CAUTION: Spoils aspects of Innocent Hopes, Twisted Realities, as well as aspects of When Nothing Remains and Usurpation of the Darkness up to and including chapter 20.

Seriously, major spoilers here.

Assuming you wish to continue, read on…

Background: Root's a fun side character, isn't he? He's not obviously necessary to the story of Usurpation of the Darkness at any point save perhaps in the runup to the obvious, but I wouldn't want to remove him or his character development. He serves a lot of minor purposes that would otherwise go unattended, always there to help with theming, pacing, and contributing to the larger diversity of personality and thought within his pack, evolving parallel to Lily to provide one of several windows into the effects she's having on the people around her at various removes.

Also, him and Storm. Not in the original plan, but it worked so well as a mostly out-of-sight thing that I was happy to develop it. A lot of Root's part of the story developed organically, as opposed to being planned, come to think of it. He's the definition of a supporting character.

The following is old, it's canon, more or less, and it is Root. That's all I can really say about it. Like Root himself, in the grand scheme of the larger story it isn't necessary… but I sure do like that I wrote it.

Root loved the night. When the sun was out, he could run and play and hide and fish and glide. Those things were all good, and he would miss them if he was not allowed to do them. But when the stars came out he could listen, and see in his mind things altogether more interesting than any number of fat flat-headed fish or close chases of other fledglings.

At night, his Sire and Dam told him stories, and his mind flew with their words in ways unlike anything he could do during the day without being caught, stopped, and thoroughly scolded.

"There was a small light wing who lived in a hole in the ground," his Sire began one night. The words were familiar; many light wings lived in holes in the ground, when they could not have a cave or a rock in a valley or any of the things the light wings around Root had. But no two stories were ever the same, no matter how similarly they might start.

"He flew as much as he could and was proud of his wings, proud of the strength with which they held him aloft," his Sire continued. "He could fly from sunrise to sunset and then through the night if he wished. Only the need to sleep and eat forced him down to the ground, and as time passed he began to resent even that necessity. His den did not even smell of him, he was so often away."

His Dam whined and held him closer. Root tried to squirm away, but his efforts were futile. He was not going anywhere, so he did not see why he was being punished for his Sire's story.

"He would proclaim to everyone he met that his wings were the strongest of them all, and this seemed to be true to all who knew him," Root's Sire continued. "But one night, far from his abandoned den, lightning struck him out of the sky."

Root ignored his Dam's tightening grip, caught up in the story.

"He lived, and he landed safely, but his wings were scorched and twitching too much for him to take to the air again," Root's Sire continued, his voice low and intriguing. "So he walked, for many days and nights, back to his den. He had not been there in so long, but he needed it now, and a hole in the ground could not get up and leave."

But what if it could? Root wondered what a hole with wings would look like. If a hole could fly, what would happen to a light wing who flew into it? Would they crash, or would the light wing fall in?

"He walked and walked, but in the end he realized something." There was a dramatic pause. "His den had not moved, but he no longer knew how to find it. His territory did not smell of him, nobody around knew exactly where he lived, and the home he had neglected had fled his memory. His attachment to the sky killed his connection to the ground, because he focused exclusively on one and thought not at all of the other, but in truth he needed both. Without a den, he lived through an excruciatingly cold cold-season, and afterward, when the tremor in his wings went away, he was not so strong in the sky anymore."

"What did he do?" Root asked.

"What did he do?" His Sire looked up at the star-studded sky above them for a little while, before looking back down at Root. "Well, he dug a new den. Out in the open, in a place obvious from far away, so he would never again forget how to get back. Then he went back to flying as much as he possibly could to work his strength back up to where it had been. Just because you or I learn a lesson from his mistakes does not mean he did, and it does not mean he learned the right lesson!"

"Flare!" his Dam exclaimed, incensed. Root chuckled as his constricting confines lifted, his Dam gone to chastise his Sire. "That was not an appropriate story, what if he gets ideas?"

"He is twice as likely to get them now that you have made a fuss of it," his Sire grumbled.

Root had no intention to go flying every day, he liked the sky but not that much. The story, though… That was good. "I want another story!"

O-O-O-O-O

Root's response to the first time he was told he was getting too old for nightly stories was, in hindsight, extremely immature. A mature fledgling would not have whined, begged, pleaded, and then held his breath until his Sire relented.

The story he received that night was a short, stilted tale about a suspiciously familiar fledgling whose obsession with gliding stopped him from properly learning to fly, but Root blithely ignored the point, flush with the satisfaction of having won the fight.

Or so he thought at the time. The second time he was told there would be no more stories, the same tactics did not go over well at all. "You are too old to throw tantrums!" his Sire had snapped, even going so far as to poke him in the stomach when he tried to hold his breath, forcing him to exhale. "You will not get what you want with this, so stop."

Once he accepted the truth of that, Root did what he usually did when his Sire was trying to put his paw down. He went to his Dam.

Storytime that night was long and enjoyable, though his Sire had a peculiar near-growl in his voice the entire way through.

