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Az utolsó menedék** , the Last Shelter**

PariahLycan

Featuring characters by Jagal and Aquila Chrysaetos

Editing by ShaenaShepherd

I

Le Flore County, 2017

"Any idea how far we are now?" Gustav managed to choke out between heavy breaths. After loudly gulping down a swig of water, Zion merely shrugged, shaking their head before offering up their bottle. Sighing heavily, fumbling with the straps of his backpack fruitlessly, the older bird had little time to ruminate, before Zion motioned back to the trail and started again, with Gustav grudgingly following suit. Two-minute break or twenty-minute break, that's what they always said, and Gustav had bid them take at least two twenty-minute breaks already. Any more of a delay would put the pair in danger of burning too much daylight.

Zion, in their boundless youth, had no trouble reigniting a spring in their step and carrying on. The young, lanky Firecrest was somewhat out of practice, and more than a few late-night binges at the student cafe had not helped, but they were still more than able to hop effortlessly from rock to rock as they descended down the hill. Even with the different scents in the air, the unique red soil beneath their feet, the entire experience pleasantly reminded the Kinglet bird of a trip to Lake Balaton, many years past.

For Gustav, however, the trip was far more a chore, and he made heavy use of his off-brand hiking pole to guide himself hesitantly down the steep embankment. The wood pigeon was past his prime, with too many years comfortably leaning back in his office chair, grading papers and sipping warm Lapsang. As such, he was huffing and puffing like a chimney trying to keep up, wondering if they'd pecked off more than they could chew with this trip.

The two birds loved to travel. Since the pair had made their match, they had spent many happy months together meandering across anywhere a railway would take them. Of course, for geographically obvious reasons, this had left them restricted to Europe, radiating from Hungary in a grand spider web. While the two knew that there would always be more holes in the wall to explore and more stones to upturn, they still felt a growing ennui with their "usual haunts."

It was Gustav who had first brought up the idea, and afterwards it was nearly all he could speak about.

America.

Gustav could still remember taking a pilgrimage as a young, idealistic lad with his fellow bright-eyed scholars to Walden Pond, and the joy he felt looking out over the same waters that once inspired Thoreau. Zion could still remember curling up under a bench with only their jacket to keep them warm after a storm grounded his flight to Montreal, and the sheer sardonic misery they felt every time they were awoken by the chorus of babies screaming and loud Americans yelling at employees. As such, it took some convincing to get the Firecrest on board with this plan. This was their first time visiting the New World together, and the pair's hyperbolic memories had balanced out into a hopeful curiosity.

Perhaps hoping to live out a childhood fantasy à la Steinbeck, Gustav had arranged the pair to touch down in Atlanta, Georgia, whereupon they would make their grand_ Grapes of Wrath_ journey to California together. None of the conventional exploration, hopping safely from large city to larger city with a different coffee shop to seek refuge in every morning, but a real American adventure! The older pigeon was excited as a boy with his first cap pistol, ready to run into the woods to play cowboy. Zion, having instead read Krakauer's more contemporary Into the Wild, was far more skeptical of the idea. Yet, the young bird was far too cursed by wanderlust to pass up the chance. Besides, perhaps the trip could perhaps stir up some literary inspiration? "Imagine that," they often thought to themselves with a hint of mordant humor, "a Hungarian writing the next great American novel!"

From their first steps out of the airport, however, the pair realized that America was not quite how they expected. Or perhaps, not quite what Gustav had expected. The utter lack of accessible public transportation was an outright culture shock, and most of their first day involved Gustav stressing over figuring out how to make it to the bus station as Zion pecked at a stale airport croissant. This should have been a premonition for what was to come, yet the two did not merely visit the Coca-Cola museum and book a flight back home. Eventually, the two managed to find a bus, though it was a rude economic shock to find out how little weight the dollar seemed to carry. Sure, the sights were lovely, but it was hard to enjoy the Blue Ridge Parkway with screaming babies, backed-up toilets, and loud conversation about what they call "football". The pair's attempts to hitchhike held similar success, mostly consisting of Gustav standing by the side of the road waving his arms as Zion snapped pictures of the empty landscape on their phone. The occasional kind soul sometimes had space in the back of their truck, though Gustav found out quite quickly that, while he was never known to be carsick, was certainly prone to being "Bed sick", especially with the bumps, cracks, and imperfections they met on the road at 113 km/h. Each mile west brought them into even more uncharted territory.

By the time the pair had made it to Oklahoma, Gustav was feeling significant second thoughts. Between buses, taxis, Bed and Breakfasts, cheap motels, and allergy medication from the cigarette smoke fumes soaked into the carpets at said cheap motels, the pair found their funds significantly lighter. Beyond the economic concerns, a sea change had successfully washed ashore after they'd crossed the mighty Mississippi River. The land was vast, with more open, empty land than their entire county collated and then doubled. Far removed from the rugged charm of Appalachia and nowhere near the savage beauty of the Rockies, the two were now lost in the purgatory of the Great Plains. With the air over 10°C hotter than home, Gustav often annoyed Zion with meandering and bemoaning diatribes, often referencing Dante's Inferno.

Finally, the pair's trip had lost enough momentum that their tumbling and meandering slowed to a stop in a small town in eastern Oklahoma, where they decided to "set up camp". Time was needed, both to recover from all the travel and wait for a transfer of funds to the local small-town bank. So, the pair settled in a delightfully quaint little inn just off the main street, a place populated mostly by distant relatives returning home for a wedding in the country. Or a funeral.

While Gustav subtly grumbled about heartburn from diner food and a lack of Will Rogers cowboys walking in the streets, his young friend found themself rather taken with this unusual land. The people stood out, in appearance and demeanor. Zion had expected Little House on the Prairie _and instead got _Gummo, with unusual and lined faces of every age glowering and grinning at them. Flannel shirts, tee shirts, gray streaks, and broken beaks all flocked to the pair as soon as their beaks opened and Eastern Europe slipped free. Though they often had to carefully dodge certain questions and put up with others blithely picking and choosing the bird's pronouns, Zion was caught off guard by how friendly they all seemed, how much they loved to talk, and their inexplicable ability to carry on a conversation while both parties were talking at once. Perfect strangers told the Firecrest of their stepdaughter's new children, the friend in high school who'd sold themselves to a pyramid scheme, the young boy in the church choir who was just arrested. It was hard for Zion to maintain their usual level of guarded around these people, who drank up every heavily-accented half-story they'd mumble out with rapt attention before springing into one of their own. It felt like a unique game of chess, a competition devoid of endgame or concrete reward.

On one such venture out, Zion managed to find a lovely little farmer's market. Calloway Farms, with Cassandra at the helm. Cassie, as she quickly corrected the Firecrest, was a sweet scissor-tailed flycatcher girl, with a few streaks of purple and black added to her mane of feathers and a cute hint of padding around her middle, likely aided by the pecan pies her mother made and she sold. Truth be told, it was the tongue-meltingly sweet pie that had first caught Zion's curiosity as they passed through, and it was the first few curious pecks that kept them unable to leave for too long. Every day during their convalescence so far, Zion had made the pilgrimage, and each time they stayed a bit longer. With her, they were able to sit down and have a pleasant conversation, without having to swallow their tongue. It helped that she was young enough to understand, and didn't bother asking any questions about their identity.

She spoke with a pleasant matter-of-factness, bordering upon fatalism. Her grandparents had each been born no more than 300Km away, had left home young to marry and make it almost all over the world...only to return home near their parents at the first sign of morning sickness. So it had been with her parents, and so it had been with all of her cousins, aunts, and uncles. It did not matter how far away they flew, they always ended up called home. Whether it was a child needing family, an illness calling someone home, a matriarch to tend to, a niece to steer straight, or crops to be harvested, it was always something.

This was almost as much a culture shock to Zion as Ketchup on chips. Why would they willingly resign themselves to such a fate?

"Family," was always her reply, in some permutation. It was their duty. Blood was thicker than the dirt under their feet.

While Zion took in the scenery and spent plenty of time with their new friend, Gustav had hit their second wind. A tentative trip to see if Oklahoma gas stations had Riesling, he had come across some very loud yet friendly hunters attempting to amass their personal cache of jerky and Keystone. They'd pretty much handled both sides of the conversation, greeting the Hungarian, supposing he liked to hike "what with all them mountains in the Alps and all that", and telling him about a nice trail that led up into the mountains. Apparently, the sights were beautiful. While Gustav had left the interaction rather rattled, it did at least relight the spark of adventure in him.

