Osso lazily shielded his eyes from the sunlight streaming into his bed. He rubbed his temple with a grunt before sitting up and calming the rogue feathers on his crest.

“Up already?” A voice asked from under the sheets to his right. “You know what they say about early birds.”

Osso stared at the lump next to him, wondering just who that person might be. He wanted to add a name, but none came to mind — in fact, he couldn’t even guess their species. Not that he tried very hard, his head was fuzzy with a hangover. The more important conclusion, however, was that this wasn’t his bed.

“But he’s not up early, it’s past noon,” a second voice added to the left. This one he recognised; an ocelot he met before the drinking got out of hand the previous night.

Osso checked to make sure a third person wasn’t hiding. Unless a mouse was under his pillow, those two had been his only partners. After a lazy yawn, he finally processed what the ocelot had said.

“Please don’t tell me I missed the chance to buy a ticket,” Osso grumbled.

“Afraid you’ll have to spend winter with us?” The ocelot teased. “Don’t worry, you should still have an hour or two before the booths close.”

With a burst of energy, Osso hopped out of bed. He bent down to search for his tunic and bags on the pile of clothes on the floor, but a sudden, sharp pain made him freeze in place. “My beak hurts…” He complained, clumsily grasping for his blue robes.

The two on the bed chuckled. “No doubt it does, you got punched pretty hard,” the unknown voice said.

“What was the line again? ‘Wanna see what I do to snacks like you?’,” The ocelot giggled.

“The bone armour guy, I remember now,” Osso said, his beak throbbing.

“Brave thing to say to a poacher when you got pretty feathers like that,” the unknown partner flirted.

“Not a poacher, that was some fancy armour from Luzias. Poachers don’t parade around like that,” the ocelot said.

Osso was only half listening while he finished putting on his robes and fastened his belt. “It has been lovely meeting you two…” he still couldn’t remember names so he gave up searching, “…but I really should be going.”

The second partner sat up and Osso identified them as a goat. A handsome one too, he remembered exchanging looks with him the night before. “I’ll miss you, bird. Come visit some time, yes?” He said.

“As soon as winter is over and ships start sailing again, I’ll see about paying you two a visit. Until then, I should hurry to the port to buy a ticket before I'm locked out. I’ve tempted fate enough,” He winked and reached for his brooch to tie his outfit together but could not find it. He searched his pockets, glanced around the room, then started tossing clothes about.

“Did either of you see my brooch? Silver, emerald in the middle. Please don’t tell me I lost it gambling,” Osso winced.

“Wow, you really don’t remember?” The ocelot asked with a giggle. “The ‘snack’ armour guy took it after punching you. Really stood your ground for a little bird,” she teased.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Osso said, “I think I proved well enough that I can stand my ground against bigger mammals last night. Two on one, even,” he teased back, but his good mood did not stick. With some haste, he hopped over on the door frame.

"Why is that brooch so important?" The ocelot asked. "Need to trade it for the tickets?"

“That brooch is worth—No, I don't need to sell it, I have the money," Osso looked up at the Sun, he couldn't keep wasting time with a conversation. "No time, sorry you two, I wish I could give you a better goodbye! Gotta find brooch and buy tickers!”

Waving a kiss to both his partners, he hopped off the window over kind words of farewell. Indeed, he would prefer to stay in bed with them, but he did not have much time to find his brooch; the ships would leave soon after the ticket booths closed.

It was lucky that he had lost his brooch in one of the smallest islands in his crossing through the Evening Isles, the archipelago connecting the continents of Claridia and Cajuara — the latter of which he intended on settling down and opening a shop. However, his memory did not serve him well on his search; he figured he must have been quite drunk when he decided to pick on bone armoured person. Still, he could deduce that someone wearing ornamental armour in such a town would be more bark than bite and, more importantly, easy to identify.

After a quick flight around town and a few inquiries to the locals, he managed to locate the inn where the brooch thief was staying. He flew over the way immediately and spotted the large, armour-wearing stag walking alone. Osso landed in front of him, prompting a look of annoyed recognition from the mammal.

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“Outta the way,” the stag said dismissively, “unless you want me to shatter your beak this time around.”

“No need to be so violent,” Osso responded, feigning some fear. “I’m sorry for my behaviour last night, I had one too many drinks. Thing is, you were probably right to punch me,” he paused and gave the stag a moment to lower his aggressive stance. “But I believe you’ve taken something from me. A little steel brooch with a green peridot.”

“Hm…” The stag looked over the small bird. “Let’s say I have it. What are you offering in exchange for finding it?”

“Ah, of course,” Osso said. “As an apology for my behaviour and a small finder’s fee, let’s say… twenty Amber Fingers?”

The stag raised a brow, then chuckled. “So besides being a liar, you’re also cheap. I can tell it’s an emerald, and it’s enchanted too. Try again. How about an Opal Hand? Should do fine for a family heirloom like this.”

