A/N: I was sure I hadn't intended this chapter to have five thousand words ;_; but I hope you enjoy.

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Being shot wasn't how Io felt it would be. It wasn't like the movies (he did recall his father renting one to watch on their shabby-looking tele back home in the village), there was no deafening bang of the gun; no shudder of pain as life escaped in the form of wispy trails—a freed soul; no. There was—for all intents and purposes—nothing.

Was there even a bullet?

After all, the sparrow felt nothing lodged in his chest. It was sort of light, before he began to think that his imagination had gotten the better of him and he had, out of sheer dream and will, grown a pair of wings.

Io was sure he hadn't jerked from the impact of the bullet—had there been one at all—and he felt instead...the most peculiar feeling of being sucked into a void.

He remembered the pistol and its black eye;

How it fixed its gaze at him, empty—

As if light would never reach the complete darkness that it held;

How many souls had it stolen?

It wasn't like the movies at all. His blood failed to splatter across the earth in the form of sacred rain or a gorgeous red carpet; no, it didn't splatter at all. He wondered what was that spilled.

And it wasn't like Death at all—but he could feel it.

Feel as if something had just scraped the surface of his cage, skeletal fingers—their nails—clinked against the bars of it; soft, demanding.

That was when Io realized that something was going to reach in.

To steal.

To crush and to destroy before it could be made anew—

Must all things come to an end?

The boy felt his fear before it was stolen and he felt as if he heard, for the first time, the strongest beat of the bird's wings inside his cage.

How loud; and frighteningly so.

After all, aren't we afraid of the monsters that we hide?

And it seemed to scare the grasping fingers of Death from the cage. They froze; as if repelled. The beat was so loud and it was getting louder, and stronger—

If we were to keep creating new things, do things still come to an end?

What are things?

Why do we care?

But Io felt for that moment just how much he truly cared;

And how he couldn't bear to just let things go.

The bird in his cage was getting loud and impatient—as if it would break free any moment; and Io did just what it willed him to do.

Perhaps he finally realized that it was this will that he had been killing; suppressing and restraining—chaining it to the ground and locking it up—

Yes.

Yes, it was him—

Just how many times had he locked it up again, and again?

And in the end;

After all this darkness and monsters—

He had the key.

He did what he had to do; he felt it unlock.

The door of the cage swung open, a soft creak that was music to his ears—and then his wings appeared.

How he spread them, he did not know. How the eyes, the ones on the ground and the one in the sky saw him—it mattered not for he was light and he could fly.

And then Io had ended the nightmare as a dream.

It felt like one—to him, very much so—for it was the repeat of the dream that he had saw time and again.

Someone was standing at the finish; a silhouette so dark, he simply could not make out.

Was it a friend—

Or a foe?

Io

did not know.

_________________________________

"It's late, dear. You should get going before its past curfew."

"I know."

The voices were piercing; like needles through his skull as he felt himself wince at the sharp pain in his temples. It was hard to control his external environment, though Io knew he could control himself. But taking the wheel wasn't as easy as others made it out to be, you know? It requires a will, too. And that will—Io did not have for the moment in time.

It was just pain and pain; and how raw it was to feel only in pain—why was he even awake? He should have continued sleeping.

Rest was such a tempting prospect at the moment, he would have given anything for a spell to make him go back to sleep.

The only catch was that he didn't just want to get back to sleep—he wanted to continue that dream.

He wanted to know who that person was.

"I understand it's tough on you," Io yearned for some peace and quiet, honestly. "Sometimes it all boils down to luck you know? These things happen. The games aren't all that fancy after all—that's the entire purpose!"

Whoever this person was speaking to, Io felt that he or she wasn't going to feel any more comforted. He was right.

"I knew that," Ah, it was a he. "It's just—both of them?"

The boy sounded perfectly irate. "This can't be just a coincidence."

In fact, the boy sounded perfectly familiar...

"Of course, of course little mynah, of course. Will you look at the time! Surely you must be feeling tired already," The other voice rattled on, which Io naturally followed was one that belonged to the head nurse, Mrs—Mrs. what, again?

"Stop chasing me to leave; you make it obvious enough Mrs. Goldfinch..." Nash snapped indignantly, and Io heard his footsteps move further away from where he was.

Still, his eyes refused to open.

He was uncomfortably aware of the way his eyeballs seemed to move in their sockets—seeking for some method of relief or a single opening to serve their purpose. The sparrow could even hear his skin; how it breathed, tight and dry, while the muscles underneath remained ever so stiff and unresponsive.

