Soap loved flying. Loved the way different smells reached his nose, how the wind tugged at his feathers as if trying to unbalance him. He loved the way he felt powerful, his muscular, broad wings allowing for easy gliding in the cool air.

He had heard tales, tales of Avians who were blown off course when flying and running into feral counterparts, who ate raw meat, with sharp teeth and curved talons on their scaled bird feet. Who lived in trees and still made nests like regular birds.

Soap didn’t think they were real, but the nagging voice in the back of his head whispered he was being followed, and he he whipped his head around, he caught sight of something ducking into the trees to escape his view.

Whatever it was was smaller than him, and his curiosity won in his mind. So he twisted in midair, chasing down the small thing that had spied on him.