Bree slapped his cards down onto the wooden table in disbelief.
    'There was more luck in that than i'd like to admit!' Laughed Keeley. 'Still, a bet's a bet - now gimme your hat!' 

Tom, seated in the corner leaning his chair against the wooden railing, and occasionally munching on a piece of bread, laughed too.
Bree reluctantly removed the feathered blue hat from his head and threw it at Keeley's chest.
    'Take yer stinkin' hat! But i expect to win it back once yer luck's ran out!'

Together they cleared the table of cards and drink, and sat back as Tom had been for the last half-hour of hooting and hollering.
    'Y'know...' Started Bree, his mouth now full of bread, 'We're mighty noisy for a watchtower. I reckon i'd be right in saying any red parties marching through the wildlands would hear us right away!'
    'My father often told me that "something plainly seen can't be looked for", and i'm inclined to agree with him. I'd rather our presence be known, than be sought out.' Said Tom as he stuffed another absurdly large piece of bread into his mouth.
    'The real dangers are those grey traders!' Blurted Keeley with disgust. 'This bread is stale!'

    They sat for some time, eating stale bread and talking about their wives back home in their respective villages and how Keeley didn't have one, and how his new hat might help. At length they stopped talking entirely, sighed as they slumped, and sat quietly, staring out across the vast forest of the Wildlands.

    A light rain began, over time becoming much heavier until a loud chorus of falling water flacked against the wooden roof, and the trees below the tower.

    After a short while, a scraggly hawk - grey, brown, quite wet, and with a red ribbon tied to it's right foot, swooped gracefully under the canopy and onto the wooden perch in the corner opposite where Bree, Tom, and Keeley were seated. It shook itself dry, before bowing it's head, revealing the small message canister on it's back. Tom stood and took some dried venison from the sack under the table. Feeding the meat to the hawk, he stroked it's brown crest, took the message from the canister and read it aloud:

    ‘For the north tower, though indeed "Fletcher", the bird in your presence, is often inclined to miss his mark.

It has come to our attention that a rising cloud of dust large enough to warrant concern has been observed moving slowly across the wildland in your general direction. We saw grey clouds had accumulated to the west and presumed your range of view was lessened by rainfall.

P.S: Be warned, the grey traders that passed us by were selling bread as solid as the foundations of this tower, if they come to you, ask first for a taste test!

-Torik, North-east Tower’

Tom looked out to the horizon, but couldn't see more than one hundred paces in front of him. A slight mist had rolled in to join the raindrops, and together they rendered the watchtower quite useless, as Torik had predicted.

    Soon enough, another hawk called from a distance, and could eventually be seen closing in on the tower at great speed. It sparkled white and silver against the moonlight, and seemed entirely unhindered by the heavy rain. It too, was adorned with a red ribbon. Fletcher was clearly awestruck by the creatures majesty, and no doubt somewhat envious of it's considerably less lackluster coloration. The new bird, at first surprised to see another hawk, nodded it's head slightly in Fletcher's direction, and then began to chirp in a language lost on the watchmen.

    'Hello my friend! Your being here warms my heart. I don't often meet other birds like myself. No doubt something is afoot, for two of us to be given red ribbon messages is mighty unusual!'

Fletcher had often spoken to the birds of the blue kingdom forests, and sometimes to those of the green kingdom on his journeys there, but most of both saw very little of the world and were too occupied with their own daily happenings to accumulate knowledge regarding anything more than how to find a grub in the dirt. Consequently, it was a pleasure to speak to one of his own kind, let alone one who delivered messages as he did.

    'Likewise! It's nice to see a friendly face such as yours, i hope the rains didn't give you too much trouble, they were rather less torrential upon my arrival.'

The new bird stooped it's neck to allow Tom to pull the message from it's canister, who appeared most confused by the throated chirping back and forth between the hawks.

    'I dare say i've not experienced a heavier or faster downpour in my time, but no matter, my message is delivered.'

There were few messenger hawks in the blue kingdom, and that two should appear at a single place in less than a few minutes seemed to Tom quite odd.
After reading the second message, and deciding that although the scribbly handwriting of the north-western tower was here very difficult to read, he thought he could make out something about dust, and something about rainclouds, and something about the bird being named "Fleet".

