While I was still a little bit wary about Jebediah and his allies being even further outnumbered by religious fanatics, that concern had faded somewhat. The fact that Sellas had willingly yielded power to him, seemingly without hesitation had helped a great deal. Beyond that, while still far from a believer myself, I couldn't deny that it wasn't at least eyebrow raising that two completely different species which have had minimal interactions in the past apparently followed the same religion. Perhaps the Starman cultists in the city had branched out into missionary work, seeking to recruit other creatures? Far from impossible, but it felt rather unlikely. Mice don't tend to have the highest opinion of other animals, after all. Either way, while the specific motivations of our more spiritually minded soldiers were still a potential hurdle in the future, it felt like less of an immediate threat.

As for the new allies, things were going reasonably well. I wondered how reliable they would be in a fight, as they didn't appear to be physically powerful, and while their beaks and claws were sharp, they weren't what I would consider deadly. Of course there was more to being useful than being a strong fighter. As scouts, their abilities were top notch, and they'd been able to keep a close eye on our enemies, naturally without risking getting too close themselves. The strange augmented mice were still following, but they made a point to keep their distance, perhaps waiting for another decent ambush opportunity. At least this time we would see it coming.

As for our wingless allies, thankfully none of their injuries had proven to be too severe. The woman who was shot through the ear got the worst of it, the hole being unpleasantly large, and bleeding a non-trivial amount, but an unpleasant wound beats a lethal one any day. Even the injuries to the arms and legs were painful but not really hindering, and only required minor treatment. I was rather surprised to see the cultists utilizing healing magic, even if it was of a very low power, mostly dulling pain but also improving a bodies natural recovery rate. It was of a comparable level of effect to Annabelle's music, with the two effects, conveniently, compounding on one another. The lack of serious wounds themselves was clearly far more due to luck than any sort of skill or natural endurance. I shuddered to think of the sort of damage those projectiles could have done to a limb, torso or even a head had they landed a direct hit. It would seem that Jebediah, our leader, agreed with this assessment.

"That was rather unpleasant." He said with a sigh. His previous burst of actual leadership had since faded away, restoring him to his default state. "It's lucky that nobody was badly injured. I was rather worried for that musician girl, in particular."

"I wasn't." Meryll replied, flatly. The farmer looked to the warrior with a curious expression, but said nothing. The look was more than enough to urge her to clarify, not that she needed much urging. Outside of the great hero, Jerin, the young bard was the armored mouse's favorite subject of conversation. "It's a well known fact that all blind people are secretly master martial artists."

"Really?" Jeb replied. He was clearly skeptical, but only a skilled observer such as myself could tell.

"Of course! When they lose their sight, their other senses grow stronger to almost supernatural levels!" The woman nodded, proud of her expertise on the matter.

"Hmmm, I'm not so sure about that. My grandfather lost his sight in his later months, and I don't think he was a martial artist, much less a master at it."

"Are you sure though?"

The farmer blinked, giving the matter some thought before finally shaking his head. "Nope, I can't say that I am."

Meryll grinned and nodded knowingly at this. Technically, Jeb had given the correct answer, as the word 'secret' carried a lot of weight in this case. Sure, you could make educated guesses, and the odds might very well be in your favor, but you can never say for certain that someone isn't secretly a master martial artist. Well, unless they are actually an admitted martial artist, I suppose. It does leave one to wonder why exactly one would keep such a thing secret, but then again, martial artists are known for being a mysterious lot. That said, I shared the farmer's skepticism. It felt incredibly unlikely that every single blind person was actually a powerful martial artist. I imagine the actual number would be 40 percent, at the most.

