The Council of Petrified Arbor was the name of the most prestigious collection of leadership in the Forest as a whole. The eldest and most powerful Awakened beasts earn spots through voting at the winter solstice every year, and with only a total of thirty-one spots, holding a seat is both coveted and difficult to maintain. A choice few maintain their seats year-round with near impunity; others are either too intimidated to try for their seat or respect them too much. The rest, however, are passed around without hesitation.

Iago entered the clearing and made for the entrance to the tunnels below, a large hole in the ground obscured by the base of The Ancestor Tree and some clever leaf piles. Along the way he exchanged nods of respect or greeting with a precious few Beasts, avoiding the openly hostile or otherwise disturbed looks he got from the rest- at least, the ones who didn’t automatically cringe away on reflex.

Portho on the other hand, was a rockstar. Every sour faced Beast Iago passed brightened like the sun came out from behind the clouds, trading firm handshakes and bows of respect to Portho who responded in kind, nods of appreciation and clapping others on their shoulders as he passed. Iago winced as he rolled his shoulder and scowled as he noticed how carefully Portho was capable of applying his strength. Asshole.

As they approached the Tree, a red-haired ape lumbered up to them. Grass withered and blackened from his path as he walked. Thin wisps of smoke signaled his approach from the coiling strands.

Uh oh.

Joa, only second in command to Portho, was ordinarily one of the most emotionally controlled Beasts in the entire Forest. Iago had only seen him lose his temper once, and there was still a crater the size of a small lake to show for it. All that was left when he was finished was a single stone grave marker, and the weeping ape draped over top.

Iago didn’t think they would have a repeat of that – especially so close to the Ancestor Tree – but it certainly wasn’t a good sign.

“Joa?” Iago asked as he arrived. “Is everything alright?”

Joa’s eyes looked like marbles smoldering with deep flame; rich reds and oranges danced and swirled in an infinite dance. Usually, the dance was smooth and calm, swaying movements of grace. Now, it was hectic and sharp.

He shook his head and jerked his head towards the entrance to the underground. Portho moved to put a hand on his shoulder, but jerked back when his palm touched the fur, like a child who touched a hot pan. Then again, he basically did.

With deep apprehension, Iago and Portho walked side by side into one of the many tunnels that lead to the underground. The ground was dirt, cut and fashioned into rudimentary stairs. The ceiling and one wall were both dirt as well, while the final wall was made entirely up of a single root of the Ancestor Tree. Spikes of stone were drove every few paces into the root, and heavy lanterns hung from rough metal rings, lighting the path. The grey coil stretched the entire length of the tunnel, until they finally turned away. Loud chatter was audible behind the wicker doors leading to the Council meeting chamber, and Iago could already make out the slimy tone of Nubias from afar.

The wicker doors were pushed open by Joa, Iago and Portho entering a step behind him, with Yuhata making up the rear. The chamber was wide and circular, the floor a deep brown wood. One table of chipped golden wood made an almost entirely complete circle around the room, leaving a large floor in the center for addresses to the Council. Currently, it was occupied by an onyx Coyote. Birds clutched wooden perches while snakes coiled next to them. Other beasts curled up on cushions or in small burrows. The smallest of them stood directly on the table, while others were too large to do anything other than loom at the back of the room.

There was a single rickety wooden chair gathering dust in the corner. When Iago was forced to attend, he stood.

The entire meeting room was in uproar. Incoherent shouts overlapped with one another with such ferocity and frequency that Iago was momentarily stunned as he entered. Nubias stood in the center looking defiantly at anyone who dared challenge his gaze, and one voice rang out above all the others.

“…your arguments are weak, Nubias. We can hardly repel the mere poachers they send into our territory; a mere fraction of their military might. How are we to combat an army when they respond? It’s preposterous-“

A broad feathered crow the size of a small boulder cut himself off. He ruffled his feathers and twitched one of his twin head towards Iago and Portho’s entering forms with a satisfied nod. The other lay limp, eyes closed, as it almost always was. Iago had seen it active, and he hoped he never would again.

He shivered under the pitch black eyes of the crow; his own still locked on the second of the two pairs. He always thought the council chamber was drafty. That was it. Just a chill in the air.

“Ah, Iago and Portho. Perhaps you two can talk some sense into this foolhardy, inadvisable, detrimental, romp of a plan that Nubias is suggesting.” He managed to puff his chest out further, though it was perpetually stuck into an outward position at all times, to Iago’s eyes. Speaking of eyes, the crow wore a pair of spectacles.

“What has-“ Iago was cut off by a chorus of new shouts.

The crow grew furious at once. “All of you! Quiet yourselves!” Splattered red like a murder scene complete with struggle appeared in his otherwise void black eyes.

Perhaps it was only Iago’s imagination, but he could have sworn he saw the twin head twitch.

“You would do good to show some respect to the ones protecting all of you, you lazy, inconsiderate, scapegoating, less-than-bird-brained, hardly awakened, grey-feathered muppets!”

“Be at ease, Grandfather Cornelius,” Portho raised a hand, quieting the disparate voices still spilling over from the heated discussion of the Council immediately from nothing more than the gesture. Iago scowled and folded his arms. The elder crow’s feathers ruffled once more, but he settled back onto his perch, taking the gaze of his crimson-speckled eyes with him.

“We-“ the word was drawn out, like it gave him great pain to include himself in the same sentence as Iago – “are ignorant to the situation.” His eyes moved from the Grandfather to Nubias, giving a slight bow as he did. “Please, Elder. Why have you summoned us?”