'Fleet!' Bree yelled enthusiastically, rising to greet the bird. 'Long time no see my feathered friend!' The bird was exceedingly well-known amongst some of the watchmen of the blue border, and had obtained quite a reputation for speed and accuracy, even amongst the wild birds of the region.

Fleet gave a remembering chirp, thinking back to the time he had been sent out from the Purple kingdom with a black ribbon, regarding their defeat and subsequent annihilation at the hands of the Reds. He had stopped at the north tower to rest, and Bree had supplied food and water as he had no time to acquire it for himself.

    Suddenly, the downpour grew stronger, dissipating the misty grey curtain.
Bree took a moment to finally survey the surroundings as the view gradually became clearer. He squinted through the rain and looked down into the edge of the Wildland forest as it met the road through the mountainous border of the Blue kingdom.

    'Say, don't ya think we should send a message onto the capital? I mean two like messages in a matter of minutes? I say that's a lil' fishy!' Reasoned Bree, who then realized he couldn't even hear himself over the constant howl of rain and wind, and saw that nobody else, save for the two birds, seemed to receive his question.
He spoke the same again, though in a much louder voice.
Keeley heard him this time, and looked fruitlessly into the distance as Bree did, for any sign of impending danger. He turned back. 'Right you are! Although these good-for-nothin' rains could slow the birds, or even pluck 'em from the sky! Maybe we should wait until they've died down a little bit befo-'

The others looked at him in a puzzled fashion, wondering why he hadn't finished his sentence. The next thing they knew, his eyes had rolled back into his head, and he had fallen forward onto the floor in a heap. Tom hurried to his side, and was about to turn him over when he noticed a feathered shaft protruding from the back of his neck, just below the skull.
Bree sped recklessly to the railing and looked into the rain, before another arrow thwacked violently into the corner column beside him, prompting him to withdraw swiftly behind a chair.
Tom, having followed suit behind his own chair, now leapt over it and lay prone on the wet wood, peering through the posts of the railing.

Various sleek shapes, clad in red cloaks, darted about in the trees below the tower, and seemed to be getting closer.
    'Tom!' Shouted Bree, 'Can ya see anything below?!'
It took him a moment, but almost immediately the image before him and the word behind him came together in his mind to effect a sudden realization:
    'Red scouts! A party of scouts! Bar the trapdoor and prepare yourself!'
With that, Tom pulled his bow from the crate in the corner, flipped the table onto it's side and pushed it to the railing to provide himself with cover to shoot from. Bree, drawing his sword, slid the bar into place across the trapdoor and sat beside it, awaiting the inevitable violent intrusion.

    Tom counted four of them, and took aim at one as it tried to out-shoot him. Before the hooded figure could release his own, Tom's arrow found it's mark, and the scout then had a face to match his cloak.

Another of the red scouts had already snuck around and tried to kick down the flimsy door at the foot of the tower, when Fleet looked to Fletcher and screeched.

    'Perhaps there is something we can do to help! Come, splay your talons!'

The pair quickly stretched their wings and took to the air, diving down onto the scout at the door. Tom saw the birds dart past him to brave the wind and the rain, and it wasn’t long before he heard the garbled yell of a dying man amid with the screeching of hawks.

    He moved his attention to the two remaining scouts, who - now aware of Tom - made a break across the road for the tower, swerving and darting like rabbits running from a fox.
Tom knocked and fired an arrow, and another, but they both flew harmlessly into the dirt.
Taking a deep breath, he knocked another arrow and lead the scout closest to him. Holding the breath, he released. The arrow whistled as it fought the wind, eventually finding itself embedded in a red shoulder.
The scout reeled back and took a moment to twist the arrow from his skin. He looked up to Tom, perhaps impressed - though his face was not visible - and then hurried forward again to join his companion at the door.

    Fleet and Fletcher shot upward, and perched on a railing. Their talons were covered in blood, though not their own.

    'A worthy contribution!'

Fletcher nodded in proud agreement.

Then - with a thud muffled by the rain - the door gave in below, and Tom saw the two Scouts jump over the hawk-mangled body of their brother, and penetrate the tower.

He knocked an arrow and held his aim at the trapdoor.

Fletcher, who's eyes had strayed to the wildland forest, thought he could see something moving under the trees, but before he could look closer, the sound of fist hitting wood rang out from below the trapdoor, and not even the rain could dull it.