The pair were free to chat as our new avian allies had given both of them a wide berth. Some of this was due to Meryll, as she had openly attacked the flock on multiple occasions in the recent past, and even at her best wasn't the most approachable of figures. The birds seemed to show little concern over that first part, perhaps used to such first impressions. The real reason was due to our leader. They avoided him, only spoke to him when necessary and on those rare occasions where they actually would turn their gaze in his direction, their expressions were those one of anger and disgust. Fortunately for them, they had plenty of others to focus on. Naturally, they had a lot in common with the Starman cultists, so those mice, Sellas in particular, were popular targets for their attentions. They largely ignored Dave, although one of them had taken to standing, perched, atop his head as he walked. I was tempted to speak up and ask the bird to stop, but I imagine that if the silent mouse minded he would have done something about it himself. Probably. Then there was Anabelle and Smirk, I mean Samson. They appeared to genuinely like the blind bard, and the feeling seemed to be very much mutual. As for the green garbed magical swordsman, he clearly doesn't like them one bit, and it would seem that the earlier antagonistic attitudes of the birds towards him hadn't faded completely, either.

Finally, of course, there was me. I had a pretty consistent entourage of the feathery balls which bounced across the ground as though weightless. I'll admit that their presence made me a little bit uncomfortable at first, but of course I made no effort to shoo them away. For one thing, it wouldn't work, and for another, it was a rare opportunity to learn about a largely unknown creature, and who was to say whether or not it would be a lasting opportunity. Sure, the flock had indirectly offered their loyalty, but they came off as rather fickle creatures, as likely to change their minds away from the idea as abruptly as they had in favor of it.

At the risk of stating the obvious, they were very odd creatures. Physically, they were clearly much like our own kind, at least in the general sense, having eyes, ears, limbs and bones and the like, but the thick feathers rendered most of those details invisible. Even their legs which were, in comparison to the rest of them, somewhat anatomically complicated, moved little as they mostly hopped from place to place. Then, of course, were the eyes which would alternate between empty black dots, devoid of any feature or expression, and sparkling and animated, but still looking closer to some manner of polished glass than a proper window into the soul. Everything about them felt alien, alien in a way that even greater beings such as the Makers and the dark lords did not. Rationally, for instance, I knew all of the general pieces existed within the brown fluff, that they had a complex bone structure, a heart and lungs and a functioning brain, but the more that I had watched them move, the easier it was to second guess such assumptions, and envision them as drifting puff balls, where were a strong enough wind to catch them and blow the feathers away, nothing would remain underneath.

I made a point to speak to them, but it wasn't entirely easy. When I looked to one and asked a question, frequently an entirely different bird would answer. That seemed as good a place to start as any. "So, um..." I said, not entirely certain of what to ask, much less the proper way to express it to such creatures, before simple stumbling forward with the thought. "Are you creatures like a sort of hive mind or something? Do you share thoughts?"

Even as I spoke, I realized that the words could have come off as incredibly disrespectful. Fortunately, they didn't appear to be an easily offended race. There were some soft titters all around me, which I assumed to be the avian equivalent of laughter, but after a moment, one of them answered. Conveniently a bird directly in front of me. It was rather awkward having to constantly turn in order to continue a conversation.

"We share thoughts, but are also all independent entities, of course." It said in its telltale musical tone.

I nodded my head in understanding, or at least the image of understanding, relieved to get a straight answer even if I still didn't entirely understand it. The idea wasn't entirely incomprehensible, of course, but I was still a little bit confused by the general logic of what it entailed. Did that mean that it was just a seldom and willing exchange of ideas? The concept of such limited telepathy, while impressive, wasn't baffling, but seeing as how the flock seemed to share a voice which passed effortlessly from one beak to the next, without so much as a moments hesitation, I felt that there had to be more to it than that. I didn't have to ask. Whether the creatures recognized my confusion or they were simply planning to elaborate on their own was unknown, but it certainly served me well.

"Everything I know, all of the others know. Everything all of the others know, I know. We each, all of us, have access to the complete perspectives and memories of all others within our flock, and can exchange such ideas instantly. When there is a plan of action to be taken, whether grand or small, we can efficiently exchange such ideas and thoughts and come to an easy consensus, which we then act upon."