It was a horrible experience that he could not avoid or escape—no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the conversation, his body would scream a reminder of its fearful acceleration towards death.

Ah, but that was before.

At least he wasn't dead now—

Or was he?

Was this all a part of his afterlife?

How did he even differentiate it in the first place—

"Do I? My my, what a pity...I was so sure I had picked my words very well dear," Io heard the click of the door as it opened, and a hair-raising creak that was simply too loud for any good in the world. Well, his world; in the very least. Because it seemed like his world was very, very small at the moment.

Everything was so loud and angry and tired—had the world exhausted its use?

What was the use of the world?

It can't be that its creation was simply just for the sake of humans, could it?

What was so special about humans anyway?

Thinking made his head ache and groan, once again, with a throbbing beat that drummed against his temples. He felt as if his heart was in his head.

How displacing.

Disturbing—unsettling.

"Bye Mrs. Goldfinch."

"Yes dear, good night. Be sure to eat your vegetables—you look well under the weather."

"I am too much in the sun, Mrs. Goldfinch."

"Nonsense. You can never have too much sun."

"I hate the sun."

"Well then, I suppose you like the dark?"

"Not really."

Io heard a scoff.

"Then what do you like, silly mynah?"

"...nothing. I don't like anything."

"How quaintly disturbing."

"Yes, very," Nash deadpanned, and the conversation came to an end.

Io wasn't even sure whether he wanted it to continue or not. It was a fairly strange one.

The door clicked shut once again, and then—footsteps.

Io tried to picture just where, exactly, his bed—or whatever he was sleeping on—was.

It didn't work however, because he soon realized that he didn't know how the infirmary looked like at all. He hadn't been there before (which was a good thing, really, because it had been barely three months since school had started).

Wait. This is the infirmary, right?

The sparrow began to recall the dull; shadowed events that existed only in the form of the ghost of his memory. How he was not doing that earlier—he did not know.

Perhaps he was distracted. As usual.

He remembered falling. How; he couldn't recall.

There was darkness, however. It ate at his heart and blurred the edges of his vision—almost like a fading dream. Or had it been a nightmare?

But all that mattered was that it had come to an end.

What was he doing before that?

The memory was in pieces—torn, tattered. It reminded him of the state of his clothes during the games.

Was he still wearing the same thing?

The sparrow willed his limbs to move. It didn't work.

He wondered where Lyra was; whether they had been separated, or if she was recuperating in the Aviary, sleeping—resting. Just like he should be.

Io wanted so much to recall what had happened before he had—presumably—fainted, but his mind was not letting him do so. It throbbed like the heart would; and every thought squeezed painfully through a narrow bottleneck that had formed out of exhaustion.

It was when he had moved on to silently thanking his friend, the mynah, for visiting him in the infirmary (again, was he really in the infirmary?), when he heard Mrs. Goldfinch start with a fright.

She had been carrying something—a tray of some sort—and Io flinched as he heard the aluminum connect alarmingly with the floor.

"Heavens! It's you again," She said, voice sharp and indignant but even the sparrow could notice the slight tremble that she tried so hard to conceal. "How many times have I told you to enter by the door—it would really be polite to do so."

Io could hear the soft clink of metal as the head nurse gathered the clatter of...tools? First-aid materials? That were scattered across the floor.

He had tensed involuntarily at the arrival of an unknown presence, the thing in his chest picking up speed and rigor. Or was it fear?

The stranger did not speak.

"Not that you should be entering in the first place; visiting hours are long over and I will not tolerate any exceptions. Besides, you're no Nocturne. If you wanted to pay your friend a visit, I'd be grateful if you did so earlier—"

Mrs. Goldfinch had stopped midsentence, swallowing her words.

Io couldn't help but wonder why.

When she started again, she was different.

"Five minutes. And I don't know why you're still coming every night," The head nurse sighed. "He's as good as dead—it'd be a miracle if he could even open his eyes."

Hesitation.

"N-No matter," She coughed awkwardly, as if correcting herself after the pause. "You know how he's been since that night. Coming every day really makes no difference at all."

Mrs. Goldfinch cleared her throat once more before shuffling away into her office.

Io heard another door open—then close.

He was alone with the stranger.

That was all he knew, in the very least.