The two made one swing by the hunter's shop early the next day, before hitching a ride from the postman, way into the boondocks. Carried down tiny, broken roads in claustrophobic tunnels of tall, old trees, it truly felt to Zion as if they were encroaching on something perhaps they should not have. Not merely as foreigners, but as part of a larger dilemma altogether. This was an old land, some of it possibly even untouched in this day and age, and they were delving into something wild. It was almost spooky...

Gustav, meanwhile, had seemingly adopted at least one of the local customs, specifically that he couldn't shut up. It was just like back in Birmingham, he was obsessed with his great outdoor adventure. This was redemption for all the headaches. All the pain and frustration. This would be it.

However, as soon as the pair had started the trip, their expectations were once again redefined. Zion was elated, Gustav was unsure. The sights, however, were indisputable. The pair had always heard one thing about Oklahoma. Specifically, they had heard it was flat. Nothing but open lands and blonde grass. Maybe some trees, but nothing too fascinating. Clearly, none had never bothered to go this far south. This land was cast in hills, slopes, and even peaks. Small valleys sloped like brush strokes, and dabs of color accentuated every moment that paint hit the canvas. The sky, at first devoid of clouds, had become peppered with dots of white, filling in with silver. The sun had quickly hit its apex, and as they clambered over rocks, light cast through the trees and doused them in an abstract zoetrope.

After several hours, however, it was clear that the two were nearing their limits, Gustav first. The sun had long since crested, and while they still had a few hours before it got dark, the pair wanted to be back in time. They'd quickly lost their mobile service climbing the mountain, but they'd been given the number of a neighbor who could give them a ride back to town. Despite Gustav's lead feet, they were still making good time, walking along the ridge of a cliff. The trees and bushes all but caged them in, and they could only get peeks of the valley in the distance as they tried to not stray too close to the edge.

"Mercy!" Gustav suddenly cried out, and his friend turned to find the older pigeon leaning against a tree.

"You seem discouraged," Zion commented, tilting their head as they beheld this portrait of discouraged regret.

"Nonsense," Gustav puffed, starting to stand back up but taking a bit too much time. "This is the American dream, isn't it? Conquering the untamed wild?"

"I guess," Zion murmured with a shrug, gazing out over the land again. It reminded them somewhat of the space between Prague and Brno, with more variation and less color. They took in a big lungful of the air, carrying with it new scents, new pollen, new dust, and new tastes. It wasn't exciting as much as it was excitingly serene...

"I can only imagine how many trips were taken through here by settlers," Gustav carried on, clambering up a rock to get a better view "how many excited families, trudging toward a better life?"

"Dying along the way," Zion murmured melodramatically, kneeling and peering over the edge of the cliff. Something had really captivated Zion about this place beyond the pretty sights. It felt empty in a way, dead despite the presence of life. This land had nothing special, no cause to appear in the history books. And yet, Zion felt like something had happened here once. Maybe decades ago, maybe centuries, maybe not in the lifetime of anyone who'd shared their blood. It made no sense, but Zion did not feel alone out there with Gustav. Something felt there, hiding within the trees or under the stones, perhaps watching them. It could have been with comfort, with distrust, or even malice, but there were eyes on them; maybe deer watching the hunter, maybe a mountain lion stalking prey.

A land populated by ghosts.

"Zion?"

Zion glanced back, chirping noncommittally. Gustav had managed to make it up safely and was standing awkwardly on a taller rock to steal a peek through a hole in the trees over the valley.

"Was it always this grey in the sky?"

Zion's brow furrowed, and they laboriously climbed back up the hill toward their friend. After a few squawks and manic flaps as they nearly slipped, Zion managed to stand next to Gustav, standing on tiptoes to peer over the older bird's shoulder...

The blue overhead had become iron. The silver had nearly gone black. A gunmetal pillow was descending upon the valley, threatening to smother them in their bed. And far, far in the distance, a wave was descending from the sky and approaching rapidly.

"We need to move."

Zion led the way, with Gustav scrambling to keep up. Zion knew that the weather could get bad, _very _bad. Cassie had told them plenty of stories of tornadoes, up to 4Km wide, evaporating everything in their path and ruining everything else. Even if the sirens didn't ring out, the wind and rain would not be kind. The last thing they needed was to be caught without shelter. Every passing second grew more dangerous.

"Slow down!" Gustav yelled, nearly tripping over a rock as Zion slid down a boulder ahead of him. "We've got time, you're going to hurt yourself!"

"We don't!" Zion called back, cinching up their bag as they kept moving. "It's only a matter of time before-"

The sound that filled the air permeated the pair to their bones. nothing else was in the air but that sound, one that could have stopped both birds' hearts had they given it just a chance...and then the sound of the biggest clap of thunder the pair had experienced in their lives broke and echoed through the valley. They were already too late. The rain was there, and before the two could even try to look for a low-hanging tree branch to cower under, the first sprinkles hit them and hit them hard. Gustav gasped and Zion tried to cry out again, but then the wave was upon them. Sheets of rain crashed against them and saturated them to the bone in seconds, the drops too heavy and coming too hard for the branches above to do anything to help.

"COME ON!" Zion squawked at Gustav, but the roar was so loud the words were washed down the mountain as fast as anything else. Gustav stumbled forward as best as he could, and the two collided on the path, nearly losing their balance. Gustav was scared, already struggling to maintain his footing in the mud, and Zion had to yank him into action. The path was crumbling around them as they stood there, and they couldn't see more than a meter or two before them. The only way forward was down the mountain, so the two held hands as they struggled to make it down. It kept getting worse, the rain seemingly piling pounds onto their bodies as they slipped and clambered over the rocks. the path was narrow as is, with little separating them from the ground below, and each swipe of a waving branch threatened to send them toppling over.

"CAN'T WE JUST WAIT IT OUT?!" Gustav called out, struggling to breathe from the exertion, struggling through a stitch in their side rivaling Longinus' work.

Zion coughed up a mouthful of water before replying, trying to wipe their eyes. "WE'RE HERE IN SUMMER!" they screamed back. "IT'S TORNADO SEASON, WE COULD-"

Both of their hearts stopped at once as they heard it. Even over the roar of the storm, far in the distance, the frequency cut through like a hot knife quenched in oil. A high-pitched, sustained wail creeping over the valley, from the direction of the town. It had happened at noon on the first Saturday the pair were in town, some of the locals chortling at the spooked foreigners. "They're just testin' 'em!" they all said. This time, there was no such relief.

This was real. Those were tornado sirens.

Zion nearly dislocated Gustav's arm as the pigeon was yanked forward, Zion struggling to lead the way. Gustav's hiking pole fell out of his hand, toppling down the hill to be lost in the drenched abyss. With nothing to aid in his balance, he scrambled and struggled, grabbing onto trees to steady himself as he tripped and stumbled over sharp, irregular rocks. His chest was heaving and his heart threatened to break his ribs, and while he was not unhealthy, he was even less prepared for this type of exertion. Starting to feel lightheaded, he tried to call out to Zion for a break, but the Firecrest was in a panic and lost to tunnel vision. All they saw was the narrow path, all they could think of was getting to safety. What that meant, they did not quite know. All Zion knew was that the pair needed to not be where they were. They needed shelter, something to hide under, maybe? What had Cassie said? Get in the tub? Get in the basement? Get low! Maybe they could-

A yelp from behind was Zion's only warning before their larger friend all but tackled them. Zion's foot had caught the tiniest stump, and as he stumbled and hobbled on his injured foot, he tried to awkwardly grab onto Zion for support. The extra weight, combined with the momentum, made Zion's feet skid from under themself on the now oil-slick mud. A very long second passed, filled with horror and regret, before physics took control of the pair as their feet left the pathway. With harmonizing cries of terror, the two toppled off the ledge.

The incline was steep, but forgiving enough that the first impact didn't hurt too badly. What certainly hurt was the pair rolling and tumbling the many meters down the mountain, their bodies bouncing off of exposed rocks, chunks of tree trunks, and the occasional actual tree trunk. Gustav had mostly slid, and aside from a few bumps that would certainly bruise, he seemed fine. Zion, smaller and lighter, took far more of a tumble, though their jacket took the majority of the abuse, leaving a fluffy trail of synthetic offal behind them. Finally, the slope relaxed and the two tumbled to a stop, but not before Gustav's feet hit a stump and sent him sprawling, and Zion found an adorable bush to crash through.

