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Amer said:
READ THEM ALL
The How To Train Your Dragon Series is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues.
One thing about Fishlegs that I didn’t like as a kid but now don’t mind is that he never became more heroic as the series went on and continued to be bad because let’s be honest not all of us are cut out to be vikings.View attachment 2635588
Click to expand...
https://www.fitnessgrampacertest.com/#
 
I wrote another thing today!!
Context: Sam fell asleep and ended up here. She has had 'dreams' like this before, but nothing quite as sadistic.
“Grab your weapons, soldiers! Prepare to attack. This is not a drill.”
Before Sam had even opened her eyes, she could hear the yelling of hundreds of men and women and the frantic cries of children.
“I have to go.” Sam heard the voice of a girl who sounded the most nearby.
“Will you come back, though?” The voice of a young boy.
“I can’t...guarantee that. But I promise you’ll be okay. You must find Mrs. Glaede. She will take care of you.”
Sam blinked, and from her angle-tilted view of the frozen ground, she could see that the girl’s voice belonged to a petite and pretty young woman with giant blue-gray wings for arms. She had simple plates of iron on her shoulders and chest, a wooden shield, and a sharp spear strung across her back. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a braided bun on the back of her head. The child was similar in complexion and build, with wavy dark hair and a scattering of freckles across his blushed tan cheeks.
“Don’t go. Please.” The child shook the young woman’s dark purple skirt, which had been tied up so it only reached her mid-thighs. “I won’t see you again.”
“Maybe. But what I am doing is for a good cause.” The girl stroked the child’s tearful face. “The Prince is the future of this nation. If he dies in the hands of The Goddess, so does the whole world. And so will you.” She was nearly trembling with conviction.
“But--mother and father--”
“The world went on without them. It can go on without me, too. That’s why we fight.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I love you. Be good.” She kissed him on the top of his dark brown hair, put on her silver helmet, and marched away.
“You are wrong! You are wrong!” The child screamed, outstretching his brown feathered arms. “You are wrong!” But the crowd of soldiers began to thicken and the siblings were swept away from one another.
Sam knew the boy would probably never see his sister again. The only comfort she could gather from this was that they were part of her dream.
They are in my imagination. They are not real. You do not need to feel sorry for the boy. The soothing words ran through Sam’s mind. Why was she still holding on to that doubt that her dream was simply that, and nothing more?
“You there! Get up!”
A tall dark figure created a shadow over Sam, who was still lying on the ground from confusion and exhaustion. Sam could see that it was a centaur, with the head and torso of a man but the body of a horse--but no--he had the massive antlers of a deer anchored into his head, and his hooves were cloven. This was a deer centaur.
“There is no more time to rest up. I know it’s hard.” The centaur’s voice softened, even amidst the chaos. “Put on your armor. Gird up your loins.”
“But--I’m not from here. I have no armor.”
“If you believe an endangered child is a cause worth fighting for, then you will find a way to help us!” The centaur bellowed and leaned forward until his flaring nostrils were inches from Sam’s face.
“Apologies, sir!” Sam bowed her head. She was used to such sudden changes in mood from a superior.
Her mind drifted. An Endangered child? Was that ‘The Prince’ everyone was talking about? She couldn’t be sure. But she could still hear the screams of the little boy echo through her mind. Maybe it wasn’t real, but she was dreaming, at least. That meant she had nothing to lose.
Sam pulled back from the panicked mob of soldiers and then ran in behind them, scouring the icy landscape for a tree to climb and spectate from.
Then, all at once, The Goddess rose--glowing, powerful--from under the sky like the morning sun, melting the frost from the grass. She opened her porcelain hands and thousands of fiery figures went rushing down her flowing white dress, venomous jaws gaping with a hunger for burned flesh.
It was horrifying. Sam prayed for a place to hide. But all she could do was crouch and let the other soldiers march on to their deaths.
Her eyes were shut for the first few blows. All she could hear was the angry yelling and then the death cries of the soldiers, then the thud of their armor as it fell fruitlessly to the ground.
When Sam’s eyes reopened, she saw that the fiery enemy was rapidly approaching her, tearing through the soldiers as if they were simply weeds. She couldn’t stand by and watch, but without a plan, there was not much choice. She sprinted off to the side and lay down in the newly-revived--and slightly singed--tall grass, hoping she wouldn’t be noticed.
