The terrain worsened before it changed.
The canyon walls tightened—not in height, but in shape—leaning inward in uneven angles that broke sightlines and turned distance into guesswork. Stone jutted from the ground in narrow ridges, forcing the path into shallow turns that offered no clean line forward, no easy way to see what waited beyond the next bend.
Sound carried strangely here.
At first it was nothing more than a faint rhythm—irregular, almost easy to mistake for wind moving through the rock. Then it repeated. Higher this time. Layered.
Imoen slowed slightly. "You hear that?"
"Yes," Xan said. "Unfortunately."
We crested a shallow rise, and the sound resolved as we moved forward.
Voices—if they could be called that. Thin. Rapid. Repetitive. Not language in any form I recognized, at least not one concerned with clarity. The cadence was wrong.
Something closer to chanting.
Rasaad raised a hand, and we stopped.
Below us, the ground opened into a shallow basin carved into the canyon floor. Crude structures clustered in uneven circles—lean-tos and partial shelters built from scavenged wood and stone, arranged without pattern or planning. Movement filled the space between them. Small figures. Blue-skinned. Quick.
Rasaad's gaze narrowed slightly.
"Xvarts," he said quietly.
Dozens of them.
More than enough to matter.
They weren't scattered. They were gathered—drawn inward toward a single point at the center of the village, their attention fixed in a way that suggested expectation rather than awareness.
The sound rose again, sharper now, more insistent. Several of the creatures dropped to their knees in uneven unison, while others followed a moment later, as though reacting rather than understanding.
I shifted my angle slightly, narrowing my focus toward the center of the gathering.
A flash of white.
Movement.
Elevated above the rest.
Feathers.
I exhaled once.
"This was not how I remembered it."
Which meant it had already gone wrong.
Below, the chanting quickened—not louder, but faster. More urgent. And at its center, cutting across the rhythm instead of joining it, a strained voice broke through.
"—no, no, that is not—stop that—!"
The words carried unevenly, distorted by distance and stone, but unmistakably Common.
Human.
A voice that didn't match the body carrying it.
Xan tilted his head slightly, listening.
"Well," he said mildly, "it would seem the farmer has not entirely lost his grip on reality."
Imoen let out a quiet breath. "…I liked it better when this was just weird."
Minsc leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"Xvarts gather," he said. "And something speaks among them that should not."
Boo squeaked, tense.
Xan folded his arms. "Of course it does."
Rasaad didn't move. His attention remained fixed on the center of the circle.
"They are not celebrating," he said.
"No," I replied.
"They're waiting."
Another burst of movement broke from the center—white feathers flaring outward as something struggled against the press of bodies around it. Several xvarts recoiled, then leaned forward again, expectant.
I watched long enough to be certain.
"It sees us," I said.
Imoen frowned. "Sees us?"
I nodded once.
"And it's trying to get our attention."
Below, the rhythm faltered—not completely, just enough to break its cohesion. Several xvarts turned, not toward us, but toward the source of the disruption at the center of the circle.
The white shape.
Flapping.
Insistent.
Desperate.
Minsc straightened. "Then we go."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
"The witch remains in chains," he added, "but we do not ignore a call for aid when it stands before us."
Boo squeaked in agreement.
Xan sighed. "Of course we don't."
Rasaad lowered his hand. "Carefully."
Branwen adjusted her grip on her shield. "They are many."
"They are disorganized," I said. "That helps."
I took one last look at the gathering below—the movement, the pattern, the break at its center—
the voice that didn't belong—
then stepped forward.
"Let's not give them time to decide what we are."
And started down toward the village.
We had not made it halfway before they noticed us.
The shift spread quickly this time. Heads turned. Voices broke apart. The rhythm dissolved into something sharper, more reactive.
Weapons appeared.
Crude. Uneven. Numerous.
"Ah," Xan said quietly. "There it is."
Branwen's shield came up. Rasaad settled his stance. Minsc stepped forward, voice rising.