How he felt about that, he did not know. The sparrow could infer, however—from the two conversations—that it was most likely late in the evening. It was the time for prey to return to their dorms, safe from world vice.

Io was reluctant to accept the other conjecture that didn't sit quite well with him; the one that suggested his eternal rest in life.

How afraid the boy was to know that he, though alive, was subject to all the possible vices he could think of in that moment, and worse—he could do nothing against them.

Would this, perhaps, be the time when humans have exhausted their use?

The inability to act on their will; the presence of a mind—futile and pointless without a course of action?

The boy was scared. Any moment, the stranger might proceed to do something to him. Just why did Mrs. Goldfinch leave? Oh if he could speak how he'd list out the responsibilities of a nurse—

There was something gentle caressing his head.

Io felt the cool touch of skin against his own; in which he found strangely...comforting.

His fringe was brushed aside, leaving a soothing trail behind.

For some reason, he was lulled—perhaps by the heat, and perhaps by the gentle touch—into a still quiet. He wondered who this person was; and just when he might hear him speak.

The stranger happened to lean closer, over the sparrow; for the view underneath his eyelids dulled ever so slightly and Io realized that he found the scent quite familiar indeed.

Then, in that moment, the sparrow wondered if this was just a dream. After all, it was only in his dreams that he had no control over the flow of events. If it was, then—it all made perfect sense. The incapacitation; the voices; the pain; the clatter; the sounds; the stranger.

There was always a stranger.

Ah, could this be?

A dream in a dream?

Yes, perhaps it was.

And just when Io had come to this strange yet curiously ideal conclusion, his mind began to slow to a stop;

There was a voice,

A quiet mind that he seemed to be able to hear.

A quiet place, resting under

The st—

________________________________

When Io woke, he was in the infirmary.

There was a table—at the end of the bed, and on the table was a pouch.

A curious drawstring pouch.

Although the presence of an unknown item made him very curious indeed, the boy sorted his priorities with a feeble stretch of his arms.

He was thirsty. That, in the very least, he knew.

The ache in his back was close to unbearable—which meant that yes, he could bear with it, actually—and the question of how long he had been lying on the infirmary bed dawned on him.

He had to ask someone.

There was no calendar or indication of the specific day today was, so the sparrow made up his mind to get up and search for someone who did know.

Apart from the fact that he seemed to have forgotten how to walk, the first thing that Io fully registered was his friend on the bed beside his.

It was Pipa—

Her blonde hair framing her face; like withered petals surrounding a pale core—broken.

Worried, he stepped forth.

Although she remained perfectly still as the sparrow inched closer, he felt the serenity of the scene brush the bars of his cage.

His heart settled into a happy calm; the kind of feeling that he would have felt if she was around.

At this, Io suddenly thought that a smile-less Pipa looked strangely...sad.

He wondered where Sylvester was—whether both their Avians were safe somewhere; eating, breathing. Then his legs couldn't seem to hold out any longer.

He stumbled, falling next to the foot of Pipa's bed with a yelp.

The sound was loud enough to attract attention, and soon a shabby-looking door to his left opened with a deafening blast.

"Who—what—" Io wondered how the door did not break; and connected the dots to account for the chipped wood and various scratches on the door.

Mrs. Goldfinch rushed out of her office, dressed in old-fashioned night robes and a matching nightcap to go along.

Oh. It's midnight, Io thought vaguely, feeling sorry for the head nurse. Also, he didn't know she actually slept in her office, and wondered if she did so very often.

When her gaze finally landed on the sparrow however, she looked as if she had seen something similar to the likes of a vengeful spirit that decided to haunt the infirmary for the fun of it.

Well, of course, she screamed—but that wasn't the point to Io. He just really wanted someone to answer his questions right now, immediately, instantly; yes that would be very ideal—

"Oh God, oh what in the! Skies! Oh for the dragons and phoenixes of! Of! Who—what? What are you?"

Io naturally assumed that Mrs. Goldfinch had intended to ask 'what are you doing here' but got her sentence cut-short from some unknown source of shock (he had no clue why she was so deathly scared of him, shocked for the matter) so he replied rather calmly that:

"Um," He cleared his parched throat, voice dry.

"I'm. thirsty...?"

"No! No—that's not the point dear," The head nurse had to hold onto the handle of her office door to steady herself. She was gripping it so hard Io predicted that it wouldn't take four to five more minutes for that door to be replaced with the way things were going.