And then she saw that young woman again, spin-kicking across the battlefield as if she had been training for this dance since she was little. She was skilled, for sure: Sam watched her as she yelled and stabbed a few of the enemy with her spear, doing flips in midair with her wings to get several from behind. Then she hovered and darted above them in the air almost teasingly as they roared, smoke billowing from the gaping holes in their chests before they crumpled to the ground as ash.
Yes, the girl was skilled--and beautiful--but she was still a girl. And she was no match for the horde of monsters jumping up to reach her, hair and eyes sparkling like firecrackers, teeth gnashing--
First they grabbed her leg and pulled her down from the sky, slamming her to the ground with a deafening crash for such a tiny figure. Then they tore off her armor, hurling its black melted remains across the battlefield--one of the shards lodging itself into the neck of another soldier. The girl yelled and squirmed, slashing her spear across the enemy’s chests. Sam thought she could see the girl crack a sly grin when they fell.
“Petri!” yelled another trembling teenage soldier standing nearby. He was gangly and thin, with messy blonde hair, and his armor looked much too big for him. Blood was streaming from his nose. A massive fire monster shoved him out of the way and marched straight over to the girl. “No! No!” He begged.
But it was too late. In an evil rage, the monster grabbed the end of the girl’s spear with a fiery hand. With the other, it clasped her own feathered hand. The girl let out a sharp cry of pain, but the spear did not loosen from her grip. At last, the monster pulled the spear parallel to the girl’s body, and with her hands still fastened, drove it straight through her chest.
Sam was far enough away to be safe. But she could almost feel this young girl’s warm blood spattering over her back and face and hands. And she could almost feel the salty tears of a little boy.
Sam wondered. Was she truly sadistic enough to imagine this?

sorry its uhhhh not good
 
Last edited:
puffypoo said:
I wrote another thing today!!
Context: Sam fell asleep and ended up here. She has had 'dreams' like this before, but nothing quite as sadistic.
“Grab your weapons, soldiers! Prepare to attack. This is not a drill.”
Before Sam had even opened her eyes, she could hear the yelling of hundreds of men and women and the frantic cries of children.
“I have to go.” Sam heard the voice of a girl who sounded the most nearby.
“Will you come back, though?” The voice of a young boy.
“I can’t...guarantee that. But I promise you’ll be okay. You must find Mrs. Glaede. She will take care of you.”
Sam blinked, and from her angle-tilted view of the frozen ground, she could see that the girl’s voice belonged to a petite and pretty young woman with giant blue-gray wings for arms. She had simple plates of iron on her shoulders and chest, a wooden shield, and a sharp spear strung across her back. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a braided bun on the back of her head. The child was similar in complexion and build, with wavy dark hair and a scattering of freckles across his blushed tan cheeks.
“Don’t go. Please.” The child shook the young woman’s dark purple skirt, which had been tied up so it only reached her mid-thighs. “I won’t see you again.”
“Maybe. But what I am doing is for a good cause.” The girl stroked the child’s tearful face. “The Prince is the future of this nation. If he dies in the hands of The Goddess, so does the whole world. And so will you.” She was nearly trembling with conviction.
“But--mother and father--”
“The world went on without them. It can go on without me, too. That’s why we fight.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I love you. Be good.” She kissed him on the top of his dark brown hair, put on her silver helmet, and marched away.
“You are wrong! You are wrong!” The child screamed, outstretching his brown feathered arms. “You are wrong!” But the crowd of soldiers began to thicken and the siblings were swept away from one another.
Sam knew the boy would probably never see his sister again. The only comfort she could gather from this was that they were part of her dream.
They are in my imagination. They are not real. You do not need to feel sorry for the boy. The soothing words ran through Sam’s mind. Why was she still holding on to that doubt that her dream was simply that, and nothing more?
“You there! Get up!”
A tall dark figure created a shadow over Sam, who was still lying on the ground from confusion and exhaustion. Sam could see that it was a centaur, with the head and torso of a man but the body of a horse--but no--he had the massive antlers of a deer anchored into his head, and his hooves were cloven. This was a deer centaur.
“There is no more time to rest up. I know it’s hard.” The centaur’s voice softened, even amidst the chaos. “Put on your armor. Gird up your loins.”
“But--I’m not from here. I have no armor.”
“If you believe an endangered child is a cause worth fighting for, then you will find a way to help us!” The centaur bellowed and leaned forward until his flaring nostrils were inches from Sam’s face.
“Apologies, sir!” Sam bowed her head. She was used to such sudden changes in mood from a superior.