The coyote seemed mollified, or at least accepting of Portho’s tone, which was far better than Iago could have hoped for. He had no doubt that were he to have spoken, half the Elders would have sided against him out of disgust at his manners alone. Let alone the whole, you know, being a human thing.

“I’m glad you could make it,” the coyote purred. He turned his head to the deer behind them and bowed his head. “My thanks, Yuhata,”

“Hmph.” Yuhata stalked away, standing beside Grandfather Cornelius instead.

Nubias’s eyes passed over Iago’s, lingered for a moment, and settled on Portho.

“Too long we have lived in fear of the poachers. Of the humans. We cower in our groves, sending our young ever deeper towards the center of the Forest, until our fringes become lands for the barbaric masses, and our deepest reaches become the fringes instead. This, my friends, is not sustainable. Under the administration of Dannious-“ his name was spoke with a heavy sneer, entirely unsurprising everyone in the room. The momentum of his speech built. “We have lost land, and we have lost Beasts. I propose a solution. Show the humans our strength. Our true strength.” He seemed to reach a crescendo, as he paused or a moment.

“I propose that we strike back. Burn a nearby hamlet to the ground – there are dozens now, half in our former territory, all practically undefended. The strongest of them plunge into our depths, and thanks to these two,” his head bowed to the two of them once more, “None of them return alive. If we strike back with our full might, we can send them a message. What are the rumors of The Guardian to tangible evidence of our strength? Strength which is sapped away each day through the inaction of our leader. Every guard who falls in the infinite and futile battle against the poachers weakens us further, until soon we will be nothing more than disparate individuals hiding and scavenging for survival. I ask you all to consider my words, deeply, truly. Will we wait until their torches are pressed against the bark of the Ancestor Tree? I vote no, and instead we take the torches to them.”

Dannious sat against one wall with a placid expression on his face, top two feet clasped in his lap in a disturbingly human gesture. Judging from his reaction to the speech, he didn’t seem to think a response was necessary on his end. Perhaps he had given one already, Iago thought.

A thought which only crossed his mind briefly before the far more pressing thought of Nubias’ insane plan came to the forefront.

“Are you insane?” Iago blurted out. Hostile faces swung in his direction, even those who didn’t support Nubias giving him the evil eye. He cleared his throat and continued. “Attacking them won’t have the result you are hoping for. At best it will cause them to be more cautious, but they will never stop invading. Their version of being more cautious will be to bring more mages, more poachers, causing us to lose even more guards than we already are. That’s the best-case scenario; far more likely is they use this as an excuse to bring their full military might against us. Something which we can’t weather, let alone combat.”

Nubias bared his teeth in a snarl and swept his head to look at the rest of the Elders.

“Listen to the honeyed words of our pet human. Of course, he rallies against my plan; it would harm his own.” His head turned back to face Iago, staring him in the eyes.

“Which do you value more, Guardian, the lives of your own species, or the Beasts you claim to live to defend?”

Iago’s temper flared. “I live to protect the Beasts, which is why I’m against your plan. In the short term? We could do it. Very easily. I suspect Joa or Yuhata could do it alone. The problem is the long term. Humanity has far more resources and expendable individuals than we do, and if they set their mind to our destruction, there is nothing more we will be able to do to stop it than an ant is able to stop the descending boot, or a prisoner the axe of the executioner.”

“And when will we act? We have lived in perpetuity, slowly declining in power over the course of centuries for fear of the ephemeral threat that this ‘long term’ poses. There is a time for action, and that time was decades ago. Now, it is damage control, but it is all we can do. Scar tissue is better than healthy skin if it’s the only option besides bleeding out.”

“At most we would achieve a temporary respite before we are struck back at with overwhelming force. It isn’t creating scar tissue; it’s delayed suicide.” Iago took a half step forward to try putting emphasis on his words. Half of the Elders flinched back, while most of the rest merely cringed at the motion. His neck heated, and he stepped back. He hadn’t meant to frighten them.

“We have no time for your mindless arguments, poacher. Our people lay dead and dying because of your failures, and you seek to lecture us?” Nubias scoffed and turned away. “That is, if their deaths weren’t directly caused by your interference. What is that saying humans have? ‘Birds of a feather?’”

The gazes of the Beasts in the room suddenly changed. Before he felt feared, with a little respect. Now, the fear had doubled, mixed with skepticism and anger. He tried to keep his emotions under control, but he couldn’t.

He felt a pit in his stomach. This was how they thought of him, after all this time? He’d tried so hard, given so much. He put a hand on his sword and gripped it tight, trying to wrestle his emotions back into line.

The Elders tensed, and all openly stared at his hand in horror. He only had a moment to realize what he had done. He opened his mouth to clarify, but Nubias was faster.

“Look! Even now he places his hand upon an artifact of the Ancestor Tree, a weapon dedicated to the protection of the Beasts, and uses it to threaten us!” The coyote’s eyes turned back to him, and he could see satisfaction in their depths. He didn’t need to speak any more, the implication was clear. How could Iago be trusted?

Iago looked to Dannious for support, but the old rat leaned against the wall with his front paws in his lap, staring blankly forward, void of emotion. Grandfather Cornelius looked conflicted, his second head twitching every few seconds, and his primary one staring at the ground in thought.

He turned to Yuhata and Portho. The latter looked pleased, but not as much as he expected. There was a twinge of queasiness to his expression, and he held his eyes locked on Nubias. Yuhata looked at him with clear sympathy, and gently shook her head.

The council chamber was silent as Iago took his hand off his sword and turned to walk away. Nobody stopped him.