A lonely tree made sturdy by age sits in the middle of the field. You gaze at its top, before nodding to yourself. You are not expert in using your claws to climb things – or climbing anything, for that matter – but you need to reach a higher place in order to spot the nearest village of the Star Menders. You grab the first branch you can find and pull yourself up with a wheeze. You briefly wonder, as you grab another branch to continue your climbing, if this is the reason why humans love high places. To imitate stars.

With their unwavering gaze, stars had a good idea of anything that happened in the mortal realms below. They knew many things, but you always wondered what humans really thought about your kin. Maybe they thought you had more powers than you really had. Was that the reason why humans liked to ask about the future so much? The Star Menders were amongst the ones who also thought highly of your kin, but they had helped you countless times in the past, so you never really bothered to correct them.

And, if anything, some of your brethren could be pretty vain and loved the attention.

But you never understood why humans wanted to imitate stars. Why do that, when they had such amazing abilities of their own? The ability to create, to give new forms to nature, to love and to nurture. You found them fascinating.

Your thoughts come to a halt as the open sky greets your eyes once more. You have reached the top. Your claws hurt and your feathers have brushed over more branches than you liked, but you feel a glint of pride in your accomplishment. You wonder if any star saw you.

You rest for a moment and let your tired limbs recover, basking in the silence, crouched shadow over the moonlit land.

It’s time to look around. The grass field extends for far longer than you imagined, but then the forest starts again, an ocean of treetops without end. Far away, pointy mountain tops touch the horizon as if they could pierce the veil of the sky and create new lights.

On the other side, the dark green ocean doesn’t change, but the earthen walls are closer and, there, nestled on the ground like a fearful creature, there is a hole in the rock itself.

You huff. No sight of one of those towers with a roof of glass.

You let out a low whimper as, disappointed, you start climbing down. If your wing was in a better state, you could have glided over the land, but here you are, scurrying on tree bark like a squirrel. This and other angry thoughts swirl in your mind when the rustle of leaves makes you stop. You squint your eyes, lines of white in the darkness, and chuck your white wingtips behind your body. You are grateful for your black plumage.

The rustle continues and you stress your ears and eyes, trying to spot something in the darkness. You are close to the ground, but still on the trunk. It is too late to climb once more, you are far too noisy for that, and you know the grass would betray your attempts to run away, too. So you stay still and hold your breath, as a shape moves closer to you.

You have seen these creatures. Hulking beasts covered by fur, their claws and fangs enough to kill even the bravest of men. Many humans have perished under their attacks. You know, because they would always tell you their last thoughts.

Humans called these creatures "bears".

The bear approaches. Its claws glitter in the darkness, while its fetid breath makes you gag. But you stay still. You cannot fight, there is no reason to, unless you're in danger.

Also, you do not know how to fight.

The bear sniffs the air around it, its black eyes glint a little under the moonlight. You hold your breath. You don’t move a muscle. You do not know why this bear hasn’t been able to see you yet, but you are grateful.

A whiff of wind whispers behind you. You curse under your breath.

The bear roars, smelling the scent of a fallen star. You start climbing the tree again, as the bear stands up on his hind legs, clawing at the branches. The tree shakes, but you don't lose your willpower, and keep climbing. You reach the treetop and hope for a miracle as you look at your brethren above. But they only look down upon you, silent. The roars and groans of the bear send shivers down your spine. You look around as the tree trembles, watching a few birds fly away in the commotion, and you feel an unending envy at them.

Lucky beings, who can still take on the skies.

The bear isn’t giving up on its prey and another shake makes you lose your grip on the treetop. The wind pierces your face as your fall feels familiar.

Stolen story; please report.

The sense of losing control.

The will to run away, an instinct fated to not be met.

You find this situation funny: two falls in one day.

You hiss in pain as your wing comes in contact with the forest floor once again.

The roar of the bear signals its victory as it comes closer to you. Its steps bump on the grass and it keeps panting from his horrid fangs.

Your body hurts. It trembles. Your wing. Your wing. It hurts. It hurts so much. It hurts like a thousand piercing rocks upon your skin, scratching and gnawing at your insides.

You didn’t even know such pain existed.

It is then that something snaps inside of you.

The claws scratch the dirt below. The panting of the bear approaches. The shadows of the moonlight dance in the grass. Everything becomes sharper, while a fire emerges in your chest. You think of the skies, you think of the winds, you think of your brethren, you think of flight. And how you wish to return to them.

Your life cannot end under the fangs of the bear.

Will to live erupts from this thought, and it makes your pain wash away from your body.

You stand up once more. The bear approaches, but you cannot give up.

You raise your claw, preparing to attack, as your insides burn with an unbridled rage you never knew existed. It extinguishes every inch of what you knew about yourself. Relentless violence surges and you roar as you dig your claw in the bear’s nose. A trickle of blood glints in the darkness and sullies the grass below, as the bear steps back, whimpering.

You roar again, your body outside of your control, and raise your claw once more. The scent of blood fills your nose, and you want more of it.

As your claws scratch the beast’s skin again, a flash explodes in the forest, followed by a loud sound.

Both you and your enemy jump, startled. You look around, drops of blood falling from your claws, and the bear runs away, its whimpers echoing through the air as it finds refuge in the forest.

Like how the sea pulls her waves back into her body, the newfound energy surging in you retreats. The reality of the situation sets in, and you feel heavy and tired. You can barely hold still and the feeling of wet claws is driving you mad, but if the bear escaped, it’d be better if you escaped too.

A piercing smell reaches your nose. It feels similar to the burnt wood that the humans offer to the stars and the skies, but it’s much stronger. And then it strikes you. You recognize this scent.

The smell of violence.

The smell of war.

The smell of the flashing fires the humans summon from weapons made of iron.

You do not like it. It is man-made, one of the most horrible things they have made with their abilities. You have always resented how they used their gift of creation in such gruesome manner and, right now, you can’t help but feel like a prey in a very dangerous world.

You have no more time to think, as the rustle of leaves prompts your feet to start walking away. You hide in the forest like the bear has done earlier, and start crawling on the grass, dragging yourself out of there. Your black feathers are one with the darkness of the night, and you keep crawling, as the footsteps on the grass grow closer.