I nodded again, having a little better understanding, but I still found myself lost on some of the finer details. "So... in the end, doesn't that mean you all still kind of think the same things? That you have a sort of mental collective than you draw from, rather than bring proper individuals?"

A little more tittering. The same bird continued to speak, much to my relief. It's far easier than having to chase down an ever changing source of conversation with my eyes. This specific bird didn't laugh, simply staring at me with those strange, sparkly and enticingly alien eyes. "The result might appear that way, but it is entirely different. I, for instance, am the only one that sees though these eyes, and who feels this exact patch of earth at this exact moment beneath my toes. While others have access to the memories and the experience, they don't have it. They have their own sensory perspectives which shape them, of course."

"I... don't quite get it. If two of you share the memory and the knowledge that comes with it, what's the difference?"

The creature of indeterminate age and gender paused for a moment. At first I worried I had offended it, but it seemed to have just been thinking. I guess it wasn't the only one, either, based on what I now knew about the flock.

"Suppose that you are badly injured. Perhaps you have broken a leg or something. The pain and fear of that moment will continue to shape your personality, even after the event has passed and the wound has healed, to some extent. Correct?" It asked. I simply nodded once more in agreement. "To some extent you may even be traumatized by the event, and this trauma might manifest in a variety of ways, some harmful, others not so much. You can tell others how it feels, and even do a very good job of it, but is there any way to pass on that proper trauma through words or drawn images or any other manner of communication?"

"I suppose not." I said. No matter how eloquently one expresses a sensation, and no matter how empathetic the other party happens to be, it's true that they can never quite share it. They could be affected by it, but even if they could be damaged by it, their damage would be a unique perspective and sensation in itself.

"The same principle applies." The bird stated with its expression of boundless patience. "Not only to grander or more destructive experiences, but the smaller ones as well. I, for instance, am the only one who feels this exact pattern of grass and soil beneath my talons. The others have a very clear image of it, both from my memories and their own very similar experiences, but it is not quite the same. It is never quite the same. Back to the example of the traumatic injury, were such a thing to happen to me, as it has others in the rather immediate past," it said, clearly thinking back to the birds lost in the last attack, "Others will be aware of my pain, aware on a deeper level than your kind could likely comprehend, but they still will not properly feel it, nor does it shape them in quite the same ways. Suppose I were attacked by a so-called 'dark lord', I might develop an intense fear of the creatures, but others of my kind wouldn't necessarily share it."

"So your kind does have different perspectives. That must mean that there are disagreements as well?" I asked, my earlier anxieties over their tones having faded, finding myself quite interested in the strange logic of their thoughts and communications.

"Rarely. Take the example where I was traumatized and experienced a level of prejudice or altered perspective that the others do not share. Even if they lack the exact feeling and experience, they, we can still feel the components of it. Even when one of us believes or feels something unusual, and the rest do not actually feel it, we can innately understand why the member of our brethren feels it, and fully grasp their logic. From there, most manners of debate can be easily resolved, as there are no miscommunications or misunderstandings, no lies or shame or evasion of the facts. Even if I, say, have a unique perspective and course of action I wish to take, the benefits and flaws of such an action can be instantly passed back and forth, and shared and extrapolated from, and in the end a consensus reached. If I am ultimately being irrational, the weaknesses of my logic can be expressed in a way which I can perfectly understand. Similarly, if my unique experience happened to reach a beneficial conclusion that the others might not have on their own, they will see such benefits." it paused. "Still, on rare occasions, there can be irreconcilable differences, at which case the flock will split and go their separate ways. This is largely how new flocks are created, and often happens when a single group grows too large, to the extent that the thoughts can grow muddled."

"Fascinating..." I said, frantically scribbling down notes, trying to make sure that I didn't miss any of the details. "So that's why you seem to share exact thoughts and can finish one another sentences and whatnot. You already came to an internal consensus on what to say." I frowned, giving the matter more thought. "But how do you decide which one of you will speak at a given time?"