Osso sobered his tone, “That’s far more money than I have. I’ll double the offer to forty, but that’s all I can spare, that I promise is the truth.”

“Forty whole Amber Hands!?” The stag condescended, flashing the brooch out of his bag before clenching his hooves around it and putting it back inside. “Nope, not enough, I’ll get more profit from selling it somewhere. Next time don’t get drunk and insult someone much bigger than you, bird—"

“Being a snack is a compliment,” Osso retorted.

“Freak bottom feeder,” The stag blurted out and walked away in disgust.

Osso called for his attention, but the mammal did not bother to acknowledge him as he turned a corner.

“Stupid branch-headed—” Osso begun cursing under his breath, but, before he could finish, he got an idea.

The bird followed the stag to the lines for purchasing the last tickets of the season. He was certain the mammal’s presence in the Evening Isles was only a sojourn, but he still wanted to make absolute sure the thief needed a ticket.

Osso stayed out of sight from the stag as he walked about the port. It didn’t take long for him to find two cargo inspectors: a flamingo and an iguana studying paperwork over some shipments. He approached openly.

“Hey, you two,” Osso said and was met with wary glances, to which he responded by lifting his wings to show he was harmless. “There is a certain person in the line to buy a ticket out of the island. He’s wearing some very suspicious armour; I think he might be a poacher.”

“The stag? We know about him. He’s not a poacher,” the flamingo dismissed, returning to his paperwork. “It’s just some fancy armour from Luzias.”

Osso reached down to his coin pouch, prompting a sigh from the iguana, “We’re not going to arrest someone for cheap change, especially when he has expensive armour.”

“Arrest him? Oh no. I just feel a little unsafe. Couldn’t you please check his documents one more time? I only need a few minutes of your time… or until the ticket line closes.” He grabbed a Jade Palm from his pouch and played with it. That bead was a bigger investment than what he had offered the stag, but much less than an Opal Hand.

The flamingo and iguana looked at the jade bead, then at each other. “Just keep him busy?”

“That’s all,” Osso approached the inspectors and handed them the money. They eyed at each other and then nodded as they took it.

Osso confidently walked back to the line, queuing up some ten people behind the stag. He spent a few minutes waiting, growing anxious, staring ahead as the line moved ever so slowly.

Just when he thought the two inspectors had taken his money and ran, he spotted them approaching the stag. From this distance Osso could not hear what they were saying, but he saw them pointing at the thief’s bags. There was plenty of frustrated complaining from the mammal. The iguana said something which further aggravated him, and, before Osso knew it, two guards were involved. The furious stag was led away under loud arguing.

The others in the queue chatted about what had happened, but the talk died down as line moved on.

“Next!” The teller called. Osso walked up, he hadn’t even noticed time pass while he relished in his coalescing plan.

“Two tickets, please.”

After purchasing his tickets, Osso waited around the queue, near the booths. He watched as the crowd of travellers dwindled down.

It was only moments later that the stag returned to the queue and, much to his dismay, all the booths were closed. He tried calling for someone, tried to bang on the booths’ doors, but no one paid him mind.

“Arrived late, friend?” Osso asked, feigning concern. “You know what they say about working past sunset in the Evening Isles.”

The stag looked down at the bird with ire. “I see what’s happening. Is this your revenge? Getting me stuck in this dump? Oh, now you’re asking for it—” He took a step toward Osso.

The bird stood his ground. “You’re already stuck in a dump, don’t tell me you also wanna spend winter in a dumpy jail,” Osso said, nudging his head toward a guard that was eyeing the commotion from afar. “Just listen before using your fists. How about we trade? What you took from me for what I took from you. Fair is fair.”

The stag was about to say something when a horn called in the distance, signalling that the last ships were about to depart.

“I can still fly to my ship if it’s in the sea, but can you swim to it?” He grabbed the ticket from his pouch and waved it in the air.

The stag huffed again and grabbed Osso’s brooch. He walked over to the bird and dropped it in front of him before snatching the ticket off Osso’s hand.

The two stared at each other for a few moments.

“You owe me forty Fingers for the ticket,” Osso said, but received such a murderous glare from the stag that he backed off. “…but I’ll waive the fee so you don’t break my beak, eh?” The stag ignored the comment, bumping into Osso’s side as he hurried to catch his ship.

Osso watched the stag go and sighed with relief. He grabbed his brooch off the ground, dusted it, and placed it in its rightful place on his chest. As he adjusted the priceless heirloom, he thought about the cost of the little misadventure.

The boat sounded its horns, last call before departure. Osso quickly took flight to catch it, hoping the stag would not be his roommate in the weeklong travel ahead of him, and wondering just how he could recuperate one Palm and Fifty fingers worth of damages.