As the two laid there, gasping and attempting to contemplate how much they were in pain and would only be in more later, a bolt of lightning lit up the sky like a seam torn in the clouds, teasing them with the sun, and the crashes of thunder grew louder. In a way, the pair were lucky. Old oak trees towered overhead, and while the rain continued to batter their faces and saturate their forms, the branches and leaves filtered out the worst of the deluge as the path far above threatened to become a mudslide. Had they stayed, their inevitable fall would have been much worse.

After checking themselves and checking each other, the pair looked around. With all the tree cover, what little light was granted to them was stifled. It was nearly impossible to see details in the distance, everything merely a hazy shadow.

"Can we get back up?!" Gustav half-shouted, better able to hear even under the roar of leaves tasting rain, as he tried to see if he could climb up the hill they'd just careened down.

"Forget the trail!" Zion called back, rushing up and gripping Gustav's shoulder. "We need shelter!"

The sirens were still vaguely audible in the distance, and Zion's tumble had not slowed their panic attack. The Firecrest has no idea what to do or where to go from here, but they could only think that getting down the mountain would make everything all right. And so, they waved to Gustav to follow before taking off. Gustav squawked in wordless alarm and stood there conflicted, rocking on his feet before taking in a lungful and following as best as he could, not wanting to be left behind.

The two scrambled, skidded, and tripped their way down the mountain, their path only getting more and more unclear. They both had no sense of time, nor any idea of how long it had been since the storm had started. All they knew was that it was getting darker and getting there fast. Soon, they'd be running blind.

The pair hit a clearing, and a tidal wave crashed down upon them. As Zion tried to hold their hands over their face, their ankle twisted, they lost their balance, and they toppled forward. With a splat, they landed in a puddle, a sound nearly echoed as Gustav too apparently slipped. The two laid there, water rolling off of them in sheets as they struggled to not only get back up, but find the will to continue. Two minutes came and went, and Zion could feel their joints and muscles screaming for relief.

Trying to crawl forward pathetically, Zion reached forward for something to hold on to. Something to anchor to. Something at all. And as they felt their body called into the mud, slowly swallowed up to return to the earth, they thought to themself...

This is it.

All of a sudden, a vice-like grip took Zion's extended hand in theirs. Before they could look up, the Firecrest's hand was yanked nearly out of its socket, and they were dragged upright before they were guided forward. Zion flailed and tugged, trying to choke out some demand for being careful, but that didn't matter, apparently. The Firecrest was nearly tugged off their feet, and had to dash to keep up. In the moments of reduced noise, they could hear Gustav panting heavily just as they did. Blessedly, the terrain became easier, even as tall grasses whipped at their legs. Gustav must've found a game trail. Clever! If they lived, that wood pigeon was due a bowl of soup from the cafe. Where was this energy when they were hiking up the mountain...

Where did _this energy come from? How did he know where to go? _How was he doing this?

Zion was confused, but the primitive need for relief mattered far more.

"WHAT DO YOU SEE?!" they called out, their free hand struggling to maintain balance.

Gustav's voice rang out a moment later, sounding far away. "I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING!"

Zion would have stopped had they not been being pulled on so insistently. Where was this damned pigeon going? They could both go off a cliff at any moment!

"I CAN'T EITHER!"

"THEN WHERE ARE YOU TAKING US?!"

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOU-"

Something crashed into Zion's ankle and they toppled forward, legs buckling. Their body landed on something angular, sloping upward, and they automatically scrambled forward. Their head hit a wall and they crumpled, curling into a ball. A heavy shape crashed into them, letting out a grunt of pain and exertion before flopping next to them. Gustav, it had to be. He was panting and gasping like a bird near death. Even in the near blackness, Zion could vaguely see their friend trying to lift himself up, only to collapse with a piteous wheeze and a wet splat. Zion reached out to aid him, but their clothes felt so heavy, and their body was chilled to the marrow. Even as their breathing steadied, they felt a pressure drawing their body into the ground. By how Gustav's breathing had slowed, he had likely already succumbed. Zion wanted to fight, but they were too tired...

One last thought crossed the Firecrest's mind before they too went limp.

We're out of the rain.

II

It was not a sound that seemingly woke Zion, it was the silence. No crash of thunder or roar of rainfall, only silence. Their breathing was slow and steady, and in spite of a few dull aches here and there, the Firecrest felt all right. They felt heavy, more than anything. A welcome surprise came as they looked up, feeling no water on their face.

While still soaked past the skin, the first deep chest breath was absolutely luxurious.

Something stirred near them, and Zion gasped in shock, recoiling lethargically. The gasp that echoed back was familiar in timbre, and Zion permitted themself to sigh in relief, reaching out. Their eyes never met, but shaking arms blindly wrapped around sore backs.

For a few minutes, the two friends just embraced each other, stifling tears as life slowly returned to their limbs. In fact, the two might have stayed like this for some time, had Gustav not shifted slightly onto a bruise and opened his eyes during his grunt of pain. After blinking a few times, he started to realize that they were no longer in the forest.

"Zion," the pigeon whispered, pulling away. Zion gingerly sat up, looking around as well, and their face soon shared Gustav's confused expression.

They were on a bus. Not the type they'd ride nearly daily back home, with screaming infants and no place to put a bookbag. This was a School Bus, the type the two had each seen in American television programs. Black plastic benches and an absence of adult leg room...was not too different from the double-deckers in Berlin, but still. A school bus, devoid of any passenger or any cargo, save what looked like a long, thin bag sticking out into the aisle. Even with their surroundings, the two couldn't help but feel glad they'd made it out of the rain.

"Well, we aren't dead," Zion commented dryly. "That is good."

"Zion, now's not the time for you and that dreary humor you adore," Gustav grumbled, followed by a winded little chuckle and an apologetic squeeze to the younger avian's shoulder. Zion let out a chuckle of their own, and with a single shared glance, everything was all right again.

Not hearing the patter of rain, the two started shedding their jackets. Waterlogged as they were, it was still a relief, and they finally felt light enough to start stretching and getting their limbs to work. While Gustav rifled through his pockets to see if anything survived the fall, Zion started to slowly crawl toward the back of the bus to investigate whatever was visible. Sliding up alongside it, Zion saw a few large wrapped packages, but one rested on the bench outside its case. A guitar; a cheap-looking yet well-maintained acoustic guitar. With a chuckle, they trailed their fingers over the strings with aimless half-interest, even playing with the tuning peg to make some interesting sounds.

"How did you find this?" Gustav murmured, tossing his long-dead phone aside and starting to shift onto his knees and gingerly coax himself to a stand. "I couldn't see anything, thought you were going to-"

"Again, what are you talking about?" Zion asked again, their confusion bringing out notes of frustration in their voice. "You yanked me in here, Gustav. I mean, I'm glad you did, but why don't you take credit?"

"Because you pulled me!" Gustav retorted, bewilderment in his eyes. "Once I got up, you started tugging on my arm like a hatchling at the candy shop, then you all but threw me in here!"

"I did no such thing!" Zion snapped, replacing the guitar from where they'd stolen it for fear of accidentally harming it in their sluggish annoyance.

Gustav still looked defensive, though his expression had grown perturbed.

"Then who-Ah!"

As he made to rise, a flutter of the light outside across his gaze made him wave a bit in discomfort before he faced the window...and his beak fell open.

"What is-"

Zion's question was cut off by a quick, violent shake of Gustav's hand, before he slowly knelt down until he was just peering outside the window. Zion crawled forward on all fours with head tilted in concern, until their beak was nearly at Gustav's cheek.

"What is it?!" Zion whispered instead.

"We're not alone."

The Firecrest suddenly looked like they were less happy about having woken up. With a gulp and a meaningful look shared, the two each clambered into their own bus benches, keeping their heads tucked. A deep breath for each of them, and they both peered over the dusty glass.

At that moment, the pair realized that the golden warm light gently illuminating the bus was not a pleasant southern sunrise, but a large, healthy campfire outside. Beyond the dancing flames, it looked almost impossibly dark. Gustav was not wrong, as looking out the window from that angle revealed several dark shapes huddled around the fire, silhouetted and featureless. If any of them were watching the two, they could not tell, and likely would not until they tried to run.

At first, Zion was horrified, and glanced around behind them and down the aisle to see if there was any other form of escape, before they realized something. Even if they were huddled from the cold, these shapes were small, not stout, as if they were...

"I think they're youngsters, Gustav," Zion whispered. Gustav nodded softly in agreement, though Zion could clearly see that concern was clearly cast over the pigeon's reflection in the window.

"Yes, I know, but surely there's still a parent around? Or a...what are they called...a Counselor?"

"Not necessarily!" Zion chirped softly, their body relaxing just a bit. "Cassie said young people often have more freedom down here. Her brothers were camping on their own before they could drive." As they spoke, the Firecrest started inching off their bench. Crouching carefully, they quietly made their way toward the front of the bus.

"What are you doing?!" Gustav all but hissed as Zion started gingerly and ruefully slipping their cold, heavy jacket back on.

"We have to leave sometime," Zion replied with a shrug. "If we don't, we might freeze. Even if we do, we still don't know how to get back to the road. Besides, aren't you all about Hegelian Dialectic? Here's our Antithesis!"

Gustav grumbled wordlessly, even as he eventually followed suit. Between not wanting to do something even as it was the right choice and hating having his favorite philosophical meme thrown back in his face, he threw plenty of dirty looks at his younger friend as he picked up his own coat.

"I hope you know what you're doing," the pigeon murmured, his voice betraying genuine concern.

A moment of pause as Zion's eyes, illuminated by the dim, filtered light of the fire, met Gustav's, followed by one more whisper. "I hope so." Reaching up, Zion gripped Gustav's hand for a long moment, before standing up all the way and carrying their friend with them. Holding their friend's hand through it all, Zion led the pair out of the bus, down the steps, and into the fray.

For a moment, the pair seemed to have gone unnoticed, but as soon as both birds set foot on solid earth again, all heads snapped toward them.

Eight in total, various makes and models of young birds. Some looked as old as their early teens, their faces high enough over the fire to waver in the murky air. Some looked barely old enough to walk, standing up to get a look. The boys wore nice denim and dress shirts, some with belts and others with overalls. The girls all had pretty pale dresses, constant scrubbings leeching out color but not stealing away charm. They did not look scared, nor particularly shocked. Merely curious.

After a long moment where the two parties stared at each other, Zion and Gustav very slowly shifted closer, turning halfway around to avert their faces and began furiously whispering to each other. Sixteen eyes were firmly locked upon the pair as they conversed rapidly in their heavy accents. The normally confident Gustav was panicked; the normally taciturn Zion was unrestrained.

"What do we do, Zion?!"

"You're asking me?! I'm barely older than them!"

"Zion, I don't want to die in Deliverance!"

"Oh, stop being a baby! Besides, that was shot in Georgia, and these are kids!"

The pair suddenly realized that they had been muttering in their native tongue to each other as their "guests" waited, eyes resting on them with a mute, expressionless attentiveness.

"Whatever! We can't just sit here, talking all funny!"

"All right...I'll talk to them.

Zion was just about to stand up.

"Wait, don't let them know we're not locals!"

"Gustav. You are speaking Hungarian to me, right now, as we are talking."

"Well they won't hear us if you keep quiet, so just talk to them like a local!"

"How?!"

"Speak in a southern accent."

"I can't speak with a southern accent!"

"You've been spending every day talking to people!"

"You've been practicing yours with your damn Charles Bronson movies!"

"Don't pick on me! Besides, you speak it better!"

"FINE!"

With the increasingly loud noise settled, there was an oppressively long moment of silence before both birds straightened up. Gustav, always a leader, shuffled backwards a little, leaving Zion to face the attentive crowd alone. All eyes were on them, catching the light of the crackling fire, innocently threatening.

After a nervous chuckle, Zion smiled very politely, before speaking in perfect English with their best attempt at a charming southern accent.

"Khan yuhoo haelp aahs...tu theh rroaed?"

Something about the way that not a single eye twitched or beak moved in response told the pair that they'd have better luck speaking Hungarian. Zion threw a little shrug over their shoulder at Gustav, who had pressed their back against the bus as if expecting a bar fight.

Their eyes lingered on the sight, trailing past their friend along the side of the white-painted bus. Zion noted hand painted words, added with care.

"Red Roost Baptist Church," they read to themself. Well, this could be worse. They'd surely just accidentally stumbled into a quaint little church camp. Nothing too bad, maybe some s'mores around the fire and stories of Jonah and the whale. Nothing to be scared of, and surely there was a trail back to the road from this little campsite.

Though, it was curious. When Gustav had talked about this trail, Zion was sure he had not mentioned a camp nearby. In fact, he'd given the impression that it was nothing but wildlife preserve this far out. In looking to the pigeon again, they saw their friend studying the bus as well, gears clearly turning for him as well. Something seemed wrong...

"Iiys...theyerr...a caymp cownsehl-"

Zion was spared finishing their pathetic second attempt by a loud twig snapping in the distance, far outside the ring of protective light, deep in the darkness of the forest.

Gustav gasped and Zion automatically covered their beak with a hand, their eyes wide as they stared into the void, trying to swivel around and divine some culprit out of sight. Silence befell them, and then another snap, louder than before. Zion retreated slowly backwards, as the faint sounds of crushing leaves started to creep into the ambiance. Slow, rhythmic, and getting closer. Zion could barely breathe, and what air was left in their chest was expelled in a poorly-controlled little squawk when their back hit the side of the bus with a thump. Gustav shuffled close immediately, and the two shared a brief, comforting glance before immediately snapping back to the darkness...and what was creeping out of it.

A figure was approaching the clearing, slowly floating into the arc of light cast by the fire. No face was visible, nor arms or feet. A pale, headless torso, lower half fluttering in the damp breeze as it slid directly toward them, all as the children stared at the two. Both Zion and Gustav pressed into the cold metal, their hands clasping with each others' tightly. The air felt cold in their panic, stinging their lungs as they both began to silently panic, and furtive looks to the sides tried to scope out possible escape routes. It didn't matter, it was too dark. Not even the moon shone down on a way out. Any step forward would send them off a cliff, into a river, farther from home, and to their death. They were trapped. Zion's beak opened, trying to call out. _Hello?! We mean no harm! Please! Help! Help us! Please! _Nothing came, their breath leaving their throat in a choked gasp, the cold from their damp feather clamping down and choking them. Gustav lifted a hand, but it barely left their side. He was shivering, more terrified now than facing the storm. They needed to go, they needed-

The shape stopped, just out of their vision. A pause, perhaps finally sizing the pair up...and it raised its own arm, opposite Gustav, and gave a little wave.

Both birds' beak fell open softly. The hatchlings still stared.

Its arm fell back to its side, and the newcomer closed the gap. With each step, the form gained focus, cast simply in a long, beige sundress. Not quite standard Sunday school fare, but comfortable enough for a hike and polite enough for service. No frocks, no frills, no shoulders, no bust, but with elbows and wrists. A few more steps, and all remaining fear was dispelled as she was embraced by the light.

A female. A Scissor-Tailed Flycatcher, as far as the two could tell. With pale silver feathers and a dark mask trailing from her beak to her eyes, focused upon the two. Her gaze stood out, capturing the two foreigners not in a web, but an embrace. In all the cool colors of her face and the conservative absence of hue in her dress, her eyes stood out. Hazel, yet just with just enough green to count.

As the two beheld her, the cold seemed to wick away.

As she passed by the fire, she glanced down and cast a gentle, maternal gaze down at the children, who all turned to greet her with happy waves and beaming eyes. The smallest of the chicks lifted her arms out, and she paused, reaching down to hold her little waist and lift the little Sparrow into her arms. All eyes were on her as she bounced the little one in her arms, and for the first time, the two foreigners heard the sound. Giggling, as the little bird clung to the young woman's neck. The flycatcher suddenly lifted a leg in a mock ballet pose, before starting to swing and spin around, holding out one of her arms in a pantomime of a ballet. A grand twirl, and then a reverse, and even a gallant dip. Around and around they spun, the child's sounds turning into great, shrieking belly-fulls of laughter. Soon, the sounds of light laughter filled the clearing, nearly muffled by the crackling of the fire. Even the foreigners found themselves relaxing, chuckling softly as they slowly pulled away from the bus and watched the delightful sight.

Slowly, the dance ground to a stop, and the flycatcher took a wobbly moment to get her bearings, before hiking up the child on her shoulder. The little one did not object, dizzy and snickering drunkenly.