    The scout continued to hit the panel with all his might, and it began to crack. Wider and wider the crack became with every hit, until the old hinges began to shift and all that held it down was the thin plank of wood. The thumps stopped as a final blow was prepared, but before it struck a whistle sang out from below the floor.
Suddenly, one of them leapt over the railing and landed softly on the deck, having climbed the face of the tower. He was as he seemed - clad in a dark red cloak that rested lightly on his right shoulder and ran down his back. Everything else was black: boots, gloves, jacket, and even his face which was wholly covered by a rather disturbing mask devoid of detail or decoration.
Immediately, the first scout pushed up through the floor and was promptly greeted with a fatal arrow.
Unfazed, the second scout stooped creepily, drew his dagger and moved toward Bree. But Bree - with his sword at the ready - dodged the first downward swipe, and then caught the second swing at the wrist. With a twist he flipped the scout's arm against its joint, and then pushed the sword through his exposed chest.

He withdrew his blade, and the scout fell in a crumpled heap.

    The rain retreated considerably, as if to say the threat was gone, though the clouds hung steady above them. Once again, they could all hear themselves think.
Bree went immediately to Keeley, who lay face-down in the red water. He gave a silent farewell, and gently pressed his hand atop his fallen friend's, before moving away again to survey the forest.
Tom squinted, and scanned the horizon beyond the road and forest, but saw nothing.

    'I doubt a few men could whip up enough dust to worry the entire north line. The towers are miles apart.'
    'I agree, and folk like these aren't normally alone, i'm a little bit worried they were less meant to scout, and more meant to clear the road through the mountain!'

Indeed, the north watchtower was in the most precarious position of all the towers along the border, as it stood guard on one of the only larger passages from the Wildlands through the mountains into blue-country. The thick dirt road that came out of the forest and through the gap was frequently used, mostly by traders from the Green kingdom, as the mountains to the west blocked any direct passage anybody but the most skilled and foolhardy of travelers could hope to use.
For a long time a permanently manned gate was considered at the request of Bree, but never erected, and it's at times like these they wish the request had been accepted.

    Tom began pulling the two dead scouts toward the railing, and shook his head in frustration. 'One lonely old tower isn't enough to watch a road such as this.'
Bree joined him, and both gave a colossal grunt as they lifted the bodies, and sent them toppling over the edge. Tom sighed heavily, and Bree sunk back into the nearest chair before leaning forward onto his knees and hanging his head.
Tom Pulled his water-skin from the crate, and handed it gently to Bree. 'Here, drink some, you look thirsty.'
Bree was slow to take it, but eventually did, and took a few sips before wiping his lips and returning it.

After a few seconds, he found a bad taste in the back of his mouth. 'Even the water is stale!' He complained with a sour face, laughing ever so slightly.

Tom laughed too, and there was a moment of pleasantness.
He found a few more bread rolls in the crate under an empty potato sack, and shared them with Bree.

    Fletcher and Fleet were perched silently in the corner, and for a time did nothing but stretch their wings and preen their feathers.
Suddenly Fleet stopped, and then swiftly tilted his head to the north, apparently having heard something, or trying to hear something.
Fletcher did the same, and together they listened intently.

At length he heard what sounded to him like an ominous rolling thunder that seemed to be getting louder with every passing moment. Joined now by the rattling of metal, the sound wandered closer still.

Tom and Bree stopped talking for a moment, as they now heard the sound, and both stood to find it's source.
It didn’t take long before the four of them saw what they took to be a pulsating black mass moving steadily and purposefully through the trees.
In a matter of seconds, the shape emerged from the edge of the forest, and revealed itself to be an immense horde of figures all clad in varying shades of dark red cloth and black metal. They marched without discipline, each at their own pace, creating a sound less like a marching force, and more like an unrelenting storm.

Fletcher, Fleet, Tom and Bree, all leapt to the floor, and lay flat against the wood.

    'What're we gonna do?!' Whispered Bree in the least whispery way possible.