"We generally take turns." A new one from behind me stated. "For such low priority matters, there is little internal debate. If one wishes to speak, the others will remain silent."

I nodded once again.

"You might wonder why, in such a situation, one of us might wish to speak, and another not? It all comes back to the individual experiences. Perhaps one of us is thirsty or has a sore throat, and specifically chooses to not speak. Perhaps we've been speaking too long. Perhaps there is benefit to disorienting another party by speaking from another source. Perhaps one of us hasn't spoken for a while, and we wish to hear their voice. Voices are beautiful things, after all... well, the voices of your kind aren't quite so appealing, but sometimes we simply wish so sit back and listen to others of our kind without contributing. Look around you, at the others of our kind."

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I did so, but didn't quite understand what I was looking for at first. It didn't take long to figure it out, however. Anatomically, all of the creatures looked similar, sounded similar and behaved in similar ways. Similar isn't the same as well... the same, I suppose. Just like how two mice walking side by side will each have their own individual gait and posture, all of the birds, despite apparently sharing all of their thoughts and perspectives, were all doing their own slightly unique things. Some walking, some hopping, some pecking at the ground, some having their eyes locked on the other mice, and others completely ignoring our kind.

"Even if every one of us has access to my memories, as through instantaneous internal debate we all share the same perspectives, I am still unique. I am the only member of the flock, nay, the only being in this universe who sees through these eyes, and feels the ground beneath these feet. Who feels the fullness of my stomach, and the fatigue from my specific exertions. I am the only creature who has this exact perspective, and am the only creature who ever will. This does not necessarily shape me in dramatic ways, but I am not the same as any other member of the flock, nor are they the same as me. Just as from an outside perspective, all mice will appear the same, and seemingly desire the same things. It's not an entirely flawed concept, as ultimately all living creatures are similar in far more ways than they are different, but it's not the entire picture, either."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. It's just like with mice. Even if two of us dressed the same, acted the same and shared similar beliefs, we'll still always be different people, ultimately with our own lives and destinies." I said, continuing to frantically scribble. "Wait..." I paused, looking up to the nearest bird, staring into those deep, black and strangely fascinating eyes. "So you can hear one another's thoughts, presumably over at least some distance. Exactly how far doesn't matter, I guess. Can you hear ours as well? You sometimes seem to know strange things about us."

"Yes. But your thoughts are clouded, muddled, cluttered. Like a hatchling who doesn't yet quite understand how to speak. As such we don't get the full spread of memories or ideals, rather specific flashes of images and emotions. We can see your fears and insecurities, some of your kind more clearly than others."

I frowned a bit. "So you only see the bad stuff?"

"We see your loudest internal voices. That usually would be what you call 'the bad stuff'. Not only, however. We can also see will and determination and desire. Especially among those with focused goals, such as yourself."

"Really?"

"Yes. Your thoughts are less cluttered and more appealing than most. You desire to understand, and thus lay, or try to lay cleared mental pathways through which to perceive the world. Like all mice, they are still clouded by ego and other corruptions. Compared to most others, however, it is like a gentle stream, rather than a raging and chaotic sea."

"Or a river..." I softly muttered to myself.

"Yes. But you needn't fear the river man. His dreams may be grand, but his hands are small." the bird nodded.

I was tempted to get more information about this 'river man' from them, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it would just cause a lot of headaches and confusion. The conversation did lead to another relevant point of curiosity, however. "The chaotic thoughts thing... is that why you seem to dislike Jebediah so much?" I said, looking back at him and his heavily armored bodyguard, the only two rodents in our standing army who were not surrounded by chittering puff-balls. "Or are you just mad that he lectured you about, you know... not dying?"

