"But it is true! Marcoon, you must listen! I--" the boys' speech is cut off as he's shoved through the tree flap, the scowling face of an armored Bacca shoving it's furry snout after him as he snarls, "and don't come back!" Before retreating into the depths of the tribe leader's tent. Mitch slumps in defeat and drags his feet as he slid down the railing built to easily climb for access to the home.

He clutched the wooden stick in one hand, wearily avoiding the sharp pointed stone of the spear that had slowed him down for half the trip back to camp. Eventually, he had just continued to chuck the spear in front of him, snatching it up as he darted through the trees.

Alas, the boys' hurry had been in vain, as no one believed his tales of what had been seen by his eyes. Not even his family, except Jerome, who had gone out to collect wood with his diamond axe that he had proudly named Betty. Who would listen to a nineteen year old human male, that told that his own kind had been advancing in their direction?

Not him, evidently, not him if he hadn't seen it with his own two eyes. Mitch clawed his way up toward his home, stepping two feet inside his abode before placing down the spear and quickly heading upstairs before he could be questioned about any events that had transpired. Sighing heavily, the boy examined the room his open door showed off.

An oak dresser was set to the right, sporting many drawers that were filled with clothing for every other day, while his bed next to it was smothered in flannel sheets and chicken-feathered pillows. A forest green rug covered the splintered floor, with toys strewn about around the sleeping space. A bow was resting against the bed, birch shining in the torches' light.

It was this brand of wood for the only reasons that it was durable and flexible, easy to bend without breaking. Next to Mitch's trade mark weapon was a buckskin arrow holder that was originally made for the sling that was wrapped around his body. It was also sufficient, as it held up to two stacks of barbed arrows, the same kind made for the spears.

Mitchell sighs and belly-flops onto his bed, shoving his head into the duvet. Groaning loudly in despair, the boy rolls over onto his back, tugging the covers up to his chin as his hazel orbs stare blankly up at the sky blue ceiling, pondering over the meaning of the tree killers. Sure, he knew they were the same species as him, he knew they were the same in a sense.

But were they?

Mitch climbed trees, they did not. He cared for nature, humans destroyed it. He was athletic, his kind used machines for their dirty work instead of doing it themselves. He used to despise his parents for leaving him in that forest, alone and starving. But now he was starting to reconsider. He had a perfect and new family, one with the endangered creatures of myths and legends. He lives the life many before him had always dreamt of living, and here he was wishing differently.

No, the boy decided, I'm completely happy with who and what I am today. And I wouldn't have it any other way. He joyously grinned up to the stars, silently thanking the gods for everything they had done for him, for they had gifted him with incredible learning abilities, and amazing skills. With these final thoughts in his mind, Mitch slipped into a peaceful slumber, full of happy memories from his past and present days.

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The boy awoke to shouting and the sound of metal grating together. Instantly, he was alert, as it was not morning and no one was aloud out alone when the moon was overhead, for fear of hostile mobs attacking the other homes. At first, Mitch feared it was a midnight skirmish, where none had the power to stop it from their protective shelters, but quickly dismissed it, as none of his pack was that ignorant or disobedient to go against the rules for a silly battle.

So, with that final thought, Mitch quietly picked up his bow and quiver, slipping it on the wrap behind his back and quickly shoving as many arrows he could into it, which by his count he estimated it to be around the hundreds.

He cautiously opened his door, letting the moonlight leak out into the silent hallway as he placed his feet on the floorboards, careful to avoid the ones that would surely creak under his weight. The noise was growing louder, and by the sound of it this was no mere fight. Picking his pace up, Mitch was almost at a full sprint, power-walking in the shadows with a loaded bow at the ready and lucky red and black checkered jacket on.

The boy almost jumped out of his skin when a figure appeared at the entrance, ducking through the opening and scanning his surroundings cautiously. Before Mitchell could react, three more filed in and conversed in harsh murmurs. He crept along the wall, eyes trained on the triplet that had invaded his home. He believed this was called breaking and entering, and he would not stand for it.

Though before he could move another muscle, the one with his back to the kitchen stiffened before his eyes rolled back into his skull and toppled forward, landing silently on the wooden platform at the other's feet. Out of his back gleamed a sapphire colored axe, blood splashed harshly on the shaft and once clean gem.

Low shrieks of terror issued out of the other uninvited guests as they slowly started to retreat, having almost no time to exit as a figure darted out of the darkness, ripping the weapon out of the corpse before slashing at all of their necks, warm crimson liquid splattering on the walls and protector. Light came to reveal the pelt of a light chocolate brown, and Mitch gasps, running over to the heavily breathing animal.

Once he saw the boy, he embraced him into his welcoming arms, nuzzling him lovingly and dropping the weapon, it clattering to the ground. "Oh, Mitchell! I thought they got you to!" Jerome cries, pulling away to examine him, checking if there were any scratches or bruises on the frail body in front of him.

"Jerome, what's going on? Where's dad?" The Bacca's muscles lock in anger as he recalls the event. "Gone. They took him, in a cage. Don't know where, or why." The human boy whimpers in fear, clutching his bow close to his chest and gripping the tussled fur on his brother's body, digging his face into the other's chest.

"Come on, Biggums. Let's get out of here."