stops dead in its tracks, silent. Yet the day is pierced with the rat's despairing scream as he's jerked forward by the rope. He skids across the ground, kicking up dirt and patches of grass before bouncing violently to a stop, moaning.

The camp bursts into applause.

The rest of that day was fairly tame compared to the previous events. The rat who got tossed around, his name was Clove. But now he's Rag, like the ragdoll thrashed about in the sunlight. Saw, he says that all Rag does now is lament about how that dumb bird didn't off him when it could.

The bird, I haven't seen much of it since the incident. Until now, where we're preparing it to eat.

You wake up in the morning as the apex predator and find yourself about to be torn alive.

This bird now is tied to a stake. I'm figuring his warped, tied wings have all been broken. Will, not so much. It ferociously snaps at any nearby creature, which is a bit of a problem, since the bird has been tied up in essentially the centre of camp.

Everyone's gathered up, watching this creature thrash. It howls and curses at us, and some of the crowd spit taunts and throw rocks at it, but no one moves to get close.

"Th' hell are we waiting for?" Hisses Rask, who is aggressively wiping his blade with fabric, save the fact that it's completely clean from my view. "Can't eat with your sight, can y'?"

"Dantalion's still in his tent," someone from behind us mutters.

"Then get him!"

"You do it if it bothers you so much, mate."

A not-so-gentle shove forward follows. Rask spins around to see his rival, but an ermine grabs him from behind.

"Take it easy," she says.

A brief though passes through my mind about not knowing any females that had made the trip, but now Rask is pulling me ahead.

"C'mon, let's get Dantalion."

"Woah there, Rask. Who are we to dictate whenever Dantalion makes his rounds?"

"Shut up, fox. This won't even take long and he won't be upset when we expl'n th' situation."

Then we're stepping past beasts in the direction of Dantalion's quarters. This means past that bird, too- and it takes notice, furiously throwing itself at us.

Rask takes exception to this.

"Leave it alone, he's on the stake anyway," I say as gruffly as possible. Rask, it takes him a moment to stop glaring at the mad bird. Finally, he spits, then turns back around.

Even as we walk away I feel as if that bird's talons are only inches away from tearing into my back. I sneak a glance backwards. It is silent but still stares at me. I see more disgust than rage in those runny, onyx black eyes.

Any rage on Rask's face has been flushed away, as we're on the proverbial doorstep leading to Dantalion's tent. For a moment, I think that this isn't a good idea, and that I should probably head back. Who am I to rush-

"Hark."

"Sire... I mean, thine lord," Rask has gone from quick-tempered rascal to stuttering buffoon in seconds flat, no doubt trying to find the words to come off as honorable.

"There is no need for titles, fellow beast. Be at ease," a deep, commanding voice rings out from the tent. "We are all equal here."

Out steps Dantalion, mad wildcat, genius to his followers and a manipulative bastard to his detractors, out steps he in common garb, with a defined limp and circles under his eyes. He looks less and less like the revered and mythical captain and more and more like anybeast, save for the eye scar and silver rings piercing his left ear. He is definitely not the strange, intense leader he was on the voyage; no, he has changed as sudden as the seasons.

"Rask," he says simply, in a tired kind of voice, then turning his head to me. "Landeskog," he says.

"Sire," I reply.

"No need for titles," Dantalion states again, ears slightly twisting in distaste, and for a split second I see a flash of the old feline. Then, it's back to this rapidly-aged identity. "There is nothing that separates me from any of you. I'm just as mortal as anybeast. I have one life-"

He's cut off by an ear-piercing squawk. Dantalion's expression is one of exhausted confusion; he leans past Rask (who's head is buried in his paws) to gaze at the clearing with a "what now" look. Fearing for the worst, I turn back to the centre of camp,

One of the rodents, a gangly rat with long whiskers and a bandana, is trying to set fire around the bird- to roast it alive. This bird, very clearly, is unhappy at this and has resumed its feathered frenzy, freely pecking away and clawing at anything near. The rat is cut under the eye from being raked with talons. Not long after this, a peck to the bottom of his chin has him cry out and stumble away, eventually falling down in the crowd with both paws wrapped around his neck. The bird shrieks out again, a raw, primal scream that would have shredded the vocal cords of any lesser being, one full of despair, frustration and pure and utter contempt.

Dantalion gives out a half hiss, half sigh and brushes past us, heading straight for the avian. Rask and I try to follow him, but we're cut off by the throng of beasts trying to surround Dantalion. Rask curses and disappears in the mass of fur and teeth, looking for a way out. I crane my neck over the heads in front of me.

There is a weasel with a large stick antagonizing the bird, when I see a familiar figure almost sliding through with a hip check to send the weasel stumbling back into the crowd. The figure straightens up, eyes suddenly blazing.

"Enough."

Dantalion is suddenly the legend he is, and a second later he's a tired-looking bandit. Nonetheless, he captivates like no one else can- even the bird on the stake is quieted.

So he's still got it.

For some reason, I think of my mother. And solar flares.

What?

It concerns me for a moment, but only until Dantalion begins speaking again. This time to the bird.

"What is your name?" He beckons softly, a far cry from the blunt, bold voice he used but seconds ago,

The bird, it tries to howl again, but the voice isn't playing along. Finally, slowly, gratingly, it growls, "My name is Aerien, kin of l'oiseau Siku."

"Aerien," Dantalion repeats. "You are a resident of this land, no? Mossflower?"

And Aerien, feather and fury that he is, rasps, "You no-good vermin!"

Wild-eyed and snapping, defiantly proud all while looking so pitiful. Somehow, deep inside, it pains me to see it this way. A part of me wants to see this bird spreading jet black wings over the skies of Mossflower.

Another part of me wonders how it'd look with its head on a stick.

I'm sorry, but it's only natural.

Dantalion crouches, head tilted. "Yes, us vermin. We who..."

Then gives a shrug.

"I suppose I cannot say the actions of those before me reflect who I am. I will not."

The wildcat stretches into a standing pose again, now face-to-beak with the bird Aerien.

"All your life, Aerien, your perception of beasts like me- cold blooded killers, liars, thieves, your perception is both accurate and horrifically wrong."

"Wrong," Aerien echoes sarcastically.

"You don't respect me, do you?"

"No," Aerien growls again. The setting sun seems to burn down on him, bathing the flier in a sickly orange glow.

"Which is my fight." Dantalion wraps his arm around the bird's neck, loosely hanging as if he were embracing a friend. "Tell me, Aerien, kin of l'oiseau Siku, would Mossflower be a better place if beasts such as I and my crew were gone?"

"Yes," the crow coughs, voice horse and clipped. "Kill you, beasts like you, much better place."

"A better place," muses Dantalion, who is seemingly relaxed with this bird, at ease as if around friends. "Yet I envision a world even greater than that."

Other arm wrapping around this bird's neck.

"No vermin, no criminals, no undesirable beasts. For there would be no undesirable beasts. Everybeast, in the ground, the sea, and air; all are equal and free to live. No more roles and ideals decided upon birth that hinge upon your species. Everyone truly would be equal."

"And that," Dantalion finishes, voice creaking, "would be a much better place, am I correct?"

The entire camp bursts into applause.

Aerien says nothing, as his spasms have become less frequent. Soon enough, he starts to go limp in the makeshift vice grip being applied.

"No doubt, every revolution has sacrifices made along the way."

Letting go of the bird, who simply leans off to one side, Dantalion moves to walk away- then suddenly turns around and plants a kiss on the dying creature's head, right above the right eye.

In a suddenly raw voice, he speaks.

"I knew you'd understand."