A day and a night passed. Rain, wind, and sun came and went. The cherry tree blossomed bountifully, laying rose-pink petals on the grass of the land around it.

  It was a strange sight to see for any traveller visiting Silverstreak. A pile of sodden ashes, a blossoming tree, a town recently recovering from horrific violations, and a man’s grave with freshly growing grass upon it. To a traveller, an odd sight.

  But not to the rabbit, though.

  The rabbit crawled out from his burrow, shaking off the mud and muck from his underground home. He blinked his sleepy eyes, getting used to the Great Ball of Light that lit up his world.

  He stretched his legs and cleaned his long, soft ears. He instantly stood up, looking around the fields.

  No foxes, nor hawks. Good.

  No Sarku. Even better.

  No humans. So much better.

  No danger. Then let’s go.

  Happy with his safety, the rabbit began his foraging. Now, normally, he would be a little more practical. He would be careful.

  But time waits for no lazy rabbit. He was a restless one. Not like his father, or his father’s father, or his father’s hundred other fathers going back to the days when the human den nearby his hole was nowhere to be seen. They would exercise caution, awareness, cunning. Awareness. Cunning.

  No, he could not wait nor rest. The petals had begun their descent, and the bugs would soon devour the sweet flowers. He jumped with a step and bounded through the grass, keeping low and quick. Though he did not see, smell, hear, nor feel his enemies, they could be arriving. So speed. Speed was his natural ally. He leapt over an ant trail, dodged a disturbed and bothered partridge in roost, and stopped by the tree. It was his favourite tree since he was a kit. His mother and her dozensisters told him stories of the healing roots that bled through the ground. Its petals nourished the land and kept the tree strong against all forms of danger.

  The rabbit liked that story. He knelt down and began to eat the petals. One flower at a time, he felt his strength return. He was happy. He was content. He was—

  A shift in the grass. A noise of something dragging on the mud. His ears perked up and he froze. He focused and could swear he could hear something behind.

  He jumped into the air as the adder, a green and mud-skinned snake with golden eyes, darted under him with its fangs outstretched. He would have been fine, but he was distracted. He felt a sharp sting as the adder had nicked him with its barbed tail.

  The rabbit spun in the air before landing with a clump on the petals that gathered in that strange, loose patch of mud.

  He started to run, but his legs refused to move. He was paralysed by intense fear.

  He could only watch as the adder turned slowly around, its soulless eyes flicking in all directions before settling on the immobilised rabbit.

  As it advanced upon him, the rabbit had fleeting moments to think of his short life. It was so short. It wasn’t fair. He just wanted to eat some flowers.

  He stared in terror as the adder lunged.

  A human’s hand exploded from the loose earth, fresh grass and the blanket of cherry flowers.

  The dirt-covered hand caught the snake mid-charge and held it in a vice-like grip. The rabbit stared now in stunned confusion as the adder thrashed and hissed, eventually biting at the hand that held it.

  The hand replied by simply crushing the adder’s midsection with a single, powerful squeeze. Guts, blood, and broken bones exploded from the cadaver of the snake. Then the hand sunk back into the dirt, dragging the dead adder with it.

  The rabbit could not move. He still did not as the loose ground shifted and shifted some more until the same hand crawled out, followed by another hand. Which was followed by the head of a human male in tattered clothes eaten by worms.

  The human male crawled out from the ground, his torso up and out until his leg was free to plant a boot onto the ground and raise him up completely. The human’s head was horribly twisted at a strange angle, so much so that even the silently terrified rabbit was certain that was not how a human head and neck are supposed to look.

  The human took his head in his hands and pushed it back upright, cracking the bones into place, one piece at a time. And then pressed it down straight into his neck with a final snap. The human grunted and then turned to look down at the rabbit.

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  The rabbit saw the tail of the adder sticking out from the human’s mouth.

  Humans do not eat adders, he thought. They don’t. They eat me. Why did he do that?

  The human pressed the rest of the adder into his mouth and crushed it between his muddied and sharp fangs.

  Fangs? Fangs? Humans don’t have fangs! The rabbit peed himself.

  The human with strange fangs and the unbroken neck cocked his head to the side, studying the rabbit. Then the human approached the rabbit and then knelt before it.

  “Little child of the underground…” the human spoke softly. “Haven’t your father or mother warned you about being greedy?”

  The rabbit stared.

  “Go.” The human who saved him pointed away. “Live. Eat. And sleep in peace, surrounded by the warmth of the dark sod below…”

  The rabbit found his legs again and sprang away, running and hopping and jumping as fast and as far as his feet could take him. He never went back to the cherry tree again.