"You! You were...you, and her—both of you were...dead," Mrs. Goldfinch managed in a strangled whisper, and Io swore he would have laughed had he not been dying for water.

"Um, yes, maybe. Do you think I can have a glass of water, please?" The boy wasn't too sure whether he was whimpering already, and if not, he would have sounded perfectly pleading.

"What? Oh—yes! Of course, of course," She shuffled over to the pantry on her left, seeming quite dazed and emotionally unstable. "Just what I said exactly, a miracle, a...a miracle!"

Io couldn't hear what she was saying at all.

He wondered, for a brief moment, whether older people liked to mumble to themselves. He would love to hear what they had to say, really. They should share it with him.

"Ah!" There was the sound of shattering glass, and Io assumed that Mrs. Goldfinch had dropped something in her frenzy and disoriented state. "Oh dear."

"Do you need any help?" The sparrow asked, voice getting weaker and weaker by the second as his throat burned like the main road on a hot summer afternoon. He got up, wobbled, and fell over again.

"No, no! You stay there, young man, heaven knows what's going to happen to you next! Just—stay there, alright? Stay. There," She ordered sternly, enough to make Io scramble back to his bed.

His attention turned, naturally, towards the drawstring pouch placed on the overbed table. He found that the table had wheels at the bottom, allowing him to shift it closer to the middle of the bed.

Just as he was about to open the pouch, Mrs. Goldfinch came over with a glass of warm water and some strange looking seeds that—oh, medicine. Yes.

Well, this would be his first then...after all, he was used to consuming herbs and medicinal plants back in the village. They worked pretty well.

"Here," The head nurse placed the glass of water on the overbed table, handing him the white seeds. "Eat these pills—swallow, I mean. Don't chew, okay?"

Io thought the instructions pretty simple, so he nodded straightaway.

Turns out, he was a little naïve. How could he swallow that huge stupid thing in one go?

Io spat out the bitter thing twice in a row and Mrs. Goldfinch, who was watching him closely, had to glare at him for the fourth time until he was willing to do it once more.

He succeeded on his third try—just short of choking to death.

"I've sent out my Avian to inform the council of your condition. Don't worry dear, they'll sort things out quickly and relay the message to the...the people involved," She brought him a mug of warm oats, the oat drink that reminded Io of home.

Fondly nostalgic, he accepted it with an awkward bow of his head.

"The pill will make you feel a little drowsy, so I suggest you take a few hours of rest before the big tomorrow," The big tomorrow? What did she mean? "Are you hungry?"

Io paused thoughtfully, considering his hunger level and realizing that he was far from it. "No, actually. What day is it? How long have I been here?"

"It's Tuesday dear. You've been resting for an entire week."

An entire week and he's not hungry?

It must be the oats.

"Oh...is that not normal?"

"Well, we always have a couple of casualties during the games but," The head nurse pursed her lips. "I suppose two students knocked out for more than five days is a...difficult change, I'd say."

Io glanced over at his friend, wondering if this was—really—all his fault. Perhaps he shouldn't have agreed so easily to jump into the unknown. They shouldn't have volunteered at all in the first place.

"Are there any others who are hurt?"

"Yes, a few—scratches and insect bites...dehydration, exhaustion," She listed a few, "stuff like that."

"How about the other times? The games before this one? Was anyone—" Surely, it was easy to know what he was driving at.

Did the vulture always...?

"Ah, you mean you and your friend? This condition? Of course there was," Mrs. Goldfinch nodded vaguely. "Just a little...a little fit, that's all. Severe exhaustion, yes."

"Huh? But just now—when you first saw me, you thought I was dead," Io pointed out quickly, ready for more questions. "How is it different from—?"

"Well," The head nurse interrupted in a sharp tone, "all I know is that someone takes them away, and they magically come back in the pink of health! No hustle and less trouble for me, so."

The boy knew he was frowning.

Nothing connected, and the bird in his cage fluttered anxiously.

What if his friend never woke up?

"But no one came to take you away! So I had assumed...ah, there was nothing I could do—"

She turned away;

As if ridden with guilt.

For once, Io sure hoped she was. He had the impression that nurses were all fairly nice and gentle; and that they would ensure the health of the student body.

She seemed more of a typical middle-aged woman who simply nagged a whole lot and had the general qualities of a concerned mother—but lacked the heart to bother with anything apart from her responsibilities as a supposed medical expert.