Her hazel eyes snapped to Zion and Gustav, who started slightly. After ruffling the back of the child's head, she approached the two with a very unique air about her. Despite being between the pair in height, she seemed to tower over them both. Not a single fiber of a threat was in her face, and yet the two felt chastened. Imperious yet not officious, instead solicitous.

She walked like a teacher.

Stopping just before them, she first turned to Gustav, lifting the child from her shoulder and handing her over. Hesitating at first, the older wood pigeon accepted the child, replacing her upon his shoulder without question, summoning forth memories of holidays with his nieces. The child squirmed and shivered slightly, and the Teacher looked between the two, eyes narrowing a hint at their soaked appearance. With a wave of her hand, she motioned for them to head to the fire, before she climbed into the bus with a little squeak of the tires.

Slowly, the two inched toward the fire, watching the children in undue wariness. Their fears were once again unfounded, as the children dutifully shuffled around to free up plenty of space. Both Zion and Gustav awkwardly took their seats, with an older youth rescuing Gustav and accepting the now-dozing toddler. As uncomfortable as they were, the crackling warmth of the fire was as cathartic as a mother's embrace. Already, they could feel the dampness slipping away, previously labored breath now carrying a delightful levity.

Soon, the Teacher hopped out of the bus with her arms full, and she awkwardly scrambled toward the fire before anything could fall. Before Gustav and Zion could look, they both had oddly-shaped, leather-wrapped objects dropped into their laps. After the pair's feathers settled, they cautiously unzipped their parcels. Zion's, the size of a Bundt cake, carried a tambourine. Gustav's, shaped more like a strange battleaxe, produced a banjo. Across the fire, the teacher took her own seat, and rested her own instrument upon her knee. Her guitar.

The foreigners were nonplussed. All with the same dumbfounded stare, the two birds kept looking toward their instruments, toward the teacher, toward the children, all in search of some kind of explanation.

It took another wave from the teacher to catch Gustav's eye, and she cast him an encouraging look, before miming strumming her own guitar. Her face carried the very particular look of a teacher attempting to guide a child through their multiplication tables, a memory that inspired very mixed nostalgia in the older pigeon.

"Can you play?" Zion murmured softly, giving their tambourine a tiny shake.

"I...I think so," Gustav whispered back, giving the instrument a few furtive plucks. The sound was bright and clear, almost setting off sparks in the darkness. The Teacher nodded in approval, and then motioned for him to carry on. All eyes were now on him.

A moment of intense scrutiny, and Gustav awkwardly lifted the long instrument up, rested the instrument awkwardly in his elbow, and stretched his arm almost fully out to get his fingers vaguely in half-position. Then, with a little chuckle, he started raking his fingers over the strings, rapidly strumming with the energy of Japanese Noise artist. The sound was screeching and discordant, one of the four strings ringing out in an aimless drone and the other three sharp, flat, and somehow both at once. Zion squawked in horror, and the young birds around the fire all winced. Even the flycatcher half-lifted a hand in a weak attempt at a protest. Immediately, Gustav stopped, looking around in shock, embarrassment, and a bit of anticipatory protest.

"What...was that?" Zion asked, utterly incredulous.

"I thought to play it like a Balalaika! Gustav snapped defensively, hiding their shame-drenched blush.

"Because clearly the Great Plains of the United States are known for their Traditional Russian Folk music."

Gustav hung their head with a groan, feeling overwhelmed. "I want...oh Lord...oh..." With everything that had happened and was happening all around him, it looked as if he was about to cry. This adult was on the verge of a breakdown next to his fellow children.

Zion was about to apologize, but the Teacher silenced them with a gentle wave, her eyes polite but firm. With that settled, she rose from her spot and walked around the fire to Gustav. Kneeling beside him, she gently rested her hands on his, making the pigeon snap upright in surprise. He opened his mouth, but a little squeeze from her calmed this as well. With a soft touch, she moved his hands into place. With the care of someone building a dollhouse, she pressed his fingers into the right frets, and then tapped two of his fingers by the body a few times. Two notes in 4/4, nice and easy. As she pulled away and nodded in soft encouragement, Gustav gulped a little and started to play.

As the notes rang out, just barely off-tempo, the flycatcher's eyes turned to Zion. The firecrest very quickly lifted up their tambourine, holding their hand up to the wooden rim and looking at her like they'd been caught dozing off at their desk. After giving the young bird a cheeky little smirk, she lifted a single finger and mimed hitting a drum. One hit for every two notes. When Zion first smacked the halo of wood and metal, they nearly knocked it out of their own hand. Slightly chastened after mocking their friend, Zion was quick to please, and after a few more awkward attacks, finally managed to fall into line. The two worked together, keeping each other in time.

The song was simple, the sharp, silvery plucks of the banjo making a simple rhythm, a smack of Zion's tambourine brightening the downbeat. The Teacher's eyes sparkled at the pair, bobbing her beak very lightly to the tune. Adjusting the guitar on her lap, she gave it an experimental strum, before quickly correcting the slightly detuned low E. Zion almost lost the tempo, looking a bit embarrassed, but she quickly picked up, fingers swiping over the strings with far more control and care than Gustav had shown. The two Europeans took a few moments to really settle in, but as they held down the tune, the teacher started strumming chords, progressing them through the melody. The children were all enthralled, a few feet tapping with Gustav and a few hands clapping with Zion.

They all began to sing, near as the pair could tell. Their beaks all opened and sound began to ring out, but it sounded distant, even though they were not meters away. They struggled to hear, Zion opened their mouth to say something, but they wouldn't interrupt the song. Couldn't. Besides, with every note, the sound got louder, the chorus filling their clearing.

A female voice, loud and clear, carried the tune among the chorus of squeaky, desperate to sing good for their teacher.

This train is bound for glory, this train...

This train is bound for glory, this train...

This train is bound for glory,

Don't carry nothing but the righteous and the holy,

This train is bound for glory, this train!

The pair's hearts were filled with something bright, something that had not graced them in some time. The song carried on, and soon the two's accented voices joined into the fray.

This train don't carry no gamblers, this train...

This train don't carry no gamblers, this train...

This train don't carry no gamblers,

Liars, thieves, nor big shot ramblers,

This train is bound for glory, this train!

They all sang out loud and happy, passing the time as the trees zoomed by. Their voices could have rattled the windows, they sang so loud. They'd make it in no time.

This train don't carry no liars, this train;

This train don't carry no liars, this train;

This train don't carry no liars,

She's streamlined and a midnight flyer,

This train don't carry no liars, this train!

It didn't even matter that the thunder was loud, they'd all sing louder! If the rain came down harder, they'd all just keep the song rolling even faster than the bus. Miss always told them, never feel scared, it'll all be all right! Now, all together, loud enough to shake the mountains!

This train-

None of them could sing loud enough to drown out the sound when the windows shattered.

III

A loud thump shook the roof above them, and both Zion and Gustav screamed in shock and horror, flailing and cowering to protect themselves from what hurtled toward them.

However, in the moments that followed, nothing happened.

Nothing crashed into them, nothing rose to attack.

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

Lowering their limbs slowly, the pair's panting breath danced as cold mist in front of their faces, caught by a pale light streaming through the windows. _Light. _It was daytime!

A glimmer of Deja vu passed over their eyes, before the pair glanced at each other in confusion...and their eyes started to drift. Their tired eyes blinked repeatedly, trying to clear away whatever was clearly distorting their view. This wasn't right.

It was the bus, certainly, but something had changed. The cabin had collapsed in upon itself, an enormous dent in the side and shattered windows letting in the cool air. Stagnant water pooled here and there across the floor, collecting near the back of the cabin. Most of the remaining windows appeared battered, cracked, and several had pine branches reaching in, only to fail in the lost light.

Zion hurried to stand up, but their knees and arms screamed in pain, costing the firecrest their balance as they toppled forward and nearly fell out of the bus altogether. Slowly, with many deep lungfuls of air and shuddering groans to use them up, the pair made their way off the bus, their feet sinking into the soaked earth. It was as they turned around to offer a hand to Gustav that they truly realized; something was very wrong.