Her mind drifted. An Endangered child? Was that ‘The Prince’ everyone was talking about? She couldn’t be sure. But she could still hear the screams of the little boy echo through her mind. Maybe it wasn’t real, but she was dreaming, at least. That meant she had nothing to lose.
Sam pulled back from the panicked mob of soldiers and then ran in behind them, scouring the icy landscape for a tree to climb and spectate from.
Then, all at once, The Goddess rose--glowing, powerful--from under the sky like the morning sun, melting the frost from the grass. She opened her porcelain hands and thousands of fiery figures went rushing down her flowing white dress, venomous jaws gaping with a hunger for burned flesh.
It was horrifying. Sam prayed for a place to hide. But all she could do was crouch and let the other soldiers march on to their deaths.
Her eyes were shut for the first few blows. All she could hear was the angry yelling and then the death cries of the soldiers, then the thud of their armor as it fell fruitlessly to the ground.
When Sam’s eyes reopened, she saw that the fiery enemy was rapidly approaching her, tearing through the soldiers as if they were simply weeds. She couldn’t stand by and watch, but without a plan, there was not much choice. She sprinted off to the side and lay down in the newly-revived--and slightly singed--tall grass, hoping she wouldn’t be noticed.
And then she saw that young woman again, spin-kicking across the battlefield as if she had been training for this dance since she was little. She was skilled, for sure: Sam watched her as she yelled and stabbed a few of the enemy with her spear, doing flips in midair with her wings to get several from behind. Then she hovered and darted above them in the air almost teasingly as they roared, smoke billowing from the gaping holes in their chests before they crumpled to the ground as ash.
Yes, the girl was skilled--and beautiful--but she was still a girl. And she was no match for the horde of monsters jumping up to reach her, hair and eyes sparkling like firecrackers, teeth gnashing--
First they grabbed her leg and pulled her down from the sky, slamming her to the ground with a deafening crash for such a tiny figure. Then they tore off her armor, hurling its black melted remains across the battlefield--one of the shards lodging itself into the neck of another soldier. The girl yelled and squirmed, slashing her spear across the enemy’s chests. Sam thought she could see the girl crack a sly grin when they fell.
“Petri!” yelled another trembling teenage soldier standing nearby. He was gangly and thin, with messy blonde hair, and his armor looked much too big for him. Blood was streaming from his nose. A massive fire monster shoved him out of the way and marched straight over to the girl. “No! No!” He begged.
But it was too late. In an evil rage, the monster grabbed the end of the girl’s spear with a fiery hand. With the other, it clasped her own feathered hand. The girl let out a sharp cry of pain, but the spear did not loosen from her grip. At last, the monster pulled the spear parallel to the girl’s body, and with her hands still fastened, drove it straight through her chest.
Sam was far enough away to be safe. But she could almost feel this young girl’s warm blood spattering over her back and face and hands. And she could almost feel the salty tears of a little boy.
Sam wondered. Was she truly sadistic enough to imagine this?

sorry its uhhhh not good
Click to expand...
This is really good!
But who are they fighting?
And can (what’s her name again? The queen mom?) and her relatives... do they choose their forms or did she just happen to become nymphy?
 
puffypoo said:
I wrote another thing today!!
Context: Sam fell asleep and ended up here. She has had 'dreams' like this before, but nothing quite as sadistic.
“Grab your weapons, soldiers! Prepare to attack. This is not a drill.”
Before Sam had even opened her eyes, she could hear the yelling of hundreds of men and women and the frantic cries of children.
“I have to go.” Sam heard the voice of a girl who sounded the most nearby.
“Will you come back, though?” The voice of a young boy.
“I can’t...guarantee that. But I promise you’ll be okay. You must find Mrs. Glaede. She will take care of you.”
Sam blinked, and from her angle-tilted view of the frozen ground, she could see that the girl’s voice belonged to a petite and pretty young woman with giant blue-gray wings for arms. She had simple plates of iron on her shoulders and chest, a wooden shield, and a sharp spear strung across her back. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a braided bun on the back of her head. The child was similar in complexion and build, with wavy dark hair and a scattering of freckles across his blushed tan cheeks.
“Don’t go. Please.” The child shook the young woman’s dark purple skirt, which had been tied up so it only reached her mid-thighs. “I won’t see you again.”
“Maybe. But what I am doing is for a good cause.” The girl stroked the child’s tearful face. “The Prince is the future of this nation. If he dies in the hands of The Goddess, so does the whole world. And so will you.” She was nearly trembling with conviction.