Upon noting Io's stifled yawn and half-lidded eyes, Mrs. Goldfinch urged him to go to sleep. She draped the covers up to his neck in an all-too-conscious manner, and said good night.

Thus, the sparrow found himself in a similar situation again—between the realm of waking life and the one he so desired.

__________________________________

"Boy. Boy, wake up!"

The harsh tug on Io's sheets made him curl up instinctively, balling his fists into the covers as if refusing to let go. Someone was speaking in an urgent tone, trying to keep her voice as low as possible whilst doing so.

"Hey! Hey, wake up already," It didn't sound like Mrs. Goldfinch at all.

"Skies, the council is right in front of your bed, sparrow! You wake up this instant or else—"

He wasn't given a choice, then.

Io scrambled upright; regretting instantly as his temples protested with a sharp pound against his skull. He forced his eyes open—again, regrettably—for the room was filled with a blinding light that poured through open windows to announce the arrival of day.

Someone cleared their throat, and suddenly Io felt entirely conscious of the prominent bedhead that he often sported before making his way to the bathroom. Well, he couldn't do so now. All he could do was hope that it wasn't as bad as it would be (on every other day) and that he was not drooling.

He hoped.

Cheeks slightly colored, the sparrow bowed his head.

"Um, good morning."

"Yes indeed, I can see that."

The man who spoke checked his watch in an impatient manner, tone cold and strict.

Io made out a girl standing beside him. Though the man was tall, the girl rose just a little above his shoulders, and the sparrow deduced instantly that they (the council) was obviously not one to be foolish around.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to fix his hair in a subtle manner. "I'm sorry for the tardiness."

"No matter," The man produced what looked to Io like an accounting book and flipped only once to his desired page. "We are here to speak to you on behalf of both the school and student council about matters regarding your behavior during the season games, as well as the changes applied to the results of the aforementioned."

Io, who had been dreaming about butterflies and UFOs mere seconds before, was, of course, at a loss. He did not understand a word the man had just said.

"I will now provide an account of your behavior and the events of the season games:

You, Iolani Tori, tree sparrow; your role during the games was the Joker. You had your Mark of Prey taken by Mr. Luka Sullivan, a golden eagle. He proceeded to guide you towards the finish, when both of you got separated. Mr. Slayne Caster, who, out of good-will, took Mr. Sullivan's place to lead you towards the exit, advised and guided you correctly. While doing so, you, who refused to take the route chosen by Mr. Caster, broke the rules by speaking. Soon after, you and Mr. Caster met Mr. Sullivan and another predator; Mr. Vaughn Alekseyeve, near the exit. You proceeded to, during that instance, take advantage of the confusion and miscommunication, and steal your Mark of Prey from Mr. Sullivan."

No one saw the look of pure shock and protest displayed on Io's face; and even if they did, they didn't bother.

"Finally, you finished the game with both Mr. Sullivan and your Mark, which is—indeed—rather questionable."

"I—"

Then, that would have to mean that he won!

Did it?

"Now then," It was the first time the man looked up from the written records in his hands. He didn't seem very pleased. "Since we are all aware of the events and your conduct during the games, let us discuss the consequences of your actions—"

Discuss? Somewhere in his mind, a voice hissed in contempt. He didn't even ask for my opinion!

"How did the council arrive at this account?" Io asked. Then, upon meeting the dark eyes of the man, lowered his head immediately.

A predator.

"Is that how you should speak to a member of the staff?" The man turned to Io with a calm rhetoric that he could not answer.

The sparrow swallowed fear. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"By any means, the council has had various accounts of the events and has, of now, taken into consideration the most credible of the few. Therefore I see no need for you to worry."

Io nodded reluctantly.

His gaze wandered elsewhere, away from the man and the girl beside him. It rested on the overbed table he had been so interested in before—

No.

It was gone.

"The results of—"

"Where is the pouch?" The boy sat up straight all of a sudden; hands groping under the sheets; eyes darting around, upset and frantic.

The man had run out of patience. "Will you stop interrupting me or shall I personally deliver a slap across your cheek to shut you up like a child?" He snapped harshly.

Io was very disappointed.

He had been looking forward to knowing what was inside the curious thing.

The sparrow recoiled quietly.

"I threw it away."

He looked up. It was the girl who had spoken. Her voice was soothing and pleasant, though Io could not identify her accent.

"My apologies if it was something important," Her eyes—black, to Io—contained little emotion. "There was a foul smell coming from it. It must have been there for a couple of days, as the contents were rotting."

