It doesn't make sense.

The explosion should've only hit the chelychelynechen I struck....

I can end up destroying the entire nest....

No. No, it shouldn't have happened. That's the worst that could happen. Not what should have happened.

It was wet. It was muddy. For crying out loud, the air inside the shrubs was humid.

I don't get it. Why did the shrubs catch fire? Why did everything in such a wet place seem to catch fire so quickly? Why did the shrubs have to turn the tightly-knit chelychelynechen into parental creatures that abandoned their ch—

I throw up.

There wasn't much to throw up, but I throw up. And again. And again, the liquid thinning and tasting sharper each time.

For once in my life, Kotengu is uncharacteristically quiet.

Egg....

The eggs. Did they make it? Did any survive the fire? I mean, the adult chelychelynechen only left their nest, right? They didn't destroy it first, right?

If the shrub didn't fall, then the eggs should last, righ—

And what about the fire?

I almost threw up again.

Nope. Held it in.

I'm not dense. I know eggs are edible stuff. There are animals that specifically eat them, and one of the reasons we cultivated the cagefowls was specifically for their eggs. We have foodstuff, cuisine based entirely on bird eggs.

I know what happens when you put an egg near a lot of heat.

I know what happens when ... you put eggs ... near a lot of—

I throw up again.

I'm in danger.

Since when do I care?

I swallow what acidic taste remains in my mouth, forever souring my tongue and burning my throat, and finally sit down.

I didn't really pay attention during the climb, but Kotengu has brought me surprisingly high up. I just kept on climbing until I couldn't feel the heat from the flames anymore, until the smoke could no longer catch up, until the entire burning area was out of my line of sight; but I never really noticed how far up that made me climb. All I know is that I can no longer see the burn, and that I'm much higher up than where I was—the air here feels lighter, and my muscles feel sore.

I'm in danger.

When wasn't I? This whole Fall, even when I was in the Totara Pendent, I was still in danger. I lived among the Fallen! They're supposed to be dangerous, right?

We are Fallen, you know?

What Falls a good man?

I take a deep breath.

I still fell from that tree and bled out of my head. I still could've died in the sparkwave. Heck, even just my second Fall alone could've killed me had Kura not intervene in time.

The Fallen....

Why Fall a good man?

I take another deep breath.

I'm in danger.

Am I, really?

Wait, of course I was. The chelychelynechen are territorial creatures, right? And not only that, they're highly aggressive. They'd chase off any threat to their homes because they're so territorial they're willing to kill for it.

So they would've killed me, right?

So I should've killed them, right?

My stomach feels sick for some reason.

I'm in danger.

Since when do I care?

I never cared about the lapwing when it looked me in the eye. I could kill it just fine.

I never cared about the frogmouth as I kicked it into the void. I could kill it just fine.

What makes the chelychelynechen so different?

I'm in danger.

Since when do I care?

Since when did I care? I just took down a frogmouth before I got to the shrubs. What changed in just a few days?

If I could kill the lapwing for looking at me wrong, why couldn't I just kill an entire pack of chelychelynechen that would've ended me? In fact, shouldn't I be celebrating? Not only did I manage to stop so many threats in one go for the first time in my life, I also cooked their eggs to crisp, preventing them from hatching new babies that would endanger—

Endanger who?

I pause.

Endanger who? Truly? Had I only killed my pursuers, I would've probably gone out injured, but I would've only maimed, or killed, those I needed to maim or kill. It would've been a fight to survive.

I think again to the shadows of the escaping chelychelynechen.

It was not their fight the moment they didn't chase me out the shrub.

I think of their eggs.

It was never their fight to begin with.

But those birds still almost killed you in the darkness.

But those eggs were what began the debacle.

No. To begin with, didn't I intrude on their territory?

Shouldn't they be well within their rights to defend that?

I know that frogmouths and lapwings aren't territorial creatures—that they're just aggressive hunters.

But chelychelynechen aren't even predators—they eat grains, for crying out loud.

They're just very protective of what's theirs because they have to make sure that there's always enough for them to live.

And, unlike the frogmouths, their parents don't eat their own young. Unlike lapwings, they don't thin their own brood and cast out the weaker babies. They take care of their young until they can find their own grain zone.

They're just defending what's theirs.

I was the intruder. I was the stranger.

I was the danger.

My heart sinks. I was the Gekka.

I was the Benimaru.

I was the Oboro.

I was the Akashi.

What were those eggs but victims I killed in my own lashing out?

Gekka, Benimaru, Oboro, and Akashi had no business hurting me. I still don't understand why they did what they did.

But can I say the same about myself, if I were in their position?

Can I explain to those birds why I had to burn them down before they even hatched?