The paint had faded, and great infections of rust had long since burnt scars into the chassis. The words were long since gone, between giant scrapes and rips across the side. The tires had nearly decomposed, and the entire bus was slowly being reclaimed by the earth, mud and pine needles creeping up to the axel. What caught the two's eyes the most was right at the front. The front bumper was gone, and the engine likely wasn't much better. The metal was torn, the entire hood twisted and compressed. Their shelter was utterly destroyed, and long since forgotten.

As the pair looked around in dazed confusion, they saw that even the clearing had changed. Trees had encroached far closer than they'd recalled. They found no evidence of a fire pit. No evidence of anyone, even. Nothing, save for some footsteps mashed into the mud leading toward the door...

...and footsteps trailing back through a break in the trees.

Slowly, and after sharing a long look, the two birds started wordlessly following the trail. Gustav went first, Zion pausing to cast one last long look at the bus.

They thought they saw something in the bus, or perhaps they hoped they saw, but it was nothing.

The two silently retraced their steps, occasionally sliding and squishing around in the mud. As they finally made it out of the oppressive shadow of the forest, they were greeted by the light. Early morning, tinged with some red in the far horizon, the murky grey-blue of night slowly fading into light. The sun was still hazily obscured by cloud cover, leaving the pair in the dark about the time of day. It didn't matter, nothing mattered. The two just walked down the little trail they'd made in the pandemonium of last night.

In some moments, the two paused, looking down around them. Neither of them said it, but they each could have sworn they saw a third pair of footsteps. Some marks were too small, some were too big. Each time, however, the two brushed it off.

Eventually, the land around them started to look familiar, and when the path became even muddier, Zion was able to point out bits of soaked, dirty fluff from their ruined jacket. Hansel and Gretel followed the breadcrumbs back with even more gusto, summoning energy they both didn't know they had left. In no time at all, they slowed to a stop, facing the steep incline they'd first fallen from. It couldn't have been hours, but it felt like weeks. They could still see the cataclysmic damage they had crushed and torn up on their way down, even catching sight of a few lost trinkets glinting in the morning light.

With no better place to go, they settled for up. Slowly, they began to climb. The trek was slow, with plenty of rocks under their feet dislodging and mashing deeper into the clay-laced sludge. The two were able to recover their backpacks, and halfway up the two gulped down some stomach-churning beakfulls of water. Zion's phone miraculously still survived, albeit with a near-fatally cracked screen. Even Gustav managed to find a suitably-sized fallen branch to work as a hiking stick. After many minutes, the two managed to clamber, on all fours, through the last wall of tall grasses, and roll onto the sloppy, dirty flat surface of the path.

The two merely laid on their backs for a long moment, chests heaving and bodies seeming moments from giving up. Eventually, Gustav managed to rise to his feet with a few labored puffs of air, before coaxing his young friend.

At that moment, the two shared another comforting, anchoring hug. They weren't out of the woods, they still had to hike back, but they'd survived. The storm was over. Somehow, they'd found shelter...

While the words were growing on Zion's beak, it was Gustav who said it first.

"That...happened, right?"

"It had to..." The firecrest murmured, shaking their head. They felt dizzy. "It had to be, right? That wasn't-"

Zion's voice was cut off as something echoed through the hills. A low, reverberating grind. The two separated and looked around in confusion and growing alarm. With the close embrace of tree cover around them, the sound crashed around them with no clear origin. All they could tell was that it was getting louder.

"What's that sou-"

Bright lights crested the hill with a roar, and the two dove out of the way, Zion nearly toppling down the hill again and Gustav nearly trodding in a Prickly Pear cactus, as a bright-orange All-Terrain Vehicle tore past them, kicking up a deluge of mud and shards of stone. Before the two could catch their breath, the vehicle had skidded to a stop, and a very angry-looking Crow had hopped out to yell at them.

"HEY!" he squawked, voice like a broken piano string.

The two had shakily returned to their feet, now with an additional splatter of mud painting their ruined clothes and too rattled to process the sound.

"I SAID, HEY! Do you know how dangerous it is, just hangin' out in the middle of the goddamn road?!"

Zion and Gustav just stood there, beaks moving in lethargic confusion as the hunter glared daggers at them. Just before Gustav could speak, the hunter's partner glanced back, and called out with a happy squawk.

"Hey, it's Gus!"

An older Blue Jay in the same garb hopped out, plodding past his friend toward the pigeon, whose face expressed mixed relief at a friendly face and embarrassment, knowing that Zion was likely smirking out of sight.

"Cody! This here's my new friend Gus, from all the way in Hungry! Toldja 'bout him yesterday!"

Cody merely glared, and 'Gus' lifted a hand to wave weakly as he murmured "He-hello...Dusty, right?"

"See!?" Dusty called over his shoulder, before grabbing that numb hand too hard and dragging the wincing pigeon into a "one arm around and a heavy smack to the back" type of hug. When Dusty pulled back, his head was tilted slightly, notes of concern in his voice. "Y'all right there, Gus?"

"...damp," Gustav replied stiffly, joints screaming in pain.

"I don't doubt it! Don't know where that cold front came from, but we about canceled the whole trip. Cody right over there though, he ain't ready to head back to the old lady!" The crow glowered as Dusty lost himself to another thick belly laugh. The two Hungarians stood there, waiting for the two to finish.

"Could you spare us a ride?" Zion murmured, trying to not plead too hard.

"Aww, come out for a morning hike and can't handle the fog, eh?" Cody chortled mockingly.

The old Jay joined in with a little wheeze, before taking himself a proper look at the two; covered in mud, soaked past the feathers, torn and battered. The mirth immediately bled out of his tone as his eyes went wide, staring in growing alarm.

"Wait...Jesus...were you two out all night?! In all that?!"

Zion shrugged; Gustav made a noncommittal, guilty noise.

"How in the...what the fuck'd you do for shelter?!" Cody all but shrieked, stomping toward them in shock.

"We...we hid down there, in the-" Gustav had started to wave at the trail they'd taken, only to see confusion in both men's faces. Gustav and Zion followed the gaze, expecting to see the rough path they'd followed and cut.

Nothing. Not a damn thing. Not a break in the bushes, no parting in the grasses from the trail they followed, not even footprints in the mud. Their eyes retraced their steps, but even in the light, they couldn't make heads or tails of it. It all looked the same, just some sloping hills and trees. Same as any other part of the forest.

"Is there something down there?" Dusty's voice warbled, craning his head over Gustav's shoulder in interest.

The two travelers looked at each other, and after a long moment, it was Zion who eventually spoke up.

"Nothing."

IV

3 hours later, the door to the town cafe was rather rudely pushed open, the bell tinkling lightly before the inevitable crash. In trudged Zion, hobbling as if they'd just left the surgeon's office, still with a bit of a shine to their damp feathers after their hot shower. Their backup jacket was cinched tightly around their form, the moody Firecrest not willing to let any cold or rain hit their body again for some time.

Gustav was likely still taking his sabbatical in the shower, and would likely towel off in time for the octogenarian owner to politely chastise him for using up the entire lodge's hot water. Dusty and Cody were kind enough to drop them off in town, after enduring a few earfuls from the latter. How dangerous this was, how important it is to be prepared, all that and more while Dusty kept rolling his eyes. Ultimately, they'd been lucky. No hypothermia, no broken bones, just a few scrapes. Dusty was quick to offer some consoling words and a few good-hearted jokes, though they fell on numb ears.

The pair hadn't talked about the previous night's events, and it was unsure when they would, if ever. While Zion had taken the first round, Gustav had been glued to his own phone, circling around in their room in pursuit of signal, making calls and plans as they popped into his head. He was struggling, fighting with his own internal monologues and hopes, trying to figure out where to go from there...though Zion had no faith that these two would make it to the Land of Oranges on the west coast.

Zion, meanwhile, needed to take some time to recover. Not just physically, but emotionally. The exhaustion from the stress, the anxiety...and whatever they had seen, took more of a toll on the young bird than any other injury or strain they had sustained. And so, while Gustav alternated between pleading and demanding for mercy from the Gods of Mobile coverage, Zion had silently slipped out after getting clean.

With a soft grunt, they took a seat at the first table that suited them, the chair creaking under them. The place was open, but seemingly empty, and they looked around for some sign of life.

"Hello?!" they called weakly, voice too tired to express their growing frustration.

"Hey there, globetrotter!" a voice called out from behind them, and Zion turned to see a familiar face gazing down at them, wrapped in a pale blouse and carrying a steaming coffee pot in one hand and a large mug in the other.