“But--mother and father--”
“The world went on without them. It can go on without me, too. That’s why we fight.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I love you. Be good.” She kissed him on the top of his dark brown hair, put on her silver helmet, and marched away.
“You are wrong! You are wrong!” The child screamed, outstretching his brown feathered arms. “You are wrong!” But the crowd of soldiers began to thicken and the siblings were swept away from one another.
Sam knew the boy would probably never see his sister again. The only comfort she could gather from this was that they were part of her dream.
They are in my imagination. They are not real. You do not need to feel sorry for the boy. The soothing words ran through Sam’s mind. Why was she still holding on to that doubt that her dream was simply that, and nothing more?
“You there! Get up!”
A tall dark figure created a shadow over Sam, who was still lying on the ground from confusion and exhaustion. Sam could see that it was a centaur, with the head and torso of a man but the body of a horse--but no--he had the massive antlers of a deer anchored into his head, and his hooves were cloven. This was a deer centaur.
“There is no more time to rest up. I know it’s hard.” The centaur’s voice softened, even amidst the chaos. “Put on your armor. Gird up your loins.”
“But--I’m not from here. I have no armor.”
“If you believe an endangered child is a cause worth fighting for, then you will find a way to help us!” The centaur bellowed and leaned forward until his flaring nostrils were inches from Sam’s face.
“Apologies, sir!” Sam bowed her head. She was used to such sudden changes in mood from a superior.
Her mind drifted. An Endangered child? Was that ‘The Prince’ everyone was talking about? She couldn’t be sure. But she could still hear the screams of the little boy echo through her mind. Maybe it wasn’t real, but she was dreaming, at least. That meant she had nothing to lose.
Sam pulled back from the panicked mob of soldiers and then ran in behind them, scouring the icy landscape for a tree to climb and spectate from.
Then, all at once, The Goddess rose--glowing, powerful--from under the sky like the morning sun, melting the frost from the grass. She opened her porcelain hands and thousands of fiery figures went rushing down her flowing white dress, venomous jaws gaping with a hunger for burned flesh.
It was horrifying. Sam prayed for a place to hide. But all she could do was crouch and let the other soldiers march on to their deaths.
Her eyes were shut for the first few blows. All she could hear was the angry yelling and then the death cries of the soldiers, then the thud of their armor as it fell fruitlessly to the ground.
When Sam’s eyes reopened, she saw that the fiery enemy was rapidly approaching her, tearing through the soldiers as if they were simply weeds. She couldn’t stand by and watch, but without a plan, there was not much choice. She sprinted off to the side and lay down in the newly-revived--and slightly singed--tall grass, hoping she wouldn’t be noticed.
And then she saw that young woman again, spin-kicking across the battlefield as if she had been training for this dance since she was little. She was skilled, for sure: Sam watched her as she yelled and stabbed a few of the enemy with her spear, doing flips in midair with her wings to get several from behind. Then she hovered and darted above them in the air almost teasingly as they roared, smoke billowing from the gaping holes in their chests before they crumpled to the ground as ash.
Yes, the girl was skilled--and beautiful--but she was still a girl. And she was no match for the horde of monsters jumping up to reach her, hair and eyes sparkling like firecrackers, teeth gnashing--
First they grabbed her leg and pulled her down from the sky, slamming her to the ground with a deafening crash for such a tiny figure. Then they tore off her armor, hurling its black melted remains across the battlefield--one of the shards lodging itself into the neck of another soldier. The girl yelled and squirmed, slashing her spear across the enemy’s chests. Sam thought she could see the girl crack a sly grin when they fell.
“Petri!” yelled another trembling teenage soldier standing nearby. He was gangly and thin, with messy blonde hair, and his armor looked much too big for him. Blood was streaming from his nose. A massive fire monster shoved him out of the way and marched straight over to the girl. “No! No!” He begged.
But it was too late. In an evil rage, the monster grabbed the end of the girl’s spear with a fiery hand. With the other, it clasped her own feathered hand. The girl let out a sharp cry of pain, but the spear did not loosen from her grip. At last, the monster pulled the spear parallel to the girl’s body, and with her hands still fastened, drove it straight through her chest.
Sam was far enough away to be safe. But she could almost feel this young girl’s warm blood spattering over her back and face and hands. And she could almost feel the salty tears of a little boy.
Sam wondered. Was she truly sadistic enough to imagine this?

sorry its uhhhh not good
Click to expand...
Ooh, that was really good! Great job!
