Prologue
<O> Prologue <O>
Heavy lavender puffs loomed at Finnegan's underbelly, the slowly increasing darkness of The Forest and his rising anxiety keeping him aloft.
He'd already scouted the area; once from the north side and once from the south side, near Clearcurrent.
“Cosmo has to be here," he breathed to himself. "It's not in her nature to leave so suddenly like this."
Of course, the option of notifying the authorities stood as a notably available one, as Bartleby had suggested.
“Give us a call anytime 'n we'll be ri' at yer' door—well, palacestep," Officer Atkins had said only a week before. "We're always 'ere for the Great Creator an' his kin."
To this the crow responded kind but firm: "Thank you for the offer, sir, but I've the capability to protect myself and my associates." He began to regret his own words.
He, alongside his associates, were immortal. His daughter was not.
Eventually his eye caught an oddly familiar shape playing with Peyenecones below.
“Cosmo!" he exclaimed, still somewhat heaving with exhaustion. "You know not to leave the palace without me."
“I know, papa," began Cosmo. "Bartleby told me about the Peyenetrees during lessons today. He even showed me a picture of what the cones look like from his book! He'd said the trees dropping them was rare and only happened once a decade. I was curious!"
Finnegan's eyes, previously wild with anger, relaxed—a fraction.
“Curiosity is a mild spell, my kit. Once it sinks its teeth into your veins, you know you've succumbed to it. You'd stop at nothing in pursuit of your answer."
Awkwardly pawing at a cone she tried looking to her father. But for some reason, her eyes couldn't bear to meet his. "I'm sorry I worried you, papa."
“It's quite fine, Cosmo."
He glanced at his daughter's arrangements: largest first, running along in an organized line until it concluded at the smallest. A victim of the young raccoon's nervous fit, it was a narrow, stubby cone about the size of a pebble.
“Cosmo, I'm intrigued by these trophies of yours," remarked Finnegan as a gentle wing met the rigid surface. "We must take these back to the palace."
“No," chittered Cosmo. "I want to keep them here."
“Why so?" asked Finnegan, now perched on a branch.
“I enjoy collecting what I find," murmured the kit. "But I want to leave them for everycritter to see." Picking up the smallest cone she gave a goodbye wave to her newfound collection.
“I'll take this one," she muffled, her prize seized tightly in her jaws.
“Cosmo, tell me."
Cosmo spat out her Peyenecone.
“What?"
“Tell me why you choose to abandon this rare find to the commoncritter."
The word was as familiar to Cosmo as her instincts. She'd heard him and Bartleby exchange it in dinner conversations when describing nearly every townscreature.
“What's wrong with commoncritter, papa?"
“Well, from what experience I've had with them in both lives, they simply are workers; some more efficient than others. If they contribute to us and pay their pawdots, they are good citizens. However, one belief of mine holds true. Those beneath us are not equal to us."
Cosmo's whiskers twitched.
“What about Speckle and Ernest? Are they equal to us?"
Finnegan didn't respond.
“Am I equal to you, papa?"
Finnegan unfurled his wings, and their return to the palace was silent.
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(Note from stopreadingthis, the author! Hey everyone, I wanted to say that this chapter and any other chapters of this novel are prone to possibly being edited before physical publishing. Enjoy :)