"Cassie?" Zion murmured, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"My friend Linz has herself a date, and I volunteered to take her shift!" she replied, already pouring him a generous dose of the ink-black drink.

"You work here too?"

"Nah, but my Aunt owns it. She doesn't mind, and I could use a few extra bucks."

A weak little chuckle. "Everyone knows everyone here, I see."

"Oklahoma," Cassie chirped simply, before delicately placing Zion's drink before them on the table.

Zion weakly chuckled, the sound slowly dying out as their head bowed, and they warmed their hands on the mug as they waited for the drink to cool. Clearly sensing something was off, Cassie's head tilted.

"Everything all right, Hun?" she asked, concern in her voice. Zion's poor mood wanted to lash out, but there was something in that tone. Maybe it was a southern thing, or maybe it was just her, but there was always something maternal in this tone of hers. Devoid of any condescension and miles from sounding patronizing, the girl always had the tone of an older sister, just wanting to help. Even if she was younger than them, Zion's feathers settled, and their voice came out even.

"Yes...just tired. I'm sorry, I don't want you to get in trouble with the manager or something, if there's more people coming..."

"Oh, my sweet European, don't you know?" With a giggle, she mimed pulling down sunglasses. "I am the manager...at least for tonight. My aunt's got Bridge."

"Oh," Zion replied with a blink, and Cassie took a seat opposite them with a little laugh.

"I heard from Jen that you two went on a hike over by A-Trail last night, right?"

"We certainly did," Zion replied sourly, not contributing further to the conversation.

"Uh, cool!" Cassie replied, a bit unnerved, before carrying on. "I've been out there once or twice with my cousins. They usually go out to hunt, but sometimes they're cool with just letting me set up a little camp out there. It's really lovely, really peaceful."

"I imagine," Zion replied again, a glaze forming over their eyes.

Cassie continued, mostly undeterred. "Y'all probably heard the sirens, huh? We had a little touchdown over by McAlester, no big deal. Never even came close to anything, probably just harvested some poor fuck's corn too quick. Hope it didn't spook y'all too much."

Zion didn't really reply, continuing to stare into their coffee like it'd reveal something. "No...not really..." Again, there was nothing to say.

Perhaps sensing that she was losing her audience, Cassie clicked her beak with a nervous chuckle, before breaking the silence. "We...we were talking about names and stuff last time? From different cultures and all that?"

Zion didn't respond at all, aside from a little nod, and Cassie continued awkwardly. "Well...you know, I was originally supposed to be named Amelia."

"That's a lovely name," Zion churred absently. "A family name?"

"Yeah," Cassie replied with a pleased chirp, happy to move conversation forward. "Well, sorta. Grandma, mom's mom, wanted me named Emily, after her little sister, but dad kept saying it was too _morbid _or something. Then he lobbied hard for me to be named after _his _grandma instead. Boy, I bet _that _was a fun Thanksgiving..."

That odd sentiment was enough for Zion's head to turn, and then tilt. "Morbid?"

Cassie fluffed a bit, embarrassed by her running beak again, and she tried to wave it away. "It's nothing, just more Southern Gothic, you know?"

"You must understand by now that that's of interest to me. If you don't mind?"

It was clear by her crinkled eyes and a little click of her beak that the young girl was more than a little flattered, and she carried on. "Well, my grandmother was one of quite a few, but her only sister was a few years behind her. She was different than the others, not quite as rowdy. She was always so gentle, Nana said. Took care of everyone from the cows to the dolls like they were her own. Plus, she was smart as all hell, played like three instruments. Well, she eventually volunteered at our church, and soon she was doing children's church twice a week. Really stood out, she was more active than the preacher. Apparently she got some ire for it, too."

"For being...more Christian?" Zion commented slowly.

"Oklahoma," Cassie countered again, and Zion nodded, starting to understand. "Besides, women and all. Plus, she'd apparently gotten sweet with a drifter passing through, might have been her boyfriend. There were a lot of rumors, people not wanting her around their kids...though nana didn't give 'em much thought, her pious sister and all. Besides, Emily was a strong girl, didn't need them. They were just lookin' for reasons..." Her voice trailed off with a dismissive tone, her eyes narrowed in a sneer, before she carried on. "Well, she'd set out one night with all the children in her group and some other bird, -in the bus to the Church camp out near Davis..."

It was at this point that Cassie paused, staring intently at Zion, who stared right back in confusion. Was she waiting for a reply?

"Umm...okay, and what happened?"

Another pause, for extra drama.

"They never made it there, and they never came back."

Clearly, Cassie had expected Zion to be shocked, stunned even. She hadn't expected their face to change, for their eyes to go wide, or for some of their coffee to spill after the mug returned to the table after it was just about to be lifted.

"Are you okay?"

Zion didn't respond, staring intently at Cassie. Sure, the headfeathers weren't the same, nor the body shape and the tank top. And yet, this girl's eyes, so brown and yet with just enough green to be hazel, like pecans nearly ready for the pie...

"Uh, yeah!" Zion quickly retorted, before clearing their throat apologetically and hurriedly taking a sip of coffee. "Spaced for a moment. What-what happened to them?"

"No one knows for sure. They'd packed up on a clear day and set out on a bad night. You've probably seen how quick it can go south here." Her little chortle of laughter distracted her from Zion's slightly shaking frame. "It doesn't look like they made it to the next town, likely drove the bus off the road in the rain, but no one ever found tire tracks anywhere. The county police helped, even the boys from Oklahoma City came and helped scour the woods. Nothing. They eventually had to call off the search. Not everyone let their kids go, what with all the rumors and gossip and dislike of a woman in so much charge. So the church didn't die out, but they lost-"

"Eight children..." Zion's beak imperceptibly moved, mutely harmonizing with Cassie as she blithely carried on with regaling them about the tragedy.

"-eight children. The town was in shambles, nearly broke apart as a result. A bunch of families just up and left with no goodbye, some of their houses rotting where they stand, full of graffiti and baggies. Hell, my family got so much hell from everyone still in town, wanting someone to blame. They nearly left themselves, but my great grandpa wasn't about to leave behind the land we'd held onto for so long. And eventually, they all just..."

"Cassie?"

The flycatcher stopped mid-word, and met their eyes again. "Zion?"

"You said it was a church group," Zion asked, speaking slowly. "Was it for one of the churches...here in town? Or-"

"Yeah," Cassie cut them off with perfect southern polite impoliteness. "Red Roost Baptist. Why?"

"I don't feel well."

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you-"

Cassie's concerned voice was cut off as Zion started hurriedly stuffing their notebook and pens into their jacket pockets.

"Are you okay, are you gonna be ill?" Cassie warbled in concern, a bit alarmed by her friend's change in mood.

"I'll be fine, just-" Zion interrupted themself by swallowing the last of the coffee, and squawking in a cough as they realized it hadn't yet gone lukewarm. "Az istenit! _Baszd meg! _ Um, I mean, I just need to head back to my room, sleep this off."

"Oh..." Cassie replied, a bit put off, before halfheartedly piping up again as Zion scrambled to leave. "Well, I might close up early tomorrow, so if you guys...if you're _not busy, maybe you want to grab some dinner? There's a place out East of here on the highway, I can totally drive! They're supposed to be really nice, tie and suit kinda thing. They've even got Steak aw Pwave..._Poivre? Is that how you-"

Zion had turned their head away, and was fumbling around in their wallet to pay for the coffee as they spoke. "I don't think I'll be able to make it. I think Gustav wants to try and make it to the capital tomorrow...he might be ready to bail out."

"Oh noooo..." Cassie's eyes crinkled sadly, though it wasn't clear whether what she was disappointed about. "You two throwing in the towel this early? What about your adventure?"

"Trust me," Zion grumbled, tossing too many bills onto the counter and thrusting their jacket back over their shoulders "we've had more than enough adventure." This was too much. _All _of this was too much. This couldn't be real. This wasn't safe. They shouldn't have bothered leaving Europe. They should never have let Gustav and his half-baked fantasies lead them into whatever this was.

With a glance at her and a dismissive wave of their hand, Zion rose out of their chair and pointed toward the door. Their chair tipped with the speed of the exit, and as the avian paused to keep it from falling, they got a better look at their dining companion. Her face had fallen, averting her gaze as she seemed to shrink into her chair.

"Cassie?" they murmured softly.

