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"Hrmph. Comedy is not my specialty. I'm too old to play the clown." Char grumbled, pleased. "but, I might have a story or two that even you don't know I know."

Char narrowed his eyes at the shrill, clever little bird, thoughtfully. "Now, that's clever...I'm not much one for such frippery, but companions used as part of the act....that's real use of tools. Most efficient."

The Crownleaf Theater was an impressive sight. The massive branches that twisted and turns to every angle of the imagination, casting shadow shapes in the thick foilage. A large nest, larger than anything that could be created by a colony of parus with a determined mindset could craft, rested as if on air on the many branches that held it up, cupping it’s precious cargo that served as center stage. Though attendenace fluxuated, there seemed to always be someone on center stage, something happening, and someone at the end of their branch, leaning in with transfixed eyes as they where wrapped around the talons of the bard’s temselves, puppiters to the worlds, words, and life they created in their art.
It seemed rude to impose on this. To just fly in when you hardly made a visit since your fledgling days, unexpected by only one person. If it wasn’t for promises, Sequoia would have turned tail and went home.

Sequoia found a branch, not as close to the rest of the audience, who seemed to be mingling bards who where watching and also sharing ideas. Critics and lovers of the art together. Still, Sequoia wanted to be sure that if Char was about, he’d see he was here.

Then there came a loud screeching and the Artisan ruffled, looking at the stage. Fjord, a bird he new only on passing terms, was on the stage, being chased by a loud and shrieking Pica. Basil, Sequoia’s painted Parus, shook his head in disapproval.
“Out tune. Of out tune.” It chirped, overlooking the reason why the bard’s companion was being so loud. Dramatic effect.

“ The shrieks of their unknown assailant were blood curling and made their feathers stand on end. Almost instantly, It was on them. Our brave wildtype felt every inch of courage leave her as she shot for the trees below, her friend followed, but the monster of the skies was far faster than either of them!"”

Sequoia was instantly entranced. Memories and ideas rushed to met him and he felt on edge. “The Sky fiend?” He whispered to himself, which made Basil look at him. Was Fjord giving an account, on the horrendous, cruel being that took so many, plucked from the sky like ripen fruit to be devoured to it’s own sicking pleasures. Innocent Sentinels. Beautiful Sentinels. …Lilly.
The two chased dears. Rosin....Lilly..........the monster in it's hidden though terrorizing pursuit...... He felt his chest constrict, his eyes turn mournful, and his heart turn to stone and sink to the pits of his core.

He didn’t want to be here as his stomach turned and at the same time, he also wanted to know. Did Fjord know more than he on the matter he had pondered and grappled to find more on, or was this a bard’s imagination? Was he poking at the idea for a play’s effect, when he knew no sense of caution to the topic. Rosinweed would shiver in his plumage to see this and he was glad, for one of the few times, she was secluded at her own home.

Basil hoped nearby, trained to sense nerves. "Sec?" It chirped, unable to say Sequoia's full name.

Now this was an awkward situation. The shadow’s expression was calm and serious but his eartufts and a couple of misbehaved feathers betrayed his uncomfortable silence. At Tousled words, he slowly started to understand the female’s feelings on her plumage. Chase shifted on his talons as she spoke in that tone that didn’t suit her at all and felt a sudden urge to jump in front of her, protect her, push the source of her worries away…

But he remained quiet. He would not give in to anger. Not against a female. And Tousled would certainly be offended if he, barely an acquaintance, would leap in her defense, pretend to understand her situation and everything she had been forced to endure and elatedly protect her as if she was nothing more than a helpless hatchling. Oh, but how much he hated that cold bitter tone that quietly left her beak…

Tousled last question caught him off guard, and he looked at Raine more intently, suddenly surprised. She was right… if Raine had been watching as she had admitted herself why would she let Hazel drop by a second time? As the sleek deep woods answered his thoughts, he had to look away for a second and take a deep breath. Not against a female. Feather had flown next to Fjord. Was the story ending?

There was no point in avoiding the situation. He had to be polite, yes, but honest. And the truth was… he wanted Raine to go away which thankfully the female already seemed inclined to do. “I understand. Though I find your motive a bit distasteful, I appreciate your… honesty. On what concerned me.” He spoke slowly, ending with atypical coldness. “Until we meet again, Raine.”
No bow, no nod, no “pleasure to meet you” or “leaving already?”, only a grave stare from his blue eyes. It almost pained him to treat a female that way.

Fjord’s tale was over. What a pity, he hadn’t caught most of it. He wouldn’t be able to tell it to his mother. Who was he kidding… his mother probably knew it already.

