I'd barely even gotten my body halfway into that tree trunk when the hole mysteriously started curving down and to the left. Though, I guessed if I thought about it, that did make sense. It was a tree trunk; it wasn't like it was going to go straight. The ceiling was still incredibly low, and the floor was almost marble-smooth. It was like someone had carved a tunnel into the tree on purpose. Had the birds done that? How? Maybe they'd employed some very small woodpeckers to help.

I wasn't sure how far down I went, but I did know that my shoulders were starting to cramp from a combination of being angled fairly steeply downward and not being able to stand up all the way. I guessed it was probably four complete rotations that I did, but it could have been more. I was starting to wonder what would happen to me if I really did get all the way to the bottom with no way back up. Yeah, I know I'd said that Gabe and Olivia could call the fire department, but I hadn't actually thought that was a possibility. How embarrassing would that be? At least almost no one on the planet would actually know it was me.

As I continued to crawl, the chanting continued to get louder. Weirdly, it filled me with a sort of confidence. It meant that I was at least going the right way.

Then suddenly, the chanting stopped.

I stopped too.

I wondered if they'd seen me somehow, or maybe they smelled me. But then, birds have a pretty terrible sense of smell, so that probably wasn't it. Then, I heard a tiny, warbling voice pipe up.

"Greetings, all," it said. "Warmest wishes to our flock that's gathered here today."

I rolled my eyes. The bird sounded so serious. But the fact that they were clearly just getting started meant I had plenty of time to disrupt this... whatever this was.

"As you all know, this is the most important day of days. For starting tomorrow, we shall finally be rid of our menacing feline foes!"

There was an eruption of excited tweets and squawks that made me wonder just how many birds were gathered here. I inched forward until I could see a faint glow flickering at what looked like the end of the tunnel. I kept going until I could peek into the room. I was far enough back that I would be incredibly difficult to see— unless the light reflected off my eyes or something.

The room I was looking at was much wider than the tunnel ever was. Actually, it was surprisingly wide. Then, it occurred to me: with these long, dirt-packed walls and the tiered floor, it almost definitely wasn't in the tree. Were we under the tree?

I took a closer look. The first thing I noticed was that the walls had been carved downward; the tunnel I was currently crouching in was at the ceiling instead of the floor. Of course the stupid birds wouldn't think to put the entrance down on the bottom like any normal animal.

There seemed to be small, spindly roots pushing their way out of the walls. Some of the birds had taken the opportunity to perch on these, adding to the incredible number that had managed to show up for this thing. The room looked like it could easily pack in a hundred birds. And it was completely full.

As the Head Bird continued to prattle on, I started to back out. There was no way I could deal with this many birds all by myself, especially if I had to jump down into basically a three-foot deep pit to do it. We were going to have to come up with a backup plan. At least we had three hours to think of something.

Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough in my retreat. Some bird spotted me and let out a screech. Every other head in the room swiveled in my direction, and I had a hundred or so beady little bird-eyes on me.

Great.

I tried redoubling my efforts to get out of there, but I could only go so fast backwards up a steep ramp; my claws were absolutely no help here. Some of the braver birds flew over their friends and landed in front of me, pecking at my head and paws. I put my head down, doing the only thing I could to protect my face in that tiny space.

The problem was, even as I did manage to inch my way up the tunnel, the birds easily followed. The scratching and pecking at my head intensified, and someone with a particularly needlelike beak stabbed into my paw hard enough to draw blood. There was no way I was going to be able to get out of here before they did some pretty serious damage. Retreat was no longer an option; I was going to have to do something.

Without really thinking it through, I lunged forward. This gave me a couple benefits. First, I had the element of surprise. The birds scattered in a flurry of fluttering feathers. I landed on the ground, near the middle of the room. I started snapping and hissing at any bird who got near me. Slowly, I made my way to the edge of the space.

The second benefit— after surprise— was that I finally had room to move. I could bat away any bird bold enough to approach. Still, it was a losing battle, and I knew it. Although...

When I thought about it, my only real job here was to disrupt the ceremony. And they were clearly riled up enough that maybe it wasn't as stupid an idea as I'd initially thought. They certainly weren't going to be starting it up again while I was here.

I continued to fend off the frenzied flock, and I seemed to be doing a pretty good job at it. The attacks started to slow, and my confidence started to swell. Actually, I was doing so well that I had time to look around. That's when I noticed that the number of birds seemed to be considerably less than it had been at the start.

Most of the birds were fleeing up the tunnel I'd come through. Since I knew full well that the only place that tunnel led was onto a tree branch outside, I was feeling pretty good about myself. But there was a smaller group that seemed to be gathering behind the giant, ornately carved throne that the speech-giving bird had been perched on before I entered the room. Clearly, that was going to have to be addressed. Because unlike what every animal on campus seemed to think, I was not an idiot.

I chased as many of the remaining birds up the tunnel as I could, making a big show of going after them. I crouched down and then took a flying leap, managing to dig my claws into the floor of the tunnel. I scrabbled with my back legs, trying to climb up. Once I was in, I let out a loud yowl to let them know I was there. The sound echoed satisfyingly off the walls. Then, I took a few small steps.

Of course, the birds in front were able to literally fly out of the tunnel, leaving me behind. And that was fine by me; it was what I'd wanted, actually. Because there was no way I was going outside with all of them anyway. But two birds were standing there, waiting for me. I showed them my teeth, growling and making a big show of how tough I was. They looked at each other and decided that maybe they weren't quite as brave as they'd thought. They turned and flew after their friends. Even the ones behind me left me alone after a few half-hearted pecks at my back and tail. Once they stopped, I scooted back out of the tunnel, falling onto the ground.

The room was now completely empty with the exception of a single small scrub jay dragging a clearish-white crystal almost as big as itself across the room. The poor bird was so busy struggling that it didn't even notice me standing there off to the side. I watched as it pulled the crystal behind the throne. Once it was out of sight, I snuck around to follow.