Let's take a step back to the late 17th century, around a hundred years before those absurd laws were placed on the ivory-bills simply due to how others saw them as deceitful. However, instead of focusing on the United States, let us shift our attention towards a remote island right at the westernmost point of Mexico.
The island remained nameless as it was isolated from the rest of the mainland by a vast stretch of ocean. Due to this, even the locals back in mainland Mexico had little knowledge of it, and only a few ventured close enough to learn much about it. To the geographers and explorers who took note of its existence, it was known by the name of Isla Gilia.
To the average being, it was just another plain island, but to any biologist, this place was like a paradise - a place where unique species, rarely or never documented back in the mainland, coexisted with one another. Among them were a group of a caracaras. Though their appearances were similar to that of the crested caracaras that existed in the mainland, their behavior proved otherwise. Their minds, uninfluenced by the outside world, operated mainly on instincts and basic needs. For the most part, they lived as their feral counterparts had - hunting, foraging, and building nests on the ground to rest in.
Nevertheless, despite their lack of understanding of the world they were in besides their little island, a select few were touched by the curiosity of what was going on beyond Isla Gilia. Thanks to a few books that had accidentally made their way there through the carelessness of passing explorers, these individuals learnt to read and write, forming their own dialect of the language that existed in the mainland. Some particularly gifted caracaras took it a step further, writing books of their own life stories and documenting tales and legends mentioned by their elders, their work becoming a means of preserving their culture and history. Over time, they managed to gather enough resources to build a modest library and church on the island. As the years turned into decades, their small community slowly transformed, blending their inherited traditions with newfound knowledge.
However, the tranquility of Isla Gilia would soon be shattered.
During the mid-18th century, rumors of Isla Gilia being rich in resources traveled across the mainland thanks to a famous explorer who had come back after passing by the island on their voyage. Settlers, eager to exploit its potential, flocked to the island with dreams of prosperity and ambition, oblivious to the world that had already thrived there. Instead of the rich nature and biodiversity, they saw fields that could yield crops and pastures perfect for livestock.
As settlers laid claim to the land, the island's lush greenery began to vanish. The settlers' goats roamed freely, grazing on the once-untamed landscape. To the island's native inhabitants, these strange creatures were a source of curiosity. Untouched by civilization, they had never seen such animals before, and many of them began to wonder if they might be yet another potential source of food.
Unbeknownst to the settlers, their farming practices were destroying habitats for the typical prey of the caracaras, thus eliminating their primary food sources. Hungry and growing more desperate, the caracaras began to take greater risks, wandering into the settlers' fields in broad daylight to hunt unsuspecting goats. Losing their sources of economy and food as well, the settlers were infuriated at the actions of the caracaras. Armed with muskets, the settlers perceived them as horrible creatures, a blight on their dreams of wealth. Suddenly, the peaceful rhythm of life in Isla Gilia turned into a haunting cacophony of panicked squawks and gunfire. Caracaras fell before the wrath of settlers who cared only for lost livestock, their cries harmonizing with the sounds of life being extinguished, not aware of how their actions were even morally wrong in the first place. To them, the goats were just another source of food, and nothing more.
Meanwhile, a settler of the island just so happened to be a naturalist from the United States, who came to the island in hopes of recording its beauty and its settlers. Not long after his arrival, he began documenting the rich biodiversity, but the caracaras held a peculiar allure for him. Yet, one main chapter in his book would alter the fate of the caracaras forever. The chapter, specifically focused on the harmful acts of the caracaras, stated:
"The caracaras that live on the island behave in a rather savage and uncivilized way when compared to the ones that live with us on the mainland - a majority of them didn't know how to speak or read at all, and even if some of them did know how to read, as seen from the small library that they had set up on the island, their knowledge of the world outside of the island was surprisingly limited. They are cruel and vicious beings, targeting livestock in a manner that was quite ruthless - they would impale their prey with a sharp object, most often with their own talons, and watch in glee as they scream and shriek until they lose their breath. No weak spot was left unattacked, as if they knew where to inflict pain and suffering on the livestock the most. As more and more livestock were introduced, they would do this more and more often - they would even target newborns if possible, seeing them as easy prey. With chilling precision, they would lock eyes with other animals - or even with us settlers - before devouring their victim in a brutal display. It was a silent threat, a warning of what awaited anyone who dared to cross their path next. Many locals have thus described them as demons, hoping that they would leave this peaceful island for once and for all."
The naturalist, blinded by the allure of fame and the thrill of storytelling, failed to recognize the horror that would unfurl from his words.
Weeks later, during one of his occasional visits back to the United States, this paragraph sparked interest, curiosity, and most destructively, a newfound fear among locals. Tales of vicious caracaras soon swept through towns, building hysteria and prompting curious settlers to rush toward Isla Gilia in search of adventure and fortune. As more and more ships arrived, the chorus of gunfire blasted as settlers scrambled onto the island, armed with retribution. The harmonious rhythms of life faltered - caracaras fell to the ground, innocent yet perceived as monsters. In their minds, survival of the fittest became a twisted narrative, the settlers' stubborn pursuits of wealth leading them further into the abyss of destruction.
In just a matter of less than a century, Isla Gilia, once peaceful, was now a place filled with violence, as the war that the settlers declared on the caracaras just never seemed to end.
Celedonio, plotting his escape while he still could do so, watched helplessly as tragedy unfolded. He called for the others to flee toward the dense thickets of their island, but it was too late. With each failing screech, he could feel the fragile pulse of his home dimming. Carlota, his beloved mate, fluttered beside him, wings almost brushing through the air in grief as she looked at them in horror.
There was no other way for them to survive other than abandoning their homeland, engulfed in chaos.
Soon, Celedonio's raft, made mostly from driftwood and discarded nets, was complete. As night fell over the devastated island, they packed what little supplies they could gather - a few fish, some of Celedonio's books, and the memories of a homeland being suffocated in bloodshed.
With the ocean's cold breath against their feathers, they set sail towards the unknown, departing from the only life they had ever known. Celedonio looked back at the dying glow of Isla Gilia, the land that had cradled generations of caracaras, now a fading memory.
Days turned into weeks on the sweeping sea. The tumultuous waters became their only solace, guiding them toward whatever awaited them on the horizon.
"We will find a place where the sun sings for us again," Celedonio asserted, his voice unwavering despite the fatigue weighing heavily upon them.
Carlota leaned into his side, counting the stars that began to twinkle above, wishing for a better world - a refuge from the antagonism that had stolen their brethren. Together, they dreamt of a peaceful life, far away from the madness of Isla Gilia.
A rather short and descriptive chapter this time - sorry about that. Cītlalli (Lalie) will be formally introduced in the next chapter, but things will not get better for her, either. I promise something happy will happen to both Cam and Lalie soon after they grow up.