for gold and glory

More insults piled on the tip of Aster’s tongue, but she kept her beak shut. She’d said her piece, and she needed to save her breath to fly off. Right? But as she watched Medusa for signs of further aggression, the black and white wolf stayed down on the ground. And looked… sad?

Aster hesitated. Was she reading Medusa’s body language right?

And why cry, anyway, when Medusa had started the fight? Aster realized—regardless of the answer—the oddity definitely had some screws loose. All the gold in the world wouldn’t tighten those bolts. Really, she should fly off, because an unstable wolf was dangerous to a bird, especially a tired bird, but… her curiosity wanted to know why.

She sighed. Maybe she could reason with the wolf and get her gold back. And maybe she was too nice, trying to explain this basic concept of defining meanness, but at least she could fly away if Medusa became aggressive again.

“Okay, you do realize you attacked me, right?” Aster tapped her claws on the branch in exasperation, but she tried to think about this as if she were explaining this to a hatchling. “I woke up to my tree shaking. Then I saw you, and you demanded my treasures and a piece of my body. You tell me: does that sound nice or mean?”