The cockatrice woke for the second time and immediately regretted it.

  Sunlight stabbed through the canopy. The mud beneath him had dried into an uncomfortable crust. Everything smelled like rotting leaves and very poor decisions.

  He kept his eyes shut and tried to piece together last night. Fragments: the tree, the berries, people, his own voice...

  Then it hit him.

  Oh no.

  He'd talked. In public. At some kind of gathering with tents and—

  Oh no. Oh no.

  What had he said? Something about... rain? Yes. Rain stopping. People talk about rain all the time, that's fine, perfectly normal topic of conversation—

  Did I say there'd be a new king?

  Nah. Couldn't have.

  …Could I?

  The cockatrice found himself in a small clearing—tucked between boulders where humans would have trouble reaching. How did he even get here?

  He began to pace. Wings tight, claws scraping dirt.

  This is bad. This is very bad.

  ***

  Deep in the woodland beyond the village, a lone hyena trudged towards the clearing where the cockatrice was pacing.

  Her head was low and her soul was heavy. Another day. Another search. No other hyenas. Just her. Alone.

  Always alone.

  She rounded a large boulder and nearly walked straight into a pacing blue? Green? Rooster?

  "Sorry," the hyena said, backing up quickly.

  The cockatrice didn't even notice. Just kept pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  The hyena watched him for a moment.

  Then another moment.

  The pacing was making her dizzy.

  "You, uh..." she cleared her throat. "You okay there?"

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The bird didn't answer. Just paced faster.

  The hyena recognized that kind of panic. Lived with it, really.

  She sat down and watched the cockatrice spiral.

  ***

  The hyena watched the rooster pace for another minute.

  "You all right there, Feathers?"

  The cockatrice stopped. Stared at her with eyes that were... wrong. Too reptilian. Slitted pupils that definitely didn't belong on any rooster she'd ever seen.

  Those eyes also said very clearly: Absolutely not.

  "Right. None of my business." The hyena looked away. Started to leave.

  She made it three steps.

  Four steps.

  Five steps.

  She stopped.

  "Damn it," she breathed to herself.

  "Was it the thing, yesterday?" She didn't turn around. "At the festival? I heard about a bird who fell out of a tree. Said something. People got excited."

  The cockatrice made a strangled noise.

  The hyena turned back. "That bad, huh?"

  The cockatrice’s beak opened. Closed. Opened.

  Then, very reluctantly: "I spoke."

  His voice sounded strangled. Panicked, and yet like the words themselves offended him.

  "Yeah, I heard." The hyena sat down—but at a distance, like she might bolt at any moment. "Something about the weather and the king. Very dramatic."

  "Drunk." The cockatrice’s tone suggested this explained everything and also nothing. "Fermented berries."

  "Ah. Yeah, those'll do it." The hyena scratched behind her ear. "So what's the problem? People seemed impressed."

  The cockatrice’s eyes went wide—impossibly wide—in pure horror.

  "I don't want to impress anyone."

  "Oh." The hyena nodded in understanding. She shook her head. "Well, you're doing a terrible job of it. Prophesying at festivals tends to get you noticed."

  "I didn't mean to!"

  "Obviously." The hyena stood up, brushed herself off. "Look, Feathers—"

  "Cocky."

  "What?"

  "My name is... Cocky."

  "Right. Cocky." The hyena hesitated.

  "Problem is," she said slowly, like she was figuring it out as she spoke. "Those villagers? They're going to come looking for you. And when they find you..." She gestured vaguely. "Best case? They make you their mascot. Worst case? They decide you're a warlock and drown you. Possibly both."

  Cocky’s wings drooped.

  "But," she continued, "if you show up WITH someone. Someone big. Someone... threatening. They might back off."

  "You'd do that?"

  "I didn't say that." The hyena looked away. "I'm just saying it's an option. Strategically speaking."

  "Why would you help me?"

  "Because," she said, avoiding the question entirely, "you're the first person in months who hasn't immediately tried to kill me. Standards are low. Don't read into it."

  Cocky studied her for a long moment.

  "Kith," the hyena added. "That's my name. Since we're doing introductions."

  "Thank you, Kith."

  "Don't thank me yet. This is probably a terrible idea." Kith started walking toward the village. "Also, you've got a leaf stuck to your head. And you smell like a distillery. If we're doing this, we're doing it with at least some dignity."

  "Oh." Cocky looked down at himself. "Could you...?"

  "Fine." Kith sighed dramatically, like this was a huge inconvenience and not something she was secretly grateful to do. "Hold still."