  Derrick Lawgiver watched the rabbit run away. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the bones settle back into their sockets. He twisted his neck back and forth, making sure his bones were aligned. He enjoyed the gentle clicking under his skin.

  He looked back towards the town and sighed deeply.

  He rubbed his once broken neck. He was exceptionally grateful that they had adhered to his wishes to be buried and not burned. He wouldn’t have revived himself otherwise.

  He wished he could stay, he had enjoyed his time in Silverstreak. It was a deep pity for it to be cut so short. But that was that.

  He was dead. Derrick Lawgiver was dead now and that must stay that way.

  They enjoyed playing the human’s role. They hoped that they did him justice.

  They began to rub his face, and with each push of his skin against their fingers, the dimples, pores, and bone structure of his face began to smooth out. The hair on his eyebrows, jowl, and scalp fell away. They rubbed and rubbed, like they were washing his face with water.

  They stopped when Derrick’s face was no longer visible.

  Instead, it was a featureless, pale face on the creature, with two holes for a nose, two oval-shaped eyes with the colour of a rainbow, a long horizontal slit across the mouth from ear to ear filled with black fangs, and a pair of long tapered ears that curled back from their head like horns.

  The Changeling Fey dusted off the dirt and grime from the grave of Derrick and began to walk towards the south.

  They noted the small pile of ashes. Curious. It must have been for a child, for the pile to be so small. Derrick would have felt pain and grief.

  The Fey, however, felt only apathy. A human child’s death was such a common occurrence for them in the lengthy life they had; it was as if rain had come and gone and no one noticed. Human lives fleeted like the autumn leaves of old oaks. They grew, they bloomed, they browned, and they died.

  Still, though… Derrick would have been grieving.

  As a final gesture to the good man they knew, the Changeling stopped and stood before the ashes, head down, and muttered a low prayer to the human child that was dead.

  “May thee pass on into the arms of Father Terra… May thine ashes feed the soil and allow new life to be reborn… May thee find a new life beyond the one thou hast lost…”

  The Changeling was about to turn away, but a scent filled their nostrils. It was the smell of sulphur and firewood, of coals and pomegranates. It was a mixed scent that they had not sensed in their two centuries of life. Intrigued, they followed the scent back towards the ashes. How curious.

  They knelt down by the ashes and carefully scooted around the embers. They did not exude heat due to the rain the previous night. Which was good. Fire did not agree with the skin of any Fey creature. But just in case…

  The Changeling took up a stick from the cherry tree, thanking it at the same time for its timely assistance, and used the stick to prod and push the ashes around.

  The scent was getting stronger and stronger still. The Changeling turned over one last piece of ember to find… an egg.

  They stared. It was a flame-red egg; small, oval, and flawless. It was gently glowing a warm light from inside.

  The Changeling’s face blanched, somehow becoming more pale with great surprise and excitement.

  “It cannot be,” they said under their breath. “It cannot be!”

  They reached out to touch the egg, but reacted with a hiss. The egg was very hot. The Changeling looked at their fingers, seeing the flaking skin on their fingertips. They scrunched their face in frustration, but nodded with a smile that displayed their fangs.

  They took off Derrick’s clothes— they were matted and rotted anyway— and used the shirt as a bag. With the shirt, they were able to pick up the egg gently and fold it within the fabric of the shirt. The Changeling could still feel the heat pushing through, but not enough to burn. It warmed their chest without hurting them. The Changeling smiled.

  This was monumental. This was something that had been prophesied thousands of years ago.

  But how? How was it the case here? And how could this egg be present within the pyre of a human? Such questions and theories could not be answered here. They had to go home.

  Yes. That was it. Return home and report all that they, as Derrick, had seen and heard to the King and Queen. They must be told of this change in the world.

  The Changeling laid down the bundle of clothes, rolled back their arms and then extended them. From that motion, plumes of golden-brown feathers exploded from their skin, growing out and over their hands and fingers. The Changeling began to shrink as well, getting smaller and smaller. Their face narrowed and crunched and twisted, causing their nostrils and mouth to extend away from their face into that of a beak. The rainbow eyes remained the same but settled into the sockets of a bird as light-brown feathers sprouted and covered their face, head and neck and body. Soon, the Changeling was no longer but a larger-than-usual golden eagle that pecked at the odd feathers that were not in place.

  With their new talons, they gripped the bundle tightly and carefully lifted the precious cargo into the air. Higher and higher they flew until they reached the lowest of the clouds in the sky. Satisfied with their packaging, the Changeling once known as Derrick Lawgiver turned around and flew south, carrying with them the one egg that could be their people’s salvation… Or their destruction.

  And the Road Continues…