Tom thought for a moment, his head in his hands. From where he was lying, he couldn't see the army through the railing, but could nonetheless hear them ahead of him, and it frightened him greatly.
It occurred to him that it was now too late to escape the tower, and all they could hope was that the army passed them by without incident. But the four bodies of the four scouts lay strewn across the road and beneath the tower, and tom worried that they would most certainly prompt an investigation.
He thought then that in reality there was very little they could do about anything in this situation, and their best bet was to lie very still, wait until the army had move on, then send the two hawks to warn the capitol - for he presumed the army was headed there, as it seemed rather odd that they should dispatch an entire force to assault a meager watchtower. There was no larger fortress in the blue kingdom that could possibly warrant such numbers.

    Tom crawled to the east railing that faced down onto the road, and peered through the wooden posts as a prisoner - and he was a prisoner, for they could go nowhere, and do nothing.
After a minute or two, the army had reached the tower's point on the road, but to Bree's surprise, they seemed to continue past it, and simply kept going onward until the forward battalions vanished around the bend behind the mountains.
When he looked back to the forest to see if their numbers had run out, he saw - to his great dismay - an unabating sea of black and red, still pouring from the trees.

To his greater dismay, in said sea floated great war machines, amongst them an immense ram, and three catapults, each with three great stones already loaded in their cups.

Suddenly he felt eyes on him, so he turned his gaze back to the soldiers walking past the tower immediately below him. He studied the crowd, and although their faces were hidden behind masks and helmets, quite a few of them seemed to notice him, even going so far as to turn their heads directly toward him, but eventually taking no action. This struck him as being very odd, and indeed very unsettling. Only did the situation become more unsettling when he saw smoke rise up in front of his face, and then roll in under the tower's canopy. Tom, smelt it before he saw it, and lifted his head from the floor to see what it was. When he saw the smoke, he gave a look to Bree, and at the same time, they both concluded that the tower had been set alight.

    With a sudden roar, the flames engulfed the foot of the tower, and rose up at an alarming speed, scorching and cracking the old wood.

Soon the heat was near unbearable, and Fletcher and Fleet were eager to remove themselves from the situation, but didn't want to leave Tom or Bree behind. Instead they followed their lead, and stooped as low as they could to the deck, away from the smoke.

Fletcher watched as the two men crawled quickly to the crate in the corner, and pulled from the bottom a piece of paper, a quill, and an ink pot. Tom set the page on the floor in front of him and hurriedly scribbled a message.

Red army - thousands - most likely to Capital.

-North tower

2: In which Fletcher becomes aquainted with the forest.

    From above and below, darts of water and wood fought to claim the two hawks.
Fletcher screeched, as the feathered shafts pierced the air all about them.
One of the captains marching below had seen the birds launch themselves from the burning tower and pass between the mountains, lit well by the fire against the night sky, and upon seeing the black ribbon the larger of the two now carried he called for every bow within earshot to target "the bird with the black", heedless of the likelihood of raining his companions up ahead with the arrows of his own battalion.

The two birds, at present more alike to flying acrobats, spun and weaved at random, hoping foremost to avoid incoming arrows, and also to present a more difficult target. Though not as agile as falcons, they still managed an incredible speed considering the circumstances.

Really though, they were not dodging the arrows so much as hoping that they would politely decide to miss and sail onward into the sky, and so far as now that had been the case, but such is the way of things - an arrow found its mark at the base of Fleet's left wing and passed straight through, tearing flesh and feather.
    'I am hit!' He screeched in pain, fighting to maintain his altitude. 'Fly further apart! They aim for me!'
Immediately, Fletcher swerved far to his left, narrowly avoiding another arrow.
The army below was in great disorder as troops were set upon by the first of the falling arrows, and everybody was pointing at the sky, yelling, screaming, and hurriedly loading their bows to fire without taking the time to properly aim, such was the speed of the pair.

    'We should fly lower!' Fletcher squawked to Fleet, who was still struggling to keep his speed and height, 'If we fly low, they won't have time to aim, we'll be but a blur!'
    'No my friend! To be that low would be suicide! They have spears and halberds; they'll pluck us from the air!' He dodged another arrow, 'I've a hole in me already, i'd rather not be carved in two!'