The normally expressionless faces of the nearby birds furrowed their brows. Sort of. It's more of a sense I got than a proper, dramatic shift of their expressions. Even their thin, solid beaks seemed to frown. "That was, indeed, very disrespectful of him." to which all of the others nodded in agreement. I wondered if they're doing such gestures for my sake, as obviously they had no need to so communicate between themselves. "But no. While your thoughts are relatively calm, his are almost non-existent. A void. While chaos and disharmony can be unpleasant, the ebbs and tides of the mind, whether those of our own kind or others are precious, precious things. We ride the highs and the lows, and when we speak to others, we try to encourage such 'waves'. That... that creature over there..." it looked behind me to our brave leader, and even if before the expression was vague, and perhaps still was, the sense of distaste was palpable. "...is without doubt or ego or fear. There is nothing for us to grasp on, nothing to manipulate. When we look within, we only see our own reflections."

"What? Really?" I asked, looking back once more to the perpetually boring farmer, his scythe idly swaying from one side to the other over one shoulder, a piece of thin grass poking out from the corner of his mouth. Admittedly, I knew very, very little about concepts such as the flow of thoughts and whatnot, but even to me that seemed quite unusual. "How can that happen?"

"Perhaps he wears his heart on his sleeve, as your expression goes. One who is so driven that he needn't doubt or internally debate his decisions. One of such rigid purpose and nature that he is driven forward on an almost instinctual level. Single minded to a downright infuriating degree." The bird said, continuing to glare at the farmer.

If Jeb noticed this, he certainly didn't show it. Meryll did seem to, and regularly glared back, for all that accomplished. I looked to our would-be champion, and perhaps for the first time did sense that there is something unusual to him. He showed no signs of fear. Everyone else did, and I had no doubt I did as well. We were currently surrounded by strange beings, and were destined to face an enemy which, by all rights, outclassed us on every level one can imagine. Sure, we didn't spend our days cowering and weeping, and often we are downright optimistic, some of us more than others. Still, that fear remained and manifested itself regularly in a lot of different ways. From looking at the farmer, however, one wouldn't know it. They would think he was simply enjoying a relaxing hike, for all that his posture and expression betrayed.

"That... sounds about right." I said, looking back to the bird.

"...Either that or he is simply an oblivious, empty-headed fool." it replied.

I couldn't help but sigh. "That... also somehow sounds about right."

As I looked back to our leader, I wonder where that brief earlier sense of wonder had come from. Perhaps just wishful thinking. He did, indeed, look oblivious rather than determined, as he scratched a finger about his inner ear, furrowed his brow and gave the strange discovery he had found a disdainful sniff before flicking it away.

It wasn't long before the progress on our journey slowed and eventually stopped entirely. The tall, flexible grass gradually shifted into thick, sturdy reeds which were, at first, a minor obstacle, but rapidly increased in density the further we traveled through them until they formed a neigh impassable wall. Well, impassible for us mice, of course. Our new feathered friends weren't hindered in the slightest, and seemed amused by our lack of progress. In spite of their claims of loyalty, as well as my growing understanding and appreciation for the creatures, I couldn't help but feel that they were largely just along for the ride, amusing themselves, and could have lost interest in our crusade at any time.

Meryll let out an unattractive sounding grunt as she swung a long, plastic sword at the barrier, which accomplished little beyond scraping the outer layer of the reeds. Aside from being strong, they were still a little flexible and bent along with the powerful strikes, taking frustratingly little damage. None of the other mice were even close to as well armed as her, but most of them made their own efforts which had proven to be similarly ineffectual. Even with Annabellle's musical motivation which enhanced their muscles and wills, chopping through a single one of the reeds ended up being be an arduous task, and thoroughly unrewarding. There are just too many of them.

Some of the mice were not helping. This wasn't due to being lazy or uncooperative (well, not always, anyways), but rather not really knowing what they could do to contribute. Our fearless leader was among them. Samson couldn't help but be annoyed by this, being the sort who couldn't help but be annoyed in general, in response to most events or sensations.

"Why aren't you helping?" He asked, panting heavily. His own sword proved completely useless for the task, being a thrusting weapon with a dangerous enough pointed end, but dull along the sides. The one-eyed mouse pointed over the farmers shoulder. "Isn't that scythe of yours made for cutting plants?"