 
I did not draw this! I designed it on the website Picrew. She's my Harry Potter OC from a fanfiction I'm writing!
94097_ECgPn4kp.png

I'll ramble about her entire backstory if someome wants.
 
I should explain here that I changed the distances to make the forest less huge. The distance south to red canary colony is only a couple of ours and the distance west is less than a day.
Chapter 14 A Merl and an Unkindness
Not long after the companions left Grackle’s village, they encountered a grassy plain, dotted with oaks and wildflowers. In it dwelt fat, cheery meadowlarks, dickcissels, and prairie chickens, slender sandpipers, tiny sparrows, and the loud, repetitive blackbirds. But not a single canary could be seen.
Peregrine spent his flight here in cheerful conversation with his companions, though Pearl kept ever a wary eye to the open skies.
“I feel exposed,” she said. “Anywhere, there could be a hawk. And not a tree to screen us.”
Despite Pearl’s fears, there wasn’t a hawk to be seen. The B.O.P. Squad kept these empty lands just as free of aerial predators as they did in the villages, with or without Pearl’s help. This was the heart of the Canary Forest, after all, though it wasn’t a forest.
“It’s the oak savanna,” Feron said. “Most of the black canaries used to live here, you know. Here and the forest along the western edge. Before the drought. That’s when they came to what is now Falcon Nest. That’s where the red canaries used to all reside. They were driven out, driven out until the Pip Dynasty was established. That’s when it finally rained again.”
“Feron?” asked Gia.
“Yes, Gia?”
“Aren’t we in a drought right now?”
“Yes, yes we are.” Feron clicked his beak, staring at the drought-stricken plain. He muttered something quietly, something that Peregrine didn’t understand. “It’s almost like we’re getting our divine retribution…”
It was curious to see how the prairie residents received their canary visitors.
The meadowlarks, dickessels, and prairie chickens watched with lazy regard. The prairie had been their home for as long as they could remember, and their memory only went back a few short lifetimes. The killdeers greeted them, watching curiously. Cowbirds stared with indifference, their gazes even lazier than that of the prairie chickens. Some of the red-winged blackbirds chattered in the grass, feeding young, hunting for bugs. A dozen of the males, however, floated overhead, circling, black eyes filled with hatred.
I’m going to interrupt here to explain something. Canaries are not like most birds. Most birds… They’re not as stupid as you might think, but they’re far stupider than canaries. They’re not literate, they can’t build or problem solve. It is rare to hear one come up with a new song that hasn’t been sung before, and even rarer for one to tell tales of their history to their children. They do not know nearly as many words, and don’t care to. They don’t think abstractly. They don’t have the intelligence of humans. They only care about what really matters, which is why they’re still around.
That said, most birds could definitely hold grudges.
The blackbirds descended, flying right above the canaries’ heads. They wheeled overhead, as their favorite move was dive-bombing. The group eyed the gyrating birds nervously, blackbirds were bigger than canaries and could easily overpower such a small group.
“INTRUDER!”
“INTRUDER!”
“NEST BREAKERS!”
“LEAVE US ALONE!”
“What are you doing here, canaries?” A large bird had spoken, not pausing in his bewildering motion to speak. “Is it bad enough that we are driven to live only in the lands which have a bad taste for you? Do you come here to hurt our nestlings here too?”
Feron, ever the diplomat, was the one who spoke, glaring up at the bird who he thought was the speaker (Actually, the speaker was an entirely different bird.) “The notion offends me. The canaries have always left the blackbirds alone. Additionally, we have killed the birds of prey for you! You have been safe from hawks and owls for as long as you can remember because of us. There is nothing stopping you from living in the forest.”
Another speaker (or maybe the same one) replied, “The huts are bad and unnatural. Where you live in your groups, there is no food around. You disrupt the balance wherever you go. And you multiply, always multiplying, spreading your dirt wherever you go. We need to be free, not only safe. Safe is never free.”
“I’m surprised you know how to multiply,” said Gia.
“Gia!” Peregrine scolded.
“Give us a good reason why we should not kill you, canary dirt,” said another bird.
“Because I have a knife!” Pearl said, pulling out her dagger and holding it for all to see. The whole merl of blackbirds recoiled.
“A KNIFE!”
“UNNATURAL!”
“UNNATURAL!”
“UNNATURAL!”
“There are more of us!”
“We can take them!”
“Canaries are small, and they carry heavy things on their backs!”
The blackbirds flew closer once again, and the canaries simultaneously decided to shed their knapsacks.
