Zylo thought they’d really blown the exile thing out of proportion. Sulveig had been nice for what it was—a virtual prison decorated with lush greenery and plentiful prey. Yet, here he was, enjoying a peaceful evening in the plains of Neirodyn. The red grass was a nice change of pace from the omnipresent yellow and green hues of Sulveig. None of the insectoid Jyontei bothered him with their buzzing like they did back the lush forests. There was no sneering or snarling from the bestial Grizoid. No one told him what to do or where to be. If he could be rid of his tagalong associates, it’d be perfect.

Zylo breathed deeply, taking in the scents of his unwanted comrades, the Chimaera. Though his body was half human, the lupine aspect of his phenotype afforded him a superhuman sense of smell. With it, he could tell what manner of beasts his brethren were mixed with by scent alone. Unlike Griff—who was some manner of dog—Zylo could not ascertain distance with his nose. Regardless, he knew at least one of the group would be hovering unnecessarily close.

“Zylo.”

Zylo gave an exasperated grunt, wondering if he’d in fact summoned his nemesis with merely a thought. Of all the people he wanted to speak to—at the moment, none—the crow, Ingram, was on the bottom of the list.

“What?” Zylo said. “Weren’t ya just squawkin’ about us needin’ rest?”

“That applies to them, not you. You won’t think before you act regardless of how much sleep you get,” Ingram said. “I should thank you again for burdening all of us with your wretched concept of freedom.”

“No, ya don’t—really!” 

Zylo was beyond tired of this argument. He’d only been out of Sulveig two days before the other Chimaera caught up to him, demanding that he take responsibility for their exile. 

“You’ll see for yourself how much better it is. Just you wait,” Zylo said. He cringed as he heard the all-too-familiar, feathery rustle of Ingram crossing his arms.

“Again, I ask: how do you plan to do that? We have limited food and no reliable supply of water. Never mind that we could be attacked at any moment, given the lack of shelter or camouflage in these plains.”

“There ain’t been one sighting of anything dangerous except your little vulture friends flying around. More fearmongerin’ from the dodo.”

Ingram stomped one clawed foot. “You need to take this seriously! I have information—”

“And how’d you get it?”

“Somehow, I managed not to alienate my entire network.”

Zylo grinned. “Great! Do you want to be the leader, then? You’ll make great decisions—the best decisions—with so much information, right?”

“Absolutely not. The information I get is not always timely or reliable and I will not be risking the lives of the Chimaera on a wing and a prayer.”

“Unlike me, you mean.”

“Hmph. Still too cavalier for your own good, I see.”

“Why are all you bird types so bitter? Got the ability to fly and you’re just as sour as green berries!”

“I decided to come with you out of concern and respect—please do not make me recant my oath.”

“What is an oath but a bunch of words, mate? We’re not in Sulveig anymore—we don’t have to live by rules and—”

“Yes, we do, you fool. What do you think will happen if the members of our group turn on each other? You all were kept together by the fear of retribution from the Rhizodia. You better hope that the fear of the Neirodynites keeps your people together now.”

Zylo yawned. “Sure, sure.” He listened to Ingram walk away. He’d opted not to mention that the crow couldn’t go back if he wanted to. The Rhizodia never let anyone who left Sulveig return. Zylo was more than glad of it.

Background photo by Sébastien Goldberg on Unsplash