CARROW

The night was illuminated by the full moon high in the clear starry sky, constellations cluttered to blue-black abbess of its vast expanse. Deep in the forest, Carrow padded along his long pointed ears raised in alertness. All he could hear was the songs of the nightly critters and bugs echoing from the looming trees. Carrow’s steps were light and silent on the underbrush as he naturally avoided twigs and other debris. Narrow, clear golden glowing eyes guided him effortlessly into the unknown territory.

Carrow was not sure if he was in the packs territory yet or not; he had been following the scent of the pack for days now and only tonight had he found the edges of their land. He had hoped to run into a patrol or a lone guard by now, but there had been no such luck, the day and sank away without a sign of any other wolf. He had not planned on investigating their scent nor actually finding their territory, but an ach to rid himself of this loneliness pushed him onward.

Carrow was not like other wolves, he technically was not even a wolf. His body was smaller, and fur not as thick or coarse. Carrow’s father had been a dog from a man village and his mother had been a wolf, this left Carrow at, what he considered a disadvantage. At a young age, Carrow had been taught that he was different and not wanted by other wolves or even by humans; he had tried to integrate into a village but was chased away. Therefore, he was alone, and had been for a long time.

A snapping branch made Carrow stop, one paw raised in a half step he listened intently. Nose twitching, but only the smell of pine trees filled his nostrils. “Hello? Someone there?” he asked into the night air. 

The rainforest was everything she had dreamed of and more.

It was noisy and busy, almost claustrophobic in its essence when compared to the peaceful woods that she had been born in. Mother's stories had been true, for the most part. There was no volcano, however, so that'd just have to be something that was left to the imagination. But there was an abundance of life and activity from every level - she'd found giant red ants that scuttled across the ground and up the tree trunks. Strange little creatures - monkeys, she thinks they are called - hung lazily from the branches with one arm before swinging away. Birds of every colour squawked in the tree tops, certainly an improvement from the now dull pigeons that she used to chase as a child.

She found a particular beauty in the fallen branches that had become tangled in the vines between the trees. They had been hanging there for so long that moss had grown and swarmed it as the wood rotted away beneath it.

She felt like she was home. But maybe that was because there was a familiar scent in the air, faint against the onslaught of new smells. It was only when she wandered towards the springs did she spot him - and when she did, she bolted forward in a sprint. Leaping through the air, she aimed to playfully slam into her brother, knocking them both into the water. The only warning he would get of her surprise would be a single bark: "Illy!!"

Her head popped out of the springs as she laughed, water falling from the leaf upon her head (which, mysteriously, had not fallen off). "What are you doing here?" She reached out with a paw to tap him on the snout. "Silly Illy! Did you follow me here?"

It wasn't often that Wren had nightmares anymore. At least, nightmares that pertained to the war. She didn't wake up feeling as if she was soaked to the bone with blood, her pale fur stained red. It wasn't often that she tried to fight her way, kicking and sobbing, from her partner's grasp, choking on the air in her lungs as her chest heaved and the dying cries of her peers singing in her ears. No, she didn't break the gentle quiet of the dark nights often anymore. Nowadays, it only happened once every few weeks or so, far fewer than when she had them almost every other night. But that didn't stop her other nightmares, the featherless Aviari almost always waking up in the middle of the night.

If she were honest when others asked, she'd admit that she couldn't remember the last time she'd slept soundly through the night. But she was never honest when they asked.

Her nightmares weren't as bloody anymore, less about the war. Now they were about Ragnarok, almost always about Ragnarok when they weren't about her failures and the disappointment of her family. She dreamt that he was leaving her, as he often threatened, and he wouldn't come back. She would be on the ground, crawling after him and begging him to stay like the piteous creature she knew herself to be. He would never turn, never even send her a glance. He'd just keep walking and she would keep crying, tears falling to the dusty ground as she lost him. It was those nightmares that sometimes frightened her more than those she had about the war.

Other times, it was about the Crystallines and their disappointment in what she'd become. She'd dream of their cold, pale eyes looking down at her as she trembled beneath the heavy weight of their gazes. They'd whisper and, god, did she hate how they'd whisper. They'd whisper about her lack of feathers, snickering as they pondered if Xiuhcoatl spared her of what ugly feathers she might've ended up with had they grown in. Or they'd whisper about her relationship with Ragnarok, how foolish she was to be with him. "But then again," they'd remind themselves, "only an Obsidian could love her."

The night prior, it had been the latter of the three. She had woken up, breathing quick and short, slipping away so she could get just one gulp of fresh air. Helena, her chinchilla, was always quick to wake up and climb up her leg to sit amongst her soft, downy fur. And then, having taken her fill of the night air, she'd have returned to her partner and wormed her way back into his grasp, experienced at the action after doing it so much, falling asleep once more.

Just at the cusp of day, she woke again. Though, this time, her breathing was not harsh and quick. It was still dark, dawn just about to break free from the suffocating grasp of night. She looked over at Ragnarok's sleeping face, which, at the moment, appeared peaceful. It was so unlike from the usual sour twist of his features, such a stark contrast that if she were any person other than herself she might have been surprised. But she wasn't surprised, allowing herself the smallest, softest smile. It was these tender moments that she loved the most. Leaning forward, she pressed her muzzle into his fur to wake him. As much as she'd like the moment to last longer, she knew that the day had to start at some point.

k a x l a n

Word got around fast.

The birds sang and the Aviaris whispered. He's arrived. The chosen one. Our new king.

The Roc felt an overwhelming sense of suspicion, even betrayal. Who was this new leader and what made him worthy? Kaxlan was mostly surprised that it happened as quickly as it did. She heard of his promotion in the same breath as she'd learned of his arrival. While others were viewing this as a blessing, some sort of gift from the stars, the Obsidian felt as though it gave her enough reason to be defensive. It didn't feel right.

Through the use of bargaining, threatening, and persuasion, Kaxlan got a pair of parrots to share that fellow Aviari Miriam had taken part in the new leader's trial. It was Miriam she set out to see today, wherever that obscene Crystalline was hiding.

Because Kaxlan was so magnificent, finding Miriam was not a problem. Confronting her seemed to be more of a chore.
While clearing her throat, the small Aviari stepped towards her pastel packmate. "Miriam," The greeting was flatter than days-old pepsi. Miriam wasn't as dreadful as most Crystallines, judging by the miniscule number of instances they've interacted, but being overly excited may inflate her ego. That wasn't necessary. "A little birdy shared you've met with our new Phoenix, is it true?"