Wasn't it a mistake?

Wasn't it preventable? Couldn't I have just swung my sling?

Why didn't I think of that?

Kotengu suggested a quick way to me, and he assured me I was in danger—but wasn't I the one thinking since when do I care?

In the end of the day, no matter what Kotengu said, he couldn't have done what I did.

So why did I?

You believed you were in danger.

So I should have fought to survive, not slaughter them all!

Even if I killed those children and casted away those parents, what good would it do me? I was gone from there in less than a day afterwards. They were never going to be any further threat to begin with.

The fire was beyond my control, but didn't I really intend the explosion?

Didn't I already know how incendiary the electral fruit could be?

Shouldn't I have been more careful?

The sun rises into zenith. I scream my heart out.

I don't know how long I'll be here, and I don't know how long my stomach will hurt, but I really don't feel like eating.

I should be so much closer to the Village right now, but my climb suddenly feels so long.

*

It wasn't until night fell that I started to feel better. Kotengu seems to be feeling guilty—or maybe he felt the guilt I felt, I don't know—but he gave me a few edible fruits as offering. I didn't feel like walking, so I couldn't get to the potfruits to drink. Instead, each fruit he gave me had high water content.

All in all, I could tell that he didn't expect things would have turned out that way, or that I'd be so down over what happened. I cried a few more times before finally grabbing the fruits he offered. I can't continue crying on an empty stomach, and with sundown, the louder I get, the more dangerous it would be for me.

At the very least, this stratum already feels very different from the stratum I was before. There's no more muddy ground or anything of the like. No more tall shrubs. Electrals, well, they're everywhere; but around here, I'm seeing sights I'm more familiar with: bushes, flowers, and trees.

Oh, trees. Large trees. With trunks. And grooves.

This night doesn't seem to be a cold one, so I decide to just find a trunk grooving to fit into and sleep there. Kotengu doesn't disagree. I don't think there's enough time to build myself a leaf blanket, anyway, but I'll have to consider that again before every nightfall after this.

Given the large number of trees in this area, it's really easy to find one large enough for me to curl into. It's not exactly comfortable, but it should do just fine. The tree is also surrounded by little bushes and shrubs as well, so it should be plenty hidden from predators. Well, not many predators really use good eyesight at night, but anything to help mask my presence. I'm not really picky as long as my korowai and tools are okay.

This time, however, something feels wrong.

No, I'm not talking about the scream of the dying chelychelynechen still ringing in my ears. I'm not talking about my hunger thanks to my lack of appetite and all the throwing up. I'm not talking about how numbing it feels to just sit there doing nothing, trying to feel nothing.

Trying to feel nothing was exactly how I find out that something feels wrong.

It's a rustle out of place.

A simple rustle. Nothing odd about that. I'm in the midst of trees, after all. Lots of leaves and branches here. A small gust of wind should send them rustling, right?

Well, that's only if there is a gust of wind.

Knowing that I'd fail to fall asleep once more, I try to keep my groaning in check as I sharpen my ears.

The rustle isn't really that close, but it's not far, either. It's close enough that I can hear it very clearly if I pay enough attention. The sky is dark, but it's not too dark; there's enough light to cover nearly everything I could see around me. It's almost like that blood red night of the red moon.

This time, though, it's only the white moon at full shine, nearly masking all the stars behind it thanks to its brightness.

... huh.

The rustling.

The subtle feel of being watched.

The abundance of trees and bushes.

The hollow of a tree trunk.

It's almost like....

I shudder. There's no wind, and white moon's nights are nowhere as cold as red moon's nights, but I just can't help but remember....

Rustle.

That one is closer.

"Kotengu," I whisper. "Check from above."

The bird opens his wings, and—catching his feelings just before he takes flight—I realize that there's something I need to add.

"And stay safe!"

Kawk!

The caw was soft—probably to help keep me hidden—but it's there. Kotengu's relief washes over me for a second, and the raven takes his flight into the night.

More rustling.

Rhythmic, consistent rustling.

My sense of danger flares up right away. Last time I heard this kind of rustling—

I turn back.

Nothing.

Carefully, awaiting news from Kotengu, I keep my eyes on my surroundings. The darkness of the night really makes all the branches and leaves of the trees around me so difficult to distinguish from each other—since they all just blend into these really large shadows with shiny outlines—but there should still be enough moonlight for me to notice any sign of movement. I take out my sling and load a fruit, ready to swing.

Rustling.

Rhythmic, consistent—

Up front.

Kotengu's warning comes down just in time. I've tensed my arm—very ready to strike with the sling—when the shadow drops from the sky.