Are we fighting or flying? I need to know! thought Peregrine, trying to gain insight from the expressions on his companions’ faces. All he knew was that he was shaking all over, wondering how painful it would be to die from head-trauma-by-dive-bombing.
The blackbirds stopped where they were in their circling and dove.
“UNNATURAL!” rang through Peregrine’s ears and pain surged through Peregrine’s head as his skull collided with a blackbird abdomen. As he lost a couple feet of altitude, blinking away stars, he saw that only Pearl and surprisingly, Joey, had managed to dodge the assault.
“So we’ve established that your favorite word is unnatural,” Joey said as he calmly side-flapped his pursuer.
Peregrine wished he could keep his wits like Joey but panic surged as the blackbirds swooped upwards, preparing to swoop again and leaving Peregrine’s bumped head scrambling for a way to dodge them this second time.
As the blackbirds swooped downwards, their dive was interrupted by an enormous black shape. It was the shape of a huge raven. The blackbirds flapped back upwards with cries of alarm.
“Leave those poor birds alone! They never did anything to you!” The raven’s voice was harsh but intelligent.
“Raven!”
“What does she want from us?”
“Chick stealer!”
“We should kill her too!”
“There are six now! Six! And one is a raven!”
“Marvelous, you can count,” said the raven. She gave them all a good glare, and the blackbirds obligingly scattered.
Peregrine felt the strange urge to put more space between him and his savior. Not because he thought she would hurt him, but because her size seemed to demand a bubble of personal space and respectful awe. She was even bigger than the owl, though she was smaller than the hawk Pearl had slain.
The raven landed on the ground and stared up at the hovering canaries. “Come speak with me,” she said.
The canaries landed on the ground next to her.
“Why did you save us?” Peregrine asked.
The raven waved her wing. “Introductions before questions. I am Amara. What is your name?”
“I’m Peregrine,” said Peregrine.
“Pearl.”
“Gia Leaflow.”
“My name’s Joey. Nice to meet you.”
“My name is Feron Konni. I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise,” said Amara. A smile curved across her beak like she harbored an inside joke that no one else would understand. “I have two reasons for saving you. One: the blackbirds were being unfair. For all of the sins your species has committed, driving out the blackbirds wasn’t one of them. They were left with a choice, to adapt or to leave. It’s fair for them to defend their own territory. But you were only traveling through, not poking around their nests. My second, more prominent reason: I’m bored and hungry for news.”
Ravens are intelligent creatures, intelligent as canaries, even. But they are no longer literate, as there is nothing worth writing about, and they preferred to live in the world rather than between walls. They had no love for learning; they didn’t build societies.
Perhaps they were more intelligent than the canaries in a way. They knew that they could do anything with their acuity and yet they did not, preferring to live in simple peace instead of sophisticated enmity.
“Did you know a group of ravens is called an ‘unhappiness?’ Ironic, since I couldn’t be happier to see you. You came at just the right time, Amara. Thank you for saving our lives,” said Joey.
That has to be the most confusing way that I’ve heard anyone say thank you in my entire life. Those were Peregrine’s thoughts. But he shoved as much enthusiasm as possible into his addition. “Thanks, Amara!”
Amara laughed. “No problem, glad I could bring sunshine into your life.” She nodded her head with mocking politeness. “Now, what brings you birds here?”
“We are traveling to Falcon Nest to protest the plight of the red canaries,” said Feron. “We want them to get their rights back.”
Amara nodded, looking at the gathered canaries with newfound respect. “I have lived for twenty years, twice a canary lifetime, and I know that the massacre was recent, only two years ago. But I was wondering when something would be done about it. You birds are resilient. When strife comes your way, it’s only a matter of time before you figure out a way to put a stop to it. Who is the leader of your enterprise?”
Peregrine’s feathers stood on end both from pride and embarrassment as his companions turned to him. He was the youngest, the least likely. He tried to look Amara in the eye, stood tall, trying to look the part of a leader. “I am.”
“The little falcon,” said Amara.
Why do people always call me that? “I’m actually medium height,” Peregrine informed her, more patiently than he did with birds of more similar size to his own.
“Size is relative. You canaries are all little to me. Little Falcon, remember that you are doing the right thing when you go to the city.
You deserve to know something. A red canary passed through recently, telling me that they were killing the red canaries again in Falcon Nest. Don’t let that dissuade you or your companions. I support your cause and I want you to win. Gather your packs. I don’t want to delay you.”
 

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