There was no third time, not really. Root was aware that none of his peers still badgered their Sire or Dam into telling them stories. Their mockery – mostly from Ash and Cedar – accomplished what his Sire could not, and made him reluctant to publicly continue something everyone else said was infantile. They already mocked him for how often they spotted his Dam shadowing him throughout the valley, and he had no way of making her stop doing that, so giving up something else was the only way he could get them to stop.

But he was not really giving anything up. He had his fire now, and could camouflage himself. That opened up many opportunities for a sneaky light wing with a purpose and a Dam willing to allow him the freedom to roam after dark.

Not that he had that second thing. But he could make do. Heroes did not give up just because they had to hide from their Dam every evening to slip away. They also did not give up no matter how often she pulled their ear upon their return to the family rock.

Wandering with warm scales in the dark, Root learned that not many Sires told stories worth listening to. Some did not at all, and neither did the Dams, and that was sad, but many of the ones who did were just… Not very imaginative. Sometimes it was even the same few stories on a rotation, night after night. They were short, uninteresting, and only told to lull a tired but fretting fledgling to sleep with the ever-unfulfilled promise of continuing the night's activities. Most fledglings did not have the strength of will to stay awake very long once they were still and unmoving in the dark.

He must have been different as a younger fledgling. He did not recall ever falling asleep while the story was still being told. All of the ones he remembered had proper endings.

The pawful of sand that was the other parents of the pack filtered down through his claws to those who told full stories, and then further still to those who made up new stories often enough to be worth listening to, perhaps four or five Dams and a Sire or two, depending on how charitable he wanted to be in his assessment.

Each of those who remained had their own style, their own types of stories, and Root spent his nights roaming between them, picking the one he most felt like listening to on any given occasion. None ever noticed a faint blurry shape on the ground by their rock. He had to be more wary of light wings attempting to walk through him and tripping over his body than of the light wings preoccupied with telling their stories to their fledglings.

It wasn't the same as when he was told stories by his own Sire. No, this was better. The thrill of sneaking around, more varied stories, no one there to tell him he was immature – he went out as often as he could manage, and when he was stuck under his Dam's watchful eye instead he used the wasted time to plan his next venture, or to make up stories of his own.

O-O-O-O-O

Days and nights flew by, and Root grew with the seasons. As he grew, so did his discontent. He had his stories, eavesdropped and invented in his own mind, but those were no longer enough. He felt like he was gliding through life, not actually doing anything.

His Dam had named him Root, after the dark brown of his glint and eyes. It was a simple name, and one that on the surface did not match his parents. Dam was known as Whirl, a word that meant movement, change in direction, speed. His Sire was Flare, a word that spoke to a flash of heat, of fire bursting into being.

On the surface, they seemed to be following a different path in life. He was not entirely sure that was wrong. They moved, changed, decided what they wanted and did not let anything get in the way. Living in, and changing, the moment. Reaching for what they saw.

He wasn't like that. He saw what was, but also what could be. To be called a root made sense to him, to the point where he sometimes marveled at how appropriate it was. The root was the part of the tree that anchored it in what was so it could reach for the sky.

Nobody would listen if he ever spoke like that. It didn't matter; he just saw what everyone else knew without speaking. There were a lot of unspoken truths in this pack. Untold stories, maybe even ugly stories, hidden from sight.

What interested him was almost invariably stories, and he knew all of those already, for the pack had precious few real stories to tell. The stories of what happened in day to day life were not all that good, but they were something. These trees had no stories, just like him.

But what was there to do? He was a fledgling in his fourth season-cycle. None of the females seemed particularly interested in seeking him out in the hope of securing a promise to become their mate in a few seasons.

He didn't like any of them that way, either. Maybe he was too young, or maybe they just didn't seem like the kind of person he would want to be with. He hadn't paid them much attention. Mating was not his purpose in life.

He didn't have a purpose. He hadn't done anything yet. What was worse, he saw nothing to do in the future. All he had were the little stories in his head, a loving Sire and Dam, and a pack that didn't seem to care about all that much.

O-O-O-O-O

"This is not a choice. Accept, or I take you here, now, in public, in front of everyone. They would not protest." Lily announced Claw's words clearly, her voice echoing through the valley. "Would they protest? I think better of our people. But I have no desire to scar the minds of the fledglings watching. Do your vileness in private, if it must be done."

Root felt his tail hit the stone under him, a painful impact that made absolutely no impression on his state of utter shock. Had she really just said that?

"I said nothing of the sort. But can I interpret that as a yes?" Claw asked… angrily?

Root didn't know what the rest of the pack thought. He knew what he believed, in that moment, and berated himself for not seeing it. He sought stories and thought there were none to be had here? A tragedy was taking place under his nose, and he had joined at the end.

"Interpret it however you please. That will not change the truth." Lily stepped aside and descended from the plateau, walking through the crowd towards the caverns. She was keening quietly, a sound that struck at Root like a physical blow. He had missed it. All of it.

And it was not just some made-up story. It was real, a real horror happening to a real person. A real tragedy.