Yes you did! Yes you damn well did! Tousled bristled in mute rage. What a conceited creature this Raine was! She even seemed to think that this “advice” she was giving was some sort of new concept, something Tousled would never have heard before, much less ever tried to apply. What a joke! It was the one thing that she had ever heard since she was old enough to give voice to the pain and the sadness that she felt. “Just ignore them and they will eventually leave you alone.” “They can only hurt you if you let them.” Good, sound advice that made everything seem so simple, given by authoritative minders and sensible teachers and always with the best of intentions. Always paving Tousled’s way with their good intentions, and never seeming to notice the hidden thorn in their oh-so-clever argument. But Tousled knew.

What those sentiments meant, what they were really saying when the push came to shove, was nothing other than this: You’re not trying hard enough.
If what that male said made you cry, then you are weak. If the look that that lady gave you stung your heart, then you haven’t steeled it enough. You could have a better life, you could rid yourself of your own pain, if you could just be strong enough to really try - or… if you really actually wanted to.

As a fledgling, it had broken her heart. As an adult, she found it humiliating.

From Moult, she could accept that kind of talk, because she knew that he knew better than anyone what she had had to go through throughout most of her life, and so if he said that there was some way to harden yourself enough not to let the abuse disturb you, and still somehow be able to be a decent person, then maybe there really was a way and she just hadn’t found it yet. But for someone like Raine, who didn’t even know her, didn’t know the first thing about what her life had looked like, to make a few observations of her and then arbitrarily decide that she knew better than Tousled herself how to make her life more bearable, was more than just humiliating – it was downright insulting.

But the worst part of it all was that there was nothing she could say in her own defence, because the “advice” that Raine held over her head was such a devilishly clever construct in itself that any protests, objections or explanations that the ruffled female would try to put forth would serve only to prove the other female’s point: that Tousled just wasn’t trying hard enough, either out of weakness or laziness. So she stood frozen in place, trembling with impotent rage and clamping her beak shut so hard that her temples began to hurt, in order to keep herself from saying something that she would definitely regret.

She was saved from her painful inner conflict by Chase’s coolly polite voice, and most of all by the strain that he put on the words ”Concerned me.” She glanced up at him with something almost desperate in her eyes. That could mean that he didn’t agree with Raine’s sentiments. She had learned long ago that hope could be a dangerous thing, but at this point she was ready to latch onto whatever feeble straw that she could find as long as there was a chance that it might save her from her own overblown, frustrated anger. And it worked.

Without so much as a second glance over at the other Deep Woods, Tousled gathered up enough composure to stiffly turn her back to her, and from there she could finally speak – even though her hoarse whisper was still so cold that it all but stung her throat when it passed through:

“Yes, if that is all, then please leave.”

"Hear! Hear!" Birch hooted as Fjord finished his story. As Char left him alone he edged closer to Liam to answer his request properly.

"We can discuss your future crafter after this show," he said quietly, "Or we can talk at a later time if you need to get home to your wards. I'll see you at any rate."

Char was still waiting for everyone to quiet down, but Fjords story had sparked a lot of conversation. From the corner of his eye he could see the smaller bard enter the theatre from the back and settle near Tousled's group. The noise would die down soon, but Birch took the opportunity to move closer to his friends.

He landed with a soft thud next to Fjord.

"Great story," he said and nudged the other with a wing, "why are you..."

The tense situation finally penetrated Birch's somewhat thick skull and whatever he was going to say trailed off into nothing. A feeling that a fight had just ended was thick in the air and made his feathers prickle. Birch might not be that perceptive at all times, but he was not stupid.

"Oh..." Awkward.

Raine's eyebrows rose higher and higher as more and more Sentinels arrived onto the scene. Goodness, she had not wanted to make such a fuss...No, she had simply planned on assuring the Shadow male that she would not divulge his secret, just in case he was the type inclined to "dispose of" potential threats. Certainly Raine had not expected her passing comment to plunge the mismatched female into barely-controlled fury.

Really, it was quite unbecoming to feel such strong emotions, more so to let others see what might be perceived as a weakness. Raine herself was certainly not so vain as to throw a hissy-fit over ruffled feathers. Bad form, to act so- but then Raine caught herself.

It was not likely that most Sentinels would think strategically, as it was rather tiring for most to constantly examine everything...No, in this time of peace, many were lowering their guard, and rightly so, for what was there to fear when there was no threat?...Not Raine. She had learned long ago not to show weaknesses like emotion. Far be it for her to look down on those who did, even if she so despised the not-quite-honesty of some social interchanges...

Beginning to feel claustrophobic from the forming crowd, Raine further lifted her wings. Seeming to not notice the tension in the air, she gave a friendly, but slightly distant nod at no one in particular, before launching off of the branch. "I expect I'll see you..."

Char turned, slowly, impatient with the hubub, and swept the audience with a slow glare. He did his best to fix each and every Sentinel in the crowd with a look that said clearly to settle down.

With careful deliberation, the old bird cleared his throat, as loudly as he could manage, making his annoyance perfectly clear.