Marnok sat on the trunk of an uprooted tree, glancing back and forth between Lira and Seyra in utter confusion. Bipilon sprawled beside him, basking in the light of the twin suns and watching Marnok’s struggle with obvious amusement.
“So,” Marnok began resolutely, “Lira was contacted by the Guide Kerru and asked both of you to come to the Library in Thalgorrin. And you’re saying we’re supposed to travel together.”
“Yes,” came the answer from Lira’s beak.
“And why didn’t this Kerru,” Marnok continued, “contact me or Bipilon directly?”
“He did,” Bipilon replied contentedly without opening his eyes. “I just didn’t tell you yet, Marny. We were heading that way anyway, so I didn’t want to burden you with it. And he could only contact me — not you. That’s how it works. Only Guides can do that.”
Marnok opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves echoed from deeper in the forest. Something was approaching them. The sound was rhythmic, slightly clumsy — as if whatever it was tried to be stealthy and failed miserably.
Marnok froze. His aura flared briefly, then faded as he relaxed again.
Seyra watched him closely. She heard the sounds too, but Lira sensed no danger; instead she tilted her head, curious whether whatever was coming would be food — or would want food.
“When the red ones walk, the others stand still,” Marnok said calmly.
“What?” Seyra blurted through Lira’s beak. Lira shot her a surprised look, as if Seyra’s reaction had offended her.
Bipilon burst into laughter so violently he nearly rolled off the log. When he finally calmed down, he added, “Thanks, Marny. That’s exactly what we needed. Your prophecies are as accurate as ever.”
From the forest, accompanied by a rhythmic dun dun, two Redduns waddled into view and headed straight toward the group. Marnok reacted instantly — he grabbed his pack and stood up, keeping it out of the birds’ reach. Seyra did the same, though Lira sent a soft mental imprint: “hunger… they’re hungry… very…”
The Redduns waddled up to them and stared sadly at the packs, from which they could clearly smell food. One of them let out a tiny hiccup — the kind that usually gives farmers in the Central Fields a mild heart attack. It did nothing to improve the situation.
“Fortunately, Redduns can’t fly. We should get moving,” Marnok suggested. “More will be here soon.”
The Redduns stared at Marnok in silence, as if they not only understood him but were personally offended. Then one of them — clearly the female — stepped closer to her partner and, with an air of solemn dignity, began fixing the crest on his head. The male looked as though he were experiencing the greatest humiliation of his life.
Once she was satisfied with her work, both birds turned away from the group with exaggerated indifference and began rummaging through the fallen leaves, as if to demonstrate they had no interest in anyone’s food. Yet every few seconds they cast quick glances at the packs, and each time Marnok or Seyra shifted theirs even slightly, both Redduns froze in a dramatic pose — as if hoping that if they didn’t move, the packs would forget they existed and spill their contents onto the ground by themselves.
Bipilon’s Note
“Redduns are like a guilty conscience. You don’t call them, you don’t want them, you don’t need them — and they show up anyway. And once they’re there, they act like they’re the ones suffering. Marny says it was a coincidence. I say Redduns have a sixth sense for food and a seventh for awkward moments.”