It's not exactly big. It is, maybe, when compared to me; but it definitely lacks the wingspan of the great lapwing or the menacing presence of the frogmouth. It's nowhere near as tall as the chelychelynechen, and it doesn't tower over me like Kura does.

If anything, it looks slim.

The figure looks long rather than tall—a thin, furry, nearly-emaciated body around four forearms in length, with two folded wings as arms, two large ears, and—

Wait.

Under the glint of the moonlight, I finally find its beady eyes.

I cannot seem to see where its beady eyes stare, but I can feel it looking at me, perversely watching my actions. I cannot tell where its nose begins and where the nostrils end—any hint of shape on the nose all blur into unholy folds of flesh, nakedly on display, as if it forgets how a face should look like. It has fangs, many of them, but I could never seem to count the sharp edges that seem to burrow and break into one another, and as if to confuse its shape even further, its two large ears flap around as if they are wings, trying to make itself fly.

No. I was wrong. Those are clearly its ears, because behind it, folded but visible, are wings made of unembellished skin—each one longer than I am tall.

I get to spinning my sling immediately.

It's the monster.

As I slowly get up, I keep my eyes locked on its eyes—as if making sure that it knows that I will hurt it if it dares move. The creature freezes in place; I can only see movements from its ears and its breathing.

That, and its very long tail ... ending with a hook.

These animals use these hooks to hang, upside down, on the branches of the trees they live in.

There's something special about that animal's feet that makes me think they're weird, enough to make me remember that detail....

One look finally clicks it into place: this beast has its feet backwards.

I don't know how else to describe it. Where other creatures would have toes that point forwards, to the front of their bodies, this thing's toes point backwards, as if they were born with the wrong leg forms. Even their knees bend the wrong way.

... or, rather, they open their legs to such backwards angle that it looks like their entire legs bend the wrong way.

And that face.

No creature should have such open folds of their own meat like the display they have with their snout. It was as if their nose was cursed with some unholy power, making it bloom like a flower, except that it was made from the flesh of the curse's victim.

But then words start floating in my head.

The hook on the tail clinches it for me, but seeing it again under better light like this, I finally remember why I found them fascinating.

The timberflyers called these creatures hanagao, or anthops. It means 'flower face'. They found these creatures during the day, but these creatures only come into life at night.

They look terrifying in the darkness of the night, and look oddly grotesque during the day, but they're nearly blind. That was why they had such large ears—they would crash often during their night activities because they must listen to their own steps and the sounds in their surroundings, causing the rhythmic rustling I kept hearing.

They live huddled together in groups, and unlike the more aggressive bird beasts I've come across so far, they actually cared a lot for their young. Their babies have fully-developed hooks on their tails before their muscles form, so they would use them to hang on their mothers as they suckle their mother's milk until they grow enough to prowl on their own. This would oftentimes hurt the mothers, who would stay just to feed her children while the males of the group seek extra food so that they could feed the home-keeping mothers.

The food they look for can be anything—from small animals to fruits and grains.

They don't hunt beyond their size.

They mostly don't fight unless it's necessary.

I look at their beady eyes. Last introductory sentence of the anthops juhi: while their visage inspires horror upon those who see....

"... they are actually but simple, curious creatures," I whisper as I slow down the spinning of my sling. "They tend to be curious because they can't see well, but once they've discerned the nature of what they came across...."

They determine their surroundings with sound, right? I stop swinging my sling, then raise my right foot as highly as I could.

Then I stomp, as hard as I can, shouting my entire lung's worth. "HA!!"

Just like that, the anthops scurries back into the night.

... that's it. That was all the monster really was. Now that I think of it, I already know all this. Why didn't I realize all this before?

Was I too focused on Kotengu's worry for me?

Was it the reddish tint of the red moon's night?

Was it my nightmares before being awakened by its rustling?

Was it simply the way it looks at first glance?

Why was I so convinced that it was a monster, and such a monster at that, too?

Why was I so afraid?

The rustling entirely disappears, and I finally sit back down, putting my sling back around my neck and my fruit into my belt.

What was I so afraid of?

They're just curious about me, this new novel thing that appeared out of nowhere during the day.

I was the intruder. I was the stranger.

I touch my sling as I lay down.

I was the danger.

... was it always so simple this entire time?

The beating of my heart slowly calms down. I can still see the folds of flesh from the monster's face, but whenever I think of that as a nose instead of a whole curse, suddenly it doesn't look so scary. Its legs may bend the wrong way, but its hook was why I built my own rope hook.

If anything, it's thanks to the anthops back then that I Fell the second time and met Kura.

I try to hug myself to sleep. Danger may be a very real thing, but maybe everything wasn't as scary as I feared, after all.

*