and she was sure now that he was not, in fact, ignorant and a chick, but only humoring her by allowing her to "re-evaluate," as she had said; but soon enough he pursued her again, and this time he did not look frivolous and young and airbrained but determined and old and wise -- how could she have ever thought otherwise?

"I wish to see you," he told her, and this time it was her following his order, and there they were again, perched on the higher loftrees.

They sat in silence, the wind picking up and rustling their feathers. Some of Skaffwory's were sheared off and flew away, tumbling enthusiastically in the way of feathers that had finally escaped their use.

"No jibes or insults to me?" said Ckorassackea Cedrus, and Skaffwory shook her head. The perpetual fires at her feet were flickering erratically; her beloved salamanders were responding to her unease, and occasionally one of them would lash out, soothing its restlessness.

"No," Skaffwory said. She huddled, shivering on her branch despite the embers beneath her. She combed through the feathers on her right shoulder.

They were silent again.

"Are you done?" Skaffwory asked finally, and Ckorassackea Cedrus hung his head.

"You fear me," he said miserably. "This is why I didn't tell you before. I didn't want you to be scared of me."

"What other response would you have?" Skaffwory asked -- rather than demanded. His defeated posture touched her.

"Well," he said, "I'd rather that you love me as I love you."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Surely you must know," Skaffwory said, "that this power is not something that can be forced easily onto another being, much less a passerine."

"Yes," he said, "I know the c-curse, just as well as you. Despite whatever other misc-conceptions you harbor about those who bear my name."

He sighed, strongly. She had never seen such a sigh in any other creature. His breast expanded to at least a quarter greater his entire bodies' size.

"I feel," Ckorassackea Cedrus said, "that it is possible to defeat such a c-curse. Think about it. Love is a c-coagulant for the sorrows of other beings -- they speak of it and write songs of it -- I refuse to think that we're any different. We must all adhere to some sort of underc-consciousness."

"What evidence have you for this?"

"I've been think-king," he said, "of the stories that have been told throughout our ages. Love and war. Maturity and spawning descendants. It's all the same -- no matter whether you bear skinned flesh or feathered, whether your hands are hooved or prehensile. Even the dragons have songs that speak to these timeless themes."

"You forget what passerine songs have nothing to do with love."

"This is false," Ckorassackea Cedrus told her sharply. "Passerine do sing of love. It is only the word itself that falters, and it does not live long in us, the same way that a flame struggles on a short wick-kuh. But I am sure, with the right bond...with the right pair...timelessness could be achieved."

She was wrong. He was a chick after all.

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