"Well, sure. Grass, anyways. Not reeds, though." Jeb replied. He was clearly content with that explanation, but the cold expression of the mouse magician drove him to continue. A little. "They're a lot different." he paused, the other apparently unconvinced. "Do I need to make the soup and hammer analogy again?"

I decided to interject. Samson wasn't the most diplomatic of sorts, after all. "Technically, by mentioning it, you've already made the analogy. And yes, I do understand your point." I paused, considering my words, "But, well, sometimes one needs to use the tools that they have available, even if they aren't perfectly suited for the job, right? Technically, the point of a tool, any tool isn't accomplishing a set and specific task, it exists to, well... help the person who wields it."

Jebediah frowned. I was sure that I wasn't getting through to him, as he felt like a man who, while simple enough, was quite set in his ways. I actually found myself on the verge of babbling out an apology, his dark expression beginning to unsettle me, somewhat. I could see why the birds gave in after his lecture when faced with it. The expression broke, as he closed his eyes, shook his head and chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you are right. Naturally, the completely wrong tool for the job can make things worse, and one should respect such devices, and not violate their core premise, but a little flexibility is often required. A scythe is made for cutting, after all, and here is something which needs to be cut."

With a single frustratingly effortless slice (well, not so frustrating for me, but clearly Smirk would have disagreed), the reeds in a wide arc before him effortlessly fell away. I might not have been frustrated, but like the others, I was very much surprised. Were it an impressive metal tool, I have could see it, but it was simple wood, the device not coming off as exceptionally well crafted, either. At a glance, it barely even looked sharp.

"How... how did you do that?" Meryll asked. She wasn't frustrated, rather fascinated by the display.

As for Jebediah, he simply shrugged. "It's my job. Swing a tool around enough, and I suppose it's only natural that you get good with it."

I couldn't help but wonder just how well such a technique would work against enemy mice. Very well, I imagined. Frighteningly well. As tempted as I was to try adjust his priorities and encourage him to battle properly with it, I couldn't deny that the mental image of him cleaving through a wall of mice with such ease, and the bloody carnage which would surely follow sent a shiver down my spine.

Our progress resumed with surprising ease, every new block of reeds falling away with a single swipe of the two-handed blade, Jeb not even looking the least bit winded by the efforts. When questioned further, he simply explained that this was what he does all day long back at the farm. As educated as I am, I had little knowledge of what farmers like him actually did. Grass wasn't a useless material, but it paled in comparison to wood or plastics, and while it could technically be eaten, it had very little flavor and even less nutritional value. I had no idea why he would spend all day long cutting it. I'd have to make a point to ask later, as, for the moment, my attentions were focused elsewhere. No, not at the farmer, who was finally really contributing. Our progress wasn't quite perfect, as the ground was still littered in sharpened stumps which one needed to carefully maneuver around. Still, it certainly beat having to find a way to navigate around the forest of thick reeds. No, instead my attention was focused on a rather unlikely pair.

Technically, they're more than a pair, as there were plenty of birds around the duo as well, but they had the sense to keep their distance, somewhat. Samson was trying to do the same, but no where near so successfully. He didn't actively push the blind bard away, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable with her closeness. I never would have envisioned him the bashful sort. As for her, it made some sense. She always tried to remain close to others for guidance, and with the ground here so difficult to navigate, it was all the more essential. Her choice of company was somewhat baffling, however. The one-eyed mouse had an aura about him, a clearly very deliberate one which just screamed 'leave me alone'. I would have thought that this aura would have functioned well beyond the visual spectrum, but apparently it did not. Either that or it was simply being ignored. The young bard appeared to be completely oblivious to the mans discomfort.