"Did you," Io wondered if it was impolite to ask, so he paused for a moment. But upon the expectant look from the girl herself, he was encouraged to continue. "Did you see what was inside?"

"Berries."

It made him very happy.

Then, that would mean he had come—

A friend—

"Quiet," The man was quick to ruin the moment. It wasn't that Io thought it would last long after all, he had become used to how short-lived they were. "We have come to speak on behalf of the council regarding matters of importance. Not about some pouch of no significance."

The sparrow nodded quietly.

"Though you were in possession of the Joker's mark, I'm afraid your victory will have to be declared null and void—"

"What?"

The man glared at Io, as if reminding him of his place.

"—due to your violation of the rules and henceforth unacceptable conduct in the season games."

What? Why?

No way...it was just a mistake.

But even Io knew that a mistake...was a mistake, after all.

"The council and the staff have taken a vote and this is the conclusion we have decided to come to. There will be no exceptions and no questions regarding this final decision. We have merely come to inform you."

So much for 'discuss'.

"Given the circumstances of this incident, we have also decided to elect a victor in your stead—which happens to be Mr. Luka Sullivan—" The man paused uncomfortably.

Io looked up.

"—who has kindly accepted on condition that you be invited to the Commemoration Ball."

The sparrow blinked. He didn't quite know what those last two words meant, exactly, but it sounded curious. And perhaps that was all that mattered.

"However, given the sheer impossibility of this request, we...we have...well, we have, instead, honorably invited you as a student on duty."

Ugh, how appealing did that sound?

The man cleared his throat. "You are to be grateful, sparrow. No prey has ever been allowed to witness the Commemoration Ball and you are going to be the first. It doesn't matter if you are invited as a guest or a waiter or usher—you should be thankful to Mr. Sullivan," He snapped very quickly, as if in defense of the decision.

"I am," Io nodded, suddenly feeling less lonely than he was before. "When is it?"

"The Commemoration Ball will be held on the day after the Hunt Ball—on the night of the winter solstice," The man cleared his throat, "You are, coincidentally, cordially invited to the Hunt Ball along with your friend over here, as part of the Season."

He glanced at Pipa on the bed next to Io's. She remained still.

"Yes, well. That is all."

The girl turned to Io with a strange look in her eyes, unblinking.

How strange that he felt no darkness from her—though she was clearly a predator like the man beside her. He wondered what her name was.

The man closed the records with a clean and loud snap, footsteps resounding against the stone flooring as he crossed the infirmary towards the door. His companion stayed for mere seconds longer than he did, gaze locked on the sparrow, before she exited the room quietly.

Io noticed that the length of her dark hair reminded him of Pipa's, reaching her waist.

The assistant nurse who had woken him up and had been standing behind a pillar, eavesdropping on their conversation, emerged from her hiding spot with a blink.

"How peculiar! Are you hungry my dear?"

________________________________

What are you making?

Victoria was back from her meal, landing promptly on the desk after passing through the open window. She folded her wings, examining the coils of rope and stacks of wooden planks over the floor.

Is that what I think you're trying to—

It would be nice if you kept quiet for a moment, Luka thought as he knotted the rope.

Oh no, Victoria mused. That would be a pity. Silences are meant to be filled.

Her Winged drilled another hole in the plank.

We are used to silence.

Yes, but that doesn't mean we like it, Victoria pointed out, talons accidentally scratching the surface of the desk. Oh dear. How inconvenient.

Go take a nap or something.

Why? Are you afraid that I'll say something so close to the truth that your silent little mind can't take it?

Luka stopped, looking up from his work.

I don't remember you being so talkative.

Victoria cleared her throat—feathers ruffled.

I have my reasons. Besides, I figured that your mind is far too silent.

Three years and you finally noticed? The eagle weaved the rope through a hole in the plank.

His Avian laughed. Look, you just proved my point. This is the most productive conversation we ever had, don't you think? You're usually so silent.

Was he?

Luka never really noticed such things.

But perhaps it was because his mind was so quiet;

That something else was so obviously loud.

_______________________________

A/N: Ahhhh so much talking and very little action but blame Io for staying in his bed! Just kidding hehe. Hm. I wonder if our sparrow knows how to ballroom dance. Nahhh of course he doesn't! X'DDD

Who am I to say? I can't dance for nuts @.@ *trips and falls over air*

-Cuppiecake