To his shame, his first thought was to resolve to seek out the full story and fill in the gaps, to know all of that which had happened. There was a build-up to this; every detail shouted that this was a culmination, not an isolated event. Lily, smart and private Lily, was defying her Sire, and for good reason, but also submitting. That could be the act of a victim, or it could be the act of a tragic hero.

He didn't know. He also didn't know many other things that had happened recently. Such as, for instance, why Gold and Pearl had run off together. But that was a romance; he didn't care for those. He cared for real things, triumphs and failings, important things, big things.

He cared for the stories, but also the people. And as he kept his thoughts to himself, like always, he began to wonder who the villain of this story was. More accurately, he began to wonder who the hero would be.

O-O-O-O-O

"She had no choice in the matter," Crystal asserted angrily. "And neither did I. That's all I am going to say. There is no speaking ill of the alpha." She flew away, fleeing his probing questions.

She shouldn't be fleeing. The story ended when she submitted and stopped protesting, so she should be raising defiance, leaving the pack, doing something. Root didn't think she understood that.

What he understood, after a few weeks of questions spread out so as to not raise any attention, was that the villain of this story was Claw, plain and simple. Lily and Crystal were the victims, along with a female known as Dew, and possibly Pearl. He didn't know enough to say on that matter.

They were the victims, and if any of them were heros, he couldn't see it yet. The pack needed a hero, someone to stop the villain.

Why not him? The evil was revealed, the villain established. Thinking of life like a story was a bad way to live, but it was better than gliding through it. And if he was going to be a character, he might as well be a hero. The alternative, fading away into obscurity, maybe taking a mate or maybe not, maybe having children or maybe not, but in any case doing absolutely nothing of worth, was not acceptable.

He was a hero looking for a cause, though he'd not known it until now when he finally found one. Not only that, he could see how the story would play out. He would challenge Claw. Something would happen, a clever trick or a coincidence, and he would win.

That would make him alpha, but he didn't care about that. That was the ending, the happily ever after. All that mattered to him was the removal of Claw.

And if he failed… well, then at least he would still have a story. A familiar one, one many male fledglings could also claim as their own, but still a story. He wouldn't fail, anyway. The hero always won in the end, and usually got the female, too. He just wanted to win.

To finally do something worth remembering. Something worth telling a story about.

O-O-O-O-O

"Root!"

Root heard his name called, and knew the voice. His Dam. He landed by the pond and nodded politely to the female his Dam was standing next to. "Dam, and you are..?" he warbled curiously.

"Lily," the female said politely, though she seemed a little surprised he didn't know her.

He did know her, of course. She was one of the victims he was going to save soon, and her voice was distinctive, one he remembered instantly. Her face had slipped his mind.

"Right, sorry." Root shrugged nonchalantly. "I am bad with matching faces to names."

"But you do know me," Lily noted.

"I know you," Root agreed. "And I will say no more… yet. In a few days, expect me to say far more."

A few days, and the finale of his story. He had spent some time cutting up trees in the forest over the last few weeks, and knew he only needed one lucky shot, along with a good angle. His plan was a good one.

"And what would you say then?" Lily asked carefully.

Root shook his head. "Nothing I wish to say now."

"Nobody here will repeat your words," Lily reassured him.

"Well…" Root really didn't know what he was going to say. There would need to be a speech, a good one, but it felt like bad luck to plan the speech before the deed was done.

"I would also like to hear," Whirl announced tentatively.

His Dam wanted to hear? That was new. She and his Sire had been vehement in condemning him as a fool, and did like hearing him say he would challenge, no matter how much he tried to reassure them that he would win.

"What happened to you is not good," Root declared quietly, looking around furtively to be sure nobody else was listening. "I will defeat Claw, and when I do, you are free to do what you wish. I will not hold you to being the mate of the alpha." That was what he was fighting for, in part. The power to give those sad stories a better ending.

"Is that all you would do? Such a small thing to risk your life for," she mused

"I am risking my life for freedom," Root murmured, making eye contact with his Dam. "I will not live life wondering what could have been. If I fail, then at least I tried." That was not the whole reason, but nobody would ever understand how he saw everything as a story, how there was a rhythm and flow to life, in times like this.

"I will not argue this," Whirl said calmly. "You know where your Sire and I stand."

"And you know I have to do this." He had made that clear.

Lily warbled politely, drawing their attention to her. "I see. But what else would you do?"

"What else is there?" Root asked, confusion growing in his mind. Why was she acting as if the captivity she suffered was a small thing when it so clearly wasn't? He knew she hated it.

Or did she mean to ask what else he would do as alpha? Well… "I do not really like the idea of having multiple mates, but it is custom, and there are not enough males for them all anyway. If any really want out, I will let them go. Other than that, everything is good." He would free those who wanted to be free, and try to figure out what in the world could be done with the rest. Again, he did not intend to plan too much beyond the real challenge. The rest was just tying up loose ends.

O-O-O-O-O

The story of the Claw's downfall was not, in the end, Root's story.