So much for Trust...

Though the man could be within striking distance within the blink of your eyes, you’d seen first hand what Rowan could do with one well placed shot of that strange bow. You could no doubt best him swiftly in melee combat, especially with how much effort he had to put into staying off his wounded right thigh. If the ranger had managed to pull off a shot before then, however… The outcome of such a blow is not one you’d like to imagine and as such, it’s decided that to tempt the man’s wrath would be far too great a risk. Instead, you’d once again have to resort to the charming wiles that have already gotten you this far. Slowly, you reach your left palm skyward, displaying your submission.

“Alright Rowan, alright…” adopting a muted tone, one filled with what you hope sounds like a mixture of disappointment and resignation, you look straight into the eyes of your would be captor… and lie through your teeth. “You win. I'll put my charge on hold and return to your Nest.” This doesn't immediately set the man at ease, however, his hand still reaching over his opposite shoulder and left to hang above those nasty barbs. The Decidueye, equipped with a lifetime of warnings as to the trustworthiness of your kind, has little cause to take your sudden obedience at face value. You continue the façade..

“It's true I am hesitant to put off my search, and I cannot lie that it hurts to imagine the cost of such delays. However..” As you spin the yarn, your mind races to find something, anything that you might use to ease the archer from the precipice of confrontation. You take care not to fumble your words, betraying your true intentions, as the mental analysis of the evening closes in on the best angle to work. “I find myself agreeing with you that the needs of the here and and now outweigh the hopes and dreams for the future.” The flowery language, a bit too honeyed for your pragmatic ear, similarly rings hollow for the owl, his hands remaining at the ready.

Flattery is out. He's barely budged… What can I..?

“Furthermore and to that point…” **** to continue the meandering diatribe you are so ill prepared for, the words come slow and border on nonsense as you desperately hunt for the right approach. The answer, when it finally reveals itself, is so obvious that you could have slapped yourself. You suppress the impish grin creeping up before it has a chance to ruin the plot and take aim at the ranger's most **** target. “But in all honesty, Rowan…”, your voice becomes meek and shaky as you go all in.

“..I am afraid.”

The icy expression worn by the wary warrior gives way in the face of such an admission. It was his turn to upend his brow in confusion, showing just how unexpected your ‘confession’ was. More importantly, the hand that had been sneaking over his shoulder in search of ammo splayed wide, even creeping back an inch to hover upon his fluffy chest. You had him off kilter, and it was time to press further.

“Look at it my way. Held captive and surrounded by perhaps hundreds of skilled warriors with every notion to do away with a Sneasel like me.” You wear the mask well, slouching both shoulders a bit and pretending to avoid eye contact. You even throw in a subtle quiver to your lip just in case the narrow sighted avian managed to catch it. Not daring to drop the act until you were certain, you pitifully murmur, “You.. understand my hesitation, don't you Rowan?” Slowly, almost painfully so, you return a shaking gaze to the face of your mark, your fresh delight hidden from your features.

Rowan stands there, hands far from where they might do you harm, his expression a blend of fracturing confidence and terribly disguised annoyance. With the dutiful fledgling teetering on the edge of **** sympathy, you set your sights on his softest target and poke at his ego. You ask if he could ensure your safety, both traveling to and arriving at the Nest, careful not to sound too pathetic. His dithering response affirms that you've stolen a foothold and have begun to win him over.

“Bwa- A-a ridiculous question!” The ranger squawks, indignation heavy in his rebuttal. Though he may have meant it as an accusatory gesture, the trembling finger he thrusts in your direction brings relief as it has completely abandoned the bowstring it had been grasping. “There is nothing to be fearful of at the Nest tree cat! We aren’t like those underhanded sneak claws you hail from!” All his blustering confirms that your ruse has bore fruit, shifting the excitable bird from **** and opening him up to what you had planned.

“Then I have your word, Rowan?” Keeping the faux sincerity peaked as you play your final card, your sullen eyes match his own and press, “To ensure my security while in your care..?” The evening breeze whistles by as the both of you rigidly stare each other down. Each of you locked in silent contemplation, searching for any reason to fault the other's intent. The standoff is abruptly ended by a defeated sigh, Rowan finally breaking eye contact.

“You want my word, Sneasel..?” The usual arrogance steeped into every verse is noticeably absent as the Ranger straightens his stance. Striking a bold pose, with his chest puffed out and chin held high, