Birds chirped and whistled their beautiful melodies, critters bounded and skittered between rich brown trunks of bark, a warm breeze flying through them and the trees they made, making branches dance and leaves flutter, the morning sunlight that streamed through them sparkling with mirth.

It was a beautiful morning and Ylvir only wished he could enjoy it more. Dandy had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her head tucked beneath her wing, hours ago, and Ylvir felt the desire to do the same. Perhaps then he would be of a better mind to think up some plan. He felt he had been rather rash about leaving so soon without any direction, but he knew that it was a good thing he left all the same.

He stopped what had been hours of walking. Carefully, he lifted Dandy of his shoulder and set her atop a low hanging branch, nestling her against the tree's trunk. She stirred only slightly before settling down again. Ylvir smiled tiredly at the sight, then turned his gaze upward. He bit onto the strap of his pack, then set his claws into the tree's bark and scaled its length lazily until he settled on a branch that looked thick enough to support his weight.

He adjusted himself and the pack in front of him until he was quite comfortable, then closed his eyes. Lulled by the birdsong and the rustling of leaves, he was quick to slip into a restless slumber.

Dreams assuaged his mind—nightmares of his darkest fears. First it was fire, with a heat the could melt flesh right off the bones, surrounding him and caging him in from all sides. It was held aloft by torches, carried by faces he did not know as they stepped closer and closer, the heat increasing and it closed in on him. The people were worn and grim, with eyes full of rage and accusation. And then one smaller figure, more familiar than the rest, stepped forward with his torch held high, almost unrecognizable for the anger that contorted his features. It was the boy from the festival, and he pointed his torch at Ylvir, the flames kissing his skin with an unbearable, searing pain.

"Ya nuffin' but a monster, an' all monsters must burn," the boy screamed at him, and with his cry, he was joined by the others, the flames rising with their voices until all Ylvir saw was fire.

Until out stepped a dark form, a beast of shadow. The flames disappeared as it terrified the torch-bearers, ripping them to bloody shreds with sharp claws, tearing into them with terrible fangs, piercing them with a sharp gaze the same color as its bloodlust, all the while they screamed and pleaded and wailed against its onslaught, unable to do any more. And then he saw his parents amongst them, suffering the same fate. His father's dark eyes were wide with fear, his limbs raised in useless defense as the creature mangled them and left them bloody and tattered until they collapsed and those fearful eyes became empty and lifeless. And then his mother—his angelic mother—her blue eyes filled with tears, golden hair streaked with the rusty blood of his father that stained her clothes as well, and her face set in anguish. She did not even have the time to scream before the beast obliterated her with its arsenal of teeth and claws and spines and horns, until all Ylvir saw was a mist of blood.

And then the creature faced him. It towered over him, a deadly mass of muscles and sharp bits, its wings spreading to surround him in near complete darkness and a powerful rumbling filling his chest that originated from the dark form. In the darkness, its red eyes shone brightly, peering into his soul as he waited for the creature to end him like the rest.

And then the rumbling heaved and transformed into a wicked laughter as the creature's lips parted to reveal gleaming, bloodied fangs in a twisted grin, and Ylvir discovered the rumbling had been coming from himself the whole time as he laughed as darkly as the shadows that completely surrounded him, swallowing him whole.

A small pain bloomed on his forehead, and he emerged from slowly from the dreaded darkness. Another sharp stinging sensation in the exact same spot brought him jerking out of the dream, huffing and puffing like a billows, only to have his sight suddenly take in a chicken's head that was far too close to his own.

He yelped in surprise, still jumpy from the dream, and almost pushed it away if it weren't for Dandy's impressive reflexes that flew her back off the pack she stood on before he could.

After a moment of his heavy breathing being the only sound in the still forest, even his thinking being practically audible in the silence, Ylvir was able to recover himself. He looked to Dandy, who cocked her head at him questioningly.

"I think," he sighed shakily, hugging his pack for some sort of comfort and curling in on himself as best he could on the tree branch, "that's the worst dream I've ever had."

Dandy clucked at him, and he nodded, swallowing harshly. "Yes, perhaps that would help."

Ylvir put a paw into his trouser pocket and removed the whistle he placed there. He stared at it in his padded hand for the longest time, memories and dream mixing together as the images all rushed back to him. It was hard to believe that, just yesterday, he had been so eager to go to the festival and play. It felt so much longer ago.

Bringing the instrument to his lips, he vented his breath and his bottled feelings into it, letting it all flow out as a melody for those near enough to listen, to fill the nooks and crannies of the quiet woods, but mostly, it was a song for himself—one that held his victories, his regrets, his hopes, his fears, his love, and his sorrow. It was a bittersweet song, just like the tear that dropped from his eye.

He let the song die on a note of insecurity of the future—that being his current sentiment—bringing him to the present. There was no more to tell. Not yet.

He sighed again, both in relief and sadness, listened contentedly to the returning hubbub of forest life. He looked to his fowl companion. "You were right. I feel much better now. And I think I may have just found that thing that was missing," he said with a rueful chuckle.

She flapped her wings and bobbed her head.

Ylvir barked a laugh, then looked at her in befuddlement. "By the way, how did you get up here?"

Dandy fluttered her white wings, then hopped down onto a branch below and to the right.

"Oh. That makes sense," Ylvir laughed, somewhat embarrassed. His stomach chose that moment to growl, and he looked to the pack between his legs, then back to the chicken. "Come on back. I think there's some stuff we can eat in here."

Dandy remained where she was, pecking at the branch she stood on before sitting down on it.

Ylvir shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Ylvir opened up the pack and rummaged through it, surprised by what he found.

On the very top was a thin blanket. It was his own—one he rarely used, only for the coldest nights. Below that was indeed some food—nuts, dried fruits, a small amount of bread and cheese, and a copious amount of dried meat. As much as that made him smile and laugh, he couldn't help but feel worried and guilty for the fact that a good part of the food should have gone to his parents.

Taking out some of the bread and cheese to eat, he rifled through the rest of the pack. There was a small sack full of golden pieces, again making him feel guilty for what he deprived his parents of. There was also a small waterskin, already full—which he removed to chase the bread and cheese down—an old compass he had only seen once or twice before, knowing it belonged to his father, and a small piece of paper that when unfolded revealed a very rough map of the area. All of these things warmed his heart greatly, but what made him feel the most gratitude was what lay at the very bottom of the pack.

It was a book, and not just any book. It was, in fact, the first book he had ever read. The one that had belonged to his mother. It was old and worn, with pages that were rumpled and nearly falling out. He was surprised it still held together at all, having been used repeatedly over so many years. Even as he carefully flipped through the pages, he could see that the ink had faded to where the words were hardly intelligible. But it was no matter. Ylvir had read it enough times to know exactly what the words were. He was flipping through them more so he could enjoy that unique scent they had, inhaling it slowly and remembering every moment in time he had done it before, comforting him greatly.

Deciding he had eaten enough, Ylvir replaced the items and what remained of the bread and cheese. He looked down to where the hen was still resting, and called down to her, "Hey, Dandy."

She ruffled her feather slightly, but made no other movements.

"Dandy!"

She bobbed her head up then cocked it sideways to peer at him angrily through one eye as she squawked and flapped her wings in upset.

"You've had plenty of sleep. Now climb on down. I think we should start moving again."

After only a few more words in exchange, some very choice ones on Dandy's part, they both scaled down the tree until both found themselves on the soft forest floor.

After some internal debate, Ylvir leaned forward until he was standing on all fours, something he had not done since he was little. He was pleasantly surprised to find it wasn't an uncomfortable position like he had thought it would be.

Turning to Dandy, he said, "Hop on. I think we can actually go faster this way."

She obliged him, flapping her wings until she sat atop him.

"Comfortable?"

She clucked.

"Secure?"

Another cluck, as well as a small peck.

"Ouch. Alright. Here we go!"

Ylvir went bounding in an aimless direction, happy to once more be going at such speeds, to have the wind blowing through his fur and feathers and scales, kissing them airily with playfulness. It gave him a giddy feeling that made him remember what it was like when he was much smaller. He bet he really could beat those horses now, though he had never actually been able to race them in the first place. He laughed and panted with happiness, unable to feel Dandy's talons digging into his back in fear.

Ylvir did not know where he was going still, but he did know that this was the way to get there. It wasn't much, but he was perfectly fine with that.