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King Arnie’s calm faced Sirehta’s anger. “You can see we are not demons, flaming or otherwise. We are only protecting our homeland from those who want to harm us. Where is your home, soldier?”
“My home is gone.”
“Destroyed?”
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“Take a deep breath and hold on!” Barry shouted to his passengers.
They burst through the front line of the fire into a clearing on the edge of the river. Elliot shot a last look over his shoulder. Yvonne was gaining on them. We’re goners, he thought, closing his eyes against their imminent violent end.
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Elliot pitched the sweat-soaked lump of fluff at Yvonne’s head as Cassandra launched herself onto Barry’s back. Elliot vaulted up behind her and stuck himself to her shell as Barry plunged from branch to branch, closer and closer to the flaming hell below.
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“Hey, I’m Barry. Good ta make yer acquaintance. When I heard youse callin’, I was on my way ta da Floor — it’s gonna be a hot time down dere tonight. Looks like youse are stuck in a nesty situation.” He paused as though he were waiting for some kind of appreciative response.
The flames below flared as they struck the tree next door. Ash and glowing cinders swirled around them.
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“Cassandra! Come quick!” Elliot called.
“What is it?” she yawned, scaling the side of the nest to join him at the top where she saw the approaching fire. “Oh, my! It’s a good thing it’s raining, isn’t it?”
The rain stopped. The flames continued.
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Yvonne swiveled her head over her shoulder to face a rising breeze as thickening gray blotted out the lunar glow. She sniffed the air and turned back to her rapt audience.
“It was on a night like this,” she murmured in a sing-song tone, more to herself than to them. “The wind-gathered clouds glowered in the moonlight till they devoured the lonely moon, and the only light came from lightning on the horizon.”
She blinked once at Elliot and Cassandra. “A storm is coming. You’ll have to stay the night.”
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The moon had climbed only a branch or two higher in the tree when Yvonne returned with dinner to find Elliot cleaning dried blood from a slash on his girlfriend’s neck.
Looking away, she patiently reminded herself that her own savory kill still dripped from her talons, and she lay a beakful of mold-garnished leafy greens and a spongy-plump mushroom at their feet. Then, because that suffocating need to show well had woken from its long sleep, she couldn’t stop herself from discreetly tossing tufts of fur and shards of bone down to the charred forest floor.
Resentment simmered in her veins.
Space, Time, and Raspberries 
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