A quick gulp, and she lifted her head to look up at them as if nothing was wrong. She didn't do the best job. Sure, she carried herself well, but behind her tight shoulders something was crumbling. It wasn't just sadness, there was a look in her eyes like she'd just missed the last train of the night. A forlorn abandonment of hope that she'd have no choice but to accept. With this dream dying before her eyes, so a few started to fade behind her eyes. Eventually, the mist in her vision would be wicked away, until she simply stopped crying.

Yet there was strength in the flycatcher. Conviction, even if it was built upon an unstable foundation. Even as emotion tried to pull her down, she still held on strong, gazing at the firecrest with genuine care in her eyes. Even if she was younger than her new, brief friend, she gazed at him with the care of a mother...or perhaps a teacher.

Just like her Great-Aunt.

"Whether the curse is true or not...promise me you'll go do something exciting, okay?" Zion's voice was a bit unsure at first, but what started as a plea became a more emphatic with each word. "It doesn't have to be something big...nothing like this. You don't have to travel the world, but make it out there! See something you've always wanted to! Go look for something you didn't know you wanted to!"

A moment passed as Zion collected themself, needing to catch their breath. Cassie's eyes were wide, and she had indeed perked up. Only for a moment, however, before her shoulders sagged, defeated. She had generations behind her to remind her that, come 60 years from now, she'd likely be sitting in this exact same bar if it still stood. With a shrug and a mirthless snort of laughter, she asked, "Well, where would I go?"

After a moment's pause, Zion couldn't help but flash her a good-natured wink. "Budapest's not too bad this time of year."

Even with a hint of shine in her gaze, Cassie's eyes beamed at the firecrest. They held that gaze for a long time, but just as Zion was about to break it, she lifted a hand. Standing up and walking toward them with that same carefree gaze she always had, she stood slightly on the tip of her claws before them, and pressed the tip of her beak into Zion's cheek feathers, stroking along the side of their face in a quick, gentle arc. A quick, fond wink, and Cassie turned tail feathers and wandered back toward the kitchen to finish cleaning up, making sure to deftly snatch up her trusty rag and Zion's mug before she vanished out of sight.

With the indent of the "kiss" still in their feathers, Zion took in one last lungful of the diner. Humid. Old. Dusty and yet also slightly burnt...o_ddly charming_.

"Oklahoma," they murmured. The only explanation needed.

The door clinked behind them, and Zion flipped up their hood against the cool breeze, meandering back toward the inn along the empty, quiet road. There was no rush; there was all the time in the world, and their soft voice warbled through the summer air.

"This train...is bound for glory...this train..."

V

Le Flore County, 1951

"I'm just pleased you haven't lost your accent yet."

The golden eagle's cheek feathers bristled, and there was likely a blush deep underneath. He took a moment to play with the collar of his shirt before replying, his soft voice mildly laced with a German accent.

"It's...not as pleasant as yours."

Emily chuckled softly, sitting up and smoothing out her dress. The scissortail always looked elegant, her pale lavender dress harmonizing well with her plumage. She sat there, legs stretched aimlessly before her, and in that moment, her partner was reminded of the American movie posters. She could be in any of them, he always thought.

"You flatter me, Aquila," she murmured, her voice twanging like the strum of an autoharp. "I understand you wanting to try for something more American...but I think it'd still be a loss."

"How else can I make a life here?" Aquila countered with a weary chuckle, hugging his knees just a bit, grateful for humor to distract them. "Perhaps if I had yours?"

"Wouldn't that be something?" Emily chirped with a silky laugh, before playfully pushing Aquila's shoulder. "Come on, try it! Be a proper southern gentleman!"

With a face like he was repairing a tractor, Aquila slowly drawled out "Ehhhts...ah reayle playshure...to maet yeww, miyss."

Emily's smiling eyes were a bit forced as she clearly was working hard to not lie.

"Perfect...like any other ranch hand!"

Aquila laughed, covering his face and flopping backwards into the grass onto his back. Emily followed suit, giggling like a schoolgirl as she gazed up at him. The two's laughter eventually faded, and their hands fell into each other's, holding on tight. Their beaks grew close, and their eyes closed as their foreheads pressed together. Many nights had ended like this, hidden away from pious eyes, outside the judgment of the town. Here, love had flourished. Hopes were formed. Dreams were shared.

"You know the plan, right?" Emily eventually murmured, pulling away and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

With a resigned sigh, Aquila faced reality again. "Tomorrow, I will hop in the back of Old Man Crenshaw's truck as he takes his busted thresher up to Muskogee, then catch a bus to Tulsa. From there I can go almost anywhere, as long as I speak right."

Emily nodded and continued, "if the cops come looking for their Commie Kraut boy..." her words trailed off as her voice grew oily with disgust. They couldn't even agree on what crime to condemn her new love for. "...I'll tell them you made off for Dallas and stole my Grandmother's necklace," her fingers trailed over the necklace in question, comfortably wrapped around his wrist as a parting gift "and I'll beg for forgiveness from the church for being waylaid by a charming foreigner. They'll talk, they'll gossip, but they need me. I just don't want them sending you back home. Not to the Soviets, either as a soldier or a criminal...or worse."

Emily's strong voice had trembled on the last few words, and Aquila, for his own sake and hers, tried to lighten the mood.

"Well, it could be worse. The _Sowjets _won't hold my home forever, the occupation will end, surely...and maybe I'll be able to go back when it's safe! Or I find a job here, set up a shop maybe? No one will be the wiser. Besides, Germany's beautiful this time of year!" Thoughts of home made him laugh, and Emily's face lightened, always dazzled by his tales.

"It sounds beautiful..." she murmured, a bit sleepily, as she tried to get comfortable alongside him.

"Think you'll ever visit?" The question came with a little laugh, with a hint of some hope inside.

A silence followed, this one far too heavy. Emily averted her gaze and quickly sat back up, staring out over the valley. "I don't know, Aquila."

Aquila laid there awkwardly, trying to run through his decent English to find appropriate words for this moment. "Well, who knows what will-"

"I don't know if I'll ever leave the state, to be honest," Emily continued, her voice dismissive, almost matter-of-fact. She still wouldn't look at him. "Sure, I see some other towns, and I'll be heading a few counties over in a few weeks...but I don't think I can leave here too long. There's always pecans to harvest, and Jesse's wife's due in a few months. I'm going to be an auntie, they'll need me even more..."

She sighed, wiping at her eyes with a fist.

"I just hope the little one has it better than us...there's so much out there."

"We...we will find each other!" Aquila protested weakly, sitting up and trying to hold her hand again. "I'll take you there, maybe! When it's legal, I'll come back, and we can go see things, Emily! All these stories, these hopes, we can make them real! I'll do that for-"

"You don't know what you've already done."

Aquila's beak fell open in shock, racking his brain for what infraction he'd committed. He leaned forward to try and decipher meaning from her face, only for her to turn away again. However, even in the failing light, he'd caught a glimpse. Her eyes were crinkled again, though not in anger. She was holding back tears again, though her eyes were happy. Her voice rang out like a church bell, solemn and firm.

"If I never leave this town again, I'll still have no regrets. Thanks to you."

The eagle sat there, stunned. He knew not what to say, in any language he knew, so he resigned himself to minutes of silence as the pair watched the warm sun prepare to tuck itself in. It was getting late, and the Calloways did not trust him alone with their daughter even before the rumors and accusations had spread.

Clearing his throat, he nervously started to rise. "Well, your mother will likely call for dinner soon, perhaps we should-"

He let out a squawk as the normally demure country girl roughly tugged him back down into the grass. "No...I'm off having dinner at the Lancasters'. And the Lancasters think I rescheduled for tomorrow."

Aquila merely nodded, before tentatively slipping an arm around her waist. Emily fell into the crook of his arm immediately, and the two stretched out on the grass once more, holding each other close. The crickets were soon to start filling the empty space, calling out in half-melodic song. The drone of the cicadas was starting to mount and envelop everything else. The two were hidden from the gaze of the town, yet far from alone.

"Promise me you'll be happy?" the eagle murmured gently down at her, halfway a plea and halfway a prayer as the sun vanished over the horizon. His gaze turned to hers, finding her eyes already locked to his. The fiery haze of the twilight sky trailed down her cheek, following a single tear, though her voice was strong and clear as it always was.

"I'll be all right, Hun. Everything will be all right."

With that, the words faded into the crisp summer air, as the couple spent their last night watching the stars fill the sky.