All of a sudden there came a wavering horn that echoed through the passage, and no more arrows were loosed. Even the rain seemed to slow to a drizzle at the sound, and the clouds began to part.
Having lost a good deal of soldiers already, the captain of another battalion had blown the horn to stop the march, and then given a loud command, but the passage - like a great wind tunnel - was roaring of it's own accord, and from the height of the birds, the command could barely be heard.
'Cease fire! Stop shooting, you idiots! Get ya shields up!' Howled the captain above the thwacking of falling arrows.
So the hawks had a brief respite as the command went through the host like a wave, and all the shields were raised to fend of the deadly shower.

    Away from the bonfire and around the bend in the passage, the stars - now free of competition and clouds - had revealed themselves in all their splendor - much to the dismay of Fleet. A star-filled sky would emphasize their silhouettes where a black one would not, and tonight the light of the stars was such that it might as well have been daytime, and so there was no question as to whether or not they could still be seen.

Despite their having flown for some time, there remained the army beneath them that ran on like a red river in the dark, and continued around the next bend in the mountain path. More than one pair of eyes watched them.

The mountains, being as tall and thick as they were, made the pass more alike to an immense canyon, with impenetrable walls on either side, and a roof of unbreathable air. Fortunately though, when the arrows had ceased to fall behind them, and the host lowered their shields, Fletcher and Fleet were nearing what had to be the front of the army that - having reached the end of the passage through the range - was now spreading out onto the wider road ahead.

    'Most birds who meet an arrow often have difficulty telling anybody about it, being dead and such!' Chirped Fletcher in disbelief, trying to be as quiet as possible.
He was relieved to see him still flying, but while Fleet was strong of body and will, even a man would struggle to travel any long distance having been pierced through-and -through by an arrow, but there was no turning back now.

    Far behind them now, the lower pillars of the watchtower began to buckle as the blaze ate through them until, at length, the thing collapsed into a blazing heap and sent a second sky of embers up into the night. The birds had rounded the side of the first mountain well before the tower had crumbled, but just prior to doing so, as they came through the gap in the range, Fletcher had seen what he took to be a man ablaze leaping from the north side of the tower down into the thick canopy.
He knew then that the watchmen had perished, but in need of swiftness of both the physical and mental variety - he had spared no further thought on them, save for an acknowledgement of their bravery, and silent gratitude for their haste in the preparation of the message.

As a result of what Fletcher thought was a wise decision, the message had been given to Fleet, and Fletcher had been tasked with his protection. Fleet was the faster and more capable flyer when unburdened and uninjured, but while Fletcher had been relieved of his capsule, Fleet - being the bearer of the message - wore his still, not to mention the considerable hole in his left wing.
It was not the weight of the capsule that interfered the most, but rather the design. Men were not birds, and as such - they didn't quite understand the delicate intricacies of flight in all it's forms. The straps of the capsule were often far too tight and impeded the breathing of the wearer, which was especially dangerous during moments of panic or necessary swiftness.
Being the stronger bird, Fleet, now likely ignoring the pain of both the straps and the wound, seemed unhindered, but considering that Fletcher was keeping pace, and not being left far behind, it was safe to assume that he was not at his fastest.
Without even looking to Fleet, Fletcher knew his mind.

    'Do not be concerned for me! We're almost out of this mess! And can you feel it? we've a tailwind coming down the passage! Hurrah, my good bird, we'll be over the forest soon enough, and from there it is a pleasant flight!'

    As they came out of the mountains and passed over the front of the company, a man on a tall black horse, who looked to be the leader of the marching rabble, followed the pair with his gaze for a time until waving his hand, signaling the company to move forward.
They were now truly in the Blue kingdom, as far as most were concerned, and the forest here on this side of the mountain was vast, and immensely thick. The trees were tall and twisted, and by most accounts of the human inhabitants of the land, very beautiful, but here the canopy was such that from high above as they emerged from the passage, it seemed that the red river had run out of the mountain pass into an immense green sea.

 

    Within almost an hour, The sun had risen, and their spirits were lifted, but Fleet had been unable to properly catch his breath after the panic because of the capsule's straps, and so upon flying a good distance the pair came to rest in a tree beside the road.
    'A short rest will serve me well, my friend,' said Fleet 'and then, if it pleases you, it would please me to follow the road, as with the still wind and the hot sun, we may yet find an updraft somewhere along it's length with which to fly high and glide!'
    'A good plan for conserving energy! But first I at least will need something to eat, else i'll have none to conserve! The watchtowers are sparing with their dried meat, and while i'm not quite starved, I should like a good mouse, or better if the forest is willing.'
    'It may yet be, though it is a hot day! It may hinder the red host that follows, but it may also put your mice into hiding!'
    'We'll see! Call if there is trouble!'

So Fletcher dropped from the tree and flew to a higher branch that sat deeper in the forest, but he did not go so far as to be unable to see Fleet, who was preening the feathers around his wound.

    The trees of the forest were indeed gnarled and twisted, but to him they had never been at all beautiful, though he learned to often disregard the petty opinions of men, who did not care for mice.
Scanning the ground, Fletcher sat patient for a while against the trunk of the tree, so as not to form an easily seen silhouette against the canopy which - although thick - was aglow with filtered green sunlight.
While he expected to catch at least a mouse, he hoped for some kind of small arboreal creature, as it would mean a larger meal (though not too large as to take a long time to eat) but more importantly, it would mean not having to touch the floor of the forest.

In the trees there was danger, certainly: if he failed to notice and catch it first, a large snake could turn the tables, and more than a few strong birds had been killed be the venom of forest spiders, but the true danger for him was on the ground.
This forest was no place for a hunting hawk anyway, as the trees were too many to allow for safe flight, and the canopy was closed, preventing vertical escape, but to make a kill on the floor of a thick forest would be considered wanting for death by most birds.

Under favourable circumstances or when not on an errand, he would fly out over fields and hills, circling burrows and diving on rabbits. According to him, there was nothing quite like plunging head-first from a great height, then splaying one's wings at the very last second to drop onto an unsuspecting little thing. Oftentimes there was more tasteless fluff than meat, but standing amid rabbit-fur snow was half the fun.
Here though, everything was a bright offensive green, and nothing seemed to move. As a matter of fact, the floor was hardly visible beneath the roots, weeds and brush, and anything could be hiding just about anywhere - ready to pounce on a foolish hawk.

He reasoned to stay in the trees.

At length, a thing moved swiftly along a branch in the corner of his eye, and immediately he sprung into action. His impatience was payed for though, as he flew straight into a hanging branch and fell, before landing on another.
You were lucky amongst the arrows, Fletcher, he thought - shaking himself and getting to his feet - if you can't dodge a tree.

It was a squirrel he had seen, and it seemed to have somehow missed that spectacular failure, as it was very busy leaping casually from branch to branch without a care.
In the end, this would prove fatal for the squirrel, as Fletcher found his wings again and after swerving left, then right, then left once more to avoid the thick trunks, caught the thing in mid-air when it could do naught but dismay, and with it squirming in his talons, he bent his head forward and crushed it's neck with his powerful beak, before colliding with another branch.

    Upon arriving back at the tree in which Fleet sat, now stretching his wings, Fletcher had lost a good number of feathers, and was slightly dazed, but nonetheless was the triumphant owner of a dead squirrel, which he presented with pride.
    'Aha! Well done, my friend! A gift of the forest, indeed! Worth two and a half mice, i should say! Big mice if that tail has any meat!'
    'I think the tail is mostly fur,' replied Fletcher 'but two and a half mice - even small ones - is a good prize if i do say so myself! But how shall we divide it?'
    'Why we'll simply half the thing! Seeing as you did the catching, why don't you take the back end? There is more meat.'

And so it was that Fleet and Fletcher sat perched in the shade of the hot sun on the outstretched arm of the tree that overhung the road, and each enjoyed half a squirrel.

    Fleet's wound was still very sore, but it was in a place of thin flesh and little tissue comparative to the rest of his body. Indeed, it was beginning to scab already, and there was little risk of infection given their mode of travel.
The pair was wary of their task, and had no desire to delay more than was necessary, so while their rest and replenishment had been pleasant, it was time to continue, lest they be the first birds in the history of the kingdoms to be overtaken by walking men.

Together they took to the skies, and found that the sun had heated the dark dirt road enough to create a long line of updrafts, with which they could fly with great ease, provided they followed it.
And follow it they did. For a good long while they rode the warm currents of air and with only a few flaps every now and again, had made excellent progress.

But all good things must come to an end, such is life: and thus - some distance behind them came the piercing cry of another hawk.
Three of them, actually.