"Stand firm!"
Boo squeaked, fur bristling.
The xvarts answered with a rising chorus of shrill chatter, several breaking formation as they spread outward. Not coordinated—but not random either.
Closing.
At the center of the gathering, the white shape jolted—
then burst free.
Feathers flared as it forced its way through the press of bodies, stumbling once before righting itself and turning—
directly toward us.
"Wait—no—no, stop—!"
The voice cut across the basin.
Everything turned toward it.
Not us.
It.
The chicken threw itself into the space between us and the nearest xvarts, wings spread wide in a display that had no business resembling authority—and yet was treated as such.
Recognition came quietly.
Not from sight alone.
From the shape of the problem.
"Stand down!" he shouted.
The nearest xvarts froze mid-step, chattering dropping into uncertain clicks. Several crouched instinctively, heads lowering, though their eyes remained fixed on us.
Confusion.
Not obedience.
Melicamp turned in place, addressing them in rapid bursts that slipped between Common and something less structured.
"No—no, these are—this is—stop pointing those at them—!"
He spun back toward us, feathers still unsettled.
"Do not—" he began, then checked himself, glancing behind him. "…do not make any sudden movements."
A beat.
Then, quieter:
"They think I can kill a bear."
Imoen blinked. "…what?"
Melicamp dipped his head once.
"Yes. A very large one. In a cave. It has become… a situation."
Behind him, the xvarts shifted again—lowering, circling, watching.
Waiting.
"They follow you," Minsc said.
"They misinterpret me," Melicamp snapped. "Extensively."
Xan tilted his head. "That does appear to be a recurring theme."
Rasaad stepped forward slightly, hands open.
"They have not attacked," he said. "That is something."
"They will," Melicamp replied. "The moment they decide I am not handling this correctly."
He looked between us, feathers settling only slightly.
"So if you could all refrain from appearing threatening, confused, or particularly alive for the next few moments, I would appreciate it."
Imoen raised a hand. "…define 'particularly alive.'"
"Do not run. Do not advance. Do not draw weapons unless you intend to kill all of them very quickly."
A pause.
"…preferably not that last one."
I let the silence stretch for half a breath.
"They're not the problem," I said.
Melicamp stared at me. "They are absolutely a problem."
"They're manageable. The bear isn't."
Understanding clicked across the group in different ways.
Xan exhaled faintly. "Ah. We're cooperating with the delusion."
"Temporarily."
Minsc frowned. "We have already lost time."
"And we will lose more fighting them," I said. "Or going around."
That settled it—not agreement, but acceptance.
Rasaad inclined his head. "Then we resolve the immediate threat."
Branwen nodded once. "Quickly."
Melicamp hesitated.
"They believe I am their deity," he said, voice tightening. "Or something that has chosen to inhabit me."
Xan made a small sound. "Of course they do."
Melicamp pressed on. "If this is to work, then you are not strangers. You are not intruders. You are… mine."
Imoen blinked. "…yours."
"My followers. My agents. Whatever term offends you least," he said. "You will act accordingly."
A beat.
"…convincingly."
Minsc frowned. "I do not follow chickens."
Boo squeaked.
"You follow necessity," I said.
Minsc held my gaze, then exhaled. "…for a time."
"That is all I require."
Melicamp straightened.
"…this is still the worst possible solution."
"It's the fastest."
Behind him, the sound began to build again—expectation returning.
Melicamp closed his eyes briefly.
"…fine."
Then he turned.
The change was immediate.
"YES," he snapped, voice cutting across the basin. "WE WILL ADDRESS THE BEAR."
The xvarts erupted—chattering rising into something almost ecstatic as bodies dropped low and surged forward again, gesturing wildly toward the dark cut of the cave.
Minsc rolled his shoulders. "Then we waste no more time."
Boo squeaked eagerly.
I looked once toward the cave.
Then back to the shifting mass of xvarts.
A problem.
Now ours.
For now.