"What do you want? Why are you following me around?" He finally said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I following?" she asked, her eyes closed as always, but reflexively turning her head and tilting a large, round ear in the direction of his voice. Technically, she'd been more at his side than properly following, but I suppose that was the same thing, in principle. "I didn't mean to be rude. I just... um... well, I wanted to thank you for earlier. You saved my life."

"Forget it. I was simply diving for cover. You just happened to be in my way." Samson said in a gruff voice, looking away from her.

"Even if that is the case, I would have been lost if you hadn't. There were so many loud noises, I didn't know what was happening, or what direction they were coming from. In truth, I'm still not really clear on what happened, just that there was an attack. Had I been standing around, confused for much longer, I have no doubt that I would have been an easy target. Contrary to what you said, I'm sure it would have been easier to just save yourself. You were very brave, so, you know... thank you. " she smiles to him.

"I don't need your thanks. I didn't do anything." he grumbled.

Annabelle smiles a little bit wider, shook her head and chuckled to herself. Although clearly eager to end the conversation, Smirk couldn't help but express his further annoyance. Some mice can handle the act of being laughed at much easier than others. "What are you laughing at?"

"Oh, I'm sorry..."

"...and stop apologizing all the time. It's annoying."

The blind mouse woman paused for a moment, giving the matter some thought before finally speaking up. "You're not very good at taking compliments, are you?"

As for the male mouse, with his one good eye between the pair of them, he looked to her, visibly flustered. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just don't need to be complimented for something that I didn't even do."

"It's understandable. I used to have similar troubles with it. I still do, in fact. An unexpected compliment can be a scary thing, after all. It means that someone thinks more of you than you do of yourself, and what if they're right?" she said, 'looking' back towards the confused man. "No matter how little we have in this world, and how little we know, at least we know ourselves. Or so we would like to believe. But what if we don't? What's left? The unknown can be a terrible thing, so much so that we'll rather cling to the 'fact' that we are worthless and incapable of anything, than to accept the idea that someone out there actually sees some value in our existence."

The green garbed mouse remained silent as the blind bard continued.

"I've heard people say that in the end, we all just want to be happy, but that's really not true, is it? We don't necessarily want to be happy, we just want to be comfortable, and there's comfort in hate, especially in hating ones self. It gives you a clear and solid vision of how the world works, and everything flows out neatly from there. We can accept injustice and unfairness, we can demand nothing from the world around us or from ourselves, because it's all pointless. Being happy, on the other hand? It's kind of terrifying, isn't it? At least at first. Suddenly you have something to lose. Suddenly, you have the sense that you're obligated to try to make others happy. Suddenly, you have expectations to live up to. It's hardly a wonder that so many of us simply throw up our hands and just say 'forget it' about that whole happiness thing. Because in the end we're cowards. We're afraid to open ourselves up, and step into that frightening unknown, where we care about other people, and they, in turn about us-"

The mouse girl stopped in her tracks and shook her head, chuckling. "Oh dear, listen to me going on and on about myself when I was supposed to be talking about you, thanking you for helping me. I know that I talk too much, and I especially know that I apologize too much, but I can't really help it. I'm always sorry because, well, even though I always seem to say the wrong things, I just have to keep trying, no matter how much I fail at it. I made a promise to a good friend that I would. That I was done giving up."

As for Samson, his white furred face was flushed, not so much by the words, but by thin furred paws which grasped his own. Even if a little misanthropic, he had the social graces to not push a defenseless blind girl away. "It's.... fine." he finally said. "Like I said, I really didn't do anything but... you're welcome."

"I'm glad." The bard said, nodding her head, wearing a wide smile. "You know, I do kind of babble on a lot, but I'm actually a pretty good listener. You know... if you ever want to chat or anything. Not that you have to, of course."

That was when he finally shoved the girl away, knocking her from her feet. She landed graciously, a rarity for her, but he hardly noticed, otherwise distracted by the gleam of shining, brown eyes visible through the newly opened path in the reeds following Jebediah's last swipe, and the thrust of the spear which he barely had time to catch with his own drawn wooden blade.