5. The Wind Warden

Pika looked back, but Prince did not follow. He was carried from the cabin by a human woman. Two vehicles landed nearby, shaped like fish with spinning wings atop their heads.

The woman took her partner through a side opening, then shut the hatch. Pika watched them ascend rapidly, blending into the blackened sky.

She cried again without tears. He’s in human hands now, she thought. It’s a miracle if I see him again. Why did I do this?

But she knew why. Otherwise they’d both be done for, captured or killed, and she preferred to roam alive and free among the trees.

A forest began some ways behind Raketa, but the trees were charred black by many fires and the ground felt like hot coals. Pika and Pinpin leapt from one bare patch to the next until finding a stone path that felt cooler underfoot.

“No, we must get off the path,” Pika said after a few hops. “It’s made by humans, it leads to humans.”

“It’s also the only way through these woods,” said Pinpin. “Pika, as soon as we see humans we’ll get off. But as the Florisian Faith used to say: Let’s not fear the monster whose presence lacks.”

Pika conceded and walked the stones beside him. After some twists, the path turned into alternating straight stretches and perfectly symmetrical bends—just as only humans would create. With each step Pika grew more uneasy.

“Why do they do this?” Pika asked the darkness.

Pinpin scratched his head with a wing. “Do what exactly? Build this path? Put lights on everything?”

“No, why do they attack and destroy nature?”

“If only I knew.”

A light burned far ahead. From here, Pika couldn’t tell if it was another star—finally water and food—or one of those silly human light spheres. Emboldened by their rumbling bellies, they hopped toward it anyway.

The wind helped too. By now it had reached storm speeds, blowing at their backs. Pika hoped it also carried heavy rains.

“But it’s nothing new,” said Pinpin. “The First and Second Conflicts happened before humans existed. Penguins descend from the Owls who fled and luckily reached the Iceplates. If the Wise Owl hadn’t stayed behind, we might’ve had even more devastating conflicts.”

Pika squinted her eyes. “It’s not the same. In the past you died when a hungry lion charged and you weren’t fast enough. A fair fight. Humans have plenty of food and drink, yet they make things just for fun that blow up half the world.”

“I don’t think they take pleasure in it,” said Pinpin sadly. “They’re still animals, like us. The monster doesn’t see themselves as the monster. That doesn’t make it less terrible.”

Pika didn’t understand. That woman in the white coat carried her partner as if he were her baby. She could’ve stomped him. She could’ve caged him. But he still lived and was taken along. The humans must have something even worse planned for him!

She looked back. Raketa was invisible now. Deep inside, she might want to return—to hold Prince tight and drag him away—but it was too late. One day those humans will pay for what they’ve done, she thought.

Withered leaves whipped their faces as they took the path’s next bend. The light revealed its true nature: not a star, but a stone house surrounded and covered by metal spikes as if it were a porcupine.

It thundered overhead. That’s not that odd during a brewing storm.

It is odd when, right after the thunder, fiery metal objects fall in a ring around you.

“That last rocket exploded too!” Pinpin yelled.

“Good thing we missed it. You’re welcome, Prince!” Pika shouted to the sky.

She couldn’t relish her victory long, as for the umpteenth time, they ran for their lives with ever decreasing energy.

A curved metal ball struck the house’s roof, knocking off some spikes. An elongated metal tube pierced a shed in the front lawn like an angry spear tossed by god.

Pinpin and Pika jumped off the path. They recoiled from the hot ground, but still hopped onto the lawn grass. The crooked wooden fences had plenty of gaps to squirm through.

The green carpet made Pika’s paws feel like they floated or walked through a dream. She pinched the blades to ensure they wouldn’t vanish. Pinpin slid a long way, leaving a trail of flattened grass behind.

This grass looked sickly too, yellowed and bent at odd angles, but Pika no longer cared. She nibbled every bit she found. Her throat was raw and turned every flavor into the same bitterness, yet she kept eating, feeling stronger with each bite.

“Why don’t you eat grass?” she asked Pinpin, mouth full.

“If only I knew. I can’t eat plants, I need tiny fish.” He let his wings droop. “Those don’t live in the grass. Oh, and there’s a second reason.”

Pika looked at him. “What?”

“Bird!”

Two orange talons with long black claws dove at them. The left grabbed Pinpin, but his slippery body slid free. Pika pulled him to the fence, but the bird landed and cut them off.

“Which way now?” she whispered.

“There’s no cover. Except inside the hou—”

“We are NOT going in.”

The bird flattened all grass with one mighty wingbeat and lunged at them. Pika jumped high enough for the beak to pass underneath her paws.

She whistled as loud as she could. An alarm call all hares would recognize, though she doubted any others still lived.

Pinpin flapped his wings. The bird thought he would fly too and shot upward itself. When the penguin didn’t rise one bit, their attacker peered down confused. They dangled in a taut net, nearly invisible, strung across the lawn.

“Run!”

Pika and Pinpin slithered through the grass like snakes. They made dozens of trails, toppling more obstacles in the yard, until they’d silently decided to exit left.

The bird tore free and circled overhead. It was gigantic, able to grab them both in one claw, yet tough to see with its black wings against the black sky. It dove again at its prey.

A blast. Smoke from the house. The bird shrieked, forgot how its wings worked, and crashed into the front lawn. It lay still in the grass that reddened around it.

“Blasted giant beasts,” a male human voice grumbled. “Wreck my whole roof, can’t even hear the TV.”

The door opened. Pika and Pinpin rolled to the side wall, through the grass. The man used a broom that seemed infinitely long to push the bird further out his yard. He never stepped through the doorway himself.

The slamming door shook all walls.

“On second thought,” Pinpin whispered, “let’s NOT go inside.”

Pika climbed atop his head to peer through an open window.

“Maybe I can steal some food this way,” she whispered.

The man listened to a sound box.

“Attention! Warning! Attention! The ministry reports Kran’s weapons have been fired at Aprania. Leave your home immediately and proceed to the nearest base.”

The man frowned. He wore loose colored clothing, full of holes revealing underwear. A long gray beard served as a jungle for flies. He watched another screen much like those devices at the rocket base.

“Nonsense,” he grumbled. “Fake news. Always fake news. My radar shows empty, safe skies.”

He held up one finger. “Oh! Don’t forget.”

He shifted some knobs on his sound box and held a black ball to his mouth—a microphone.

“Welcome to the Wind Warden, your reliable weatherman for all of Aprania! It’s August 29th and it looks to be a lovely day.”

With sideways glances, he monitored the many dials and gauges covering his walls. “We expect … nothing really! No rain, no storms, no funny business. Sunshine abounds—”

His fingers tapped the glass of a rusted device. “—well, as long as you live several kilometers high. Have a wonderful day, this was your Wind Warden, Aliber Woodduty.”

Humans really are dumb, Pika thought. A fierce storm nears, Kran’s weapons come, yet he stays put in his shack.

He’d saved them. But by accident, shooting a beast from behind his window—like a coward.

“Shouldn’t we warn him?” said Pinpin as they walked away.

Pika didn’t even respond. Her gaze already sought the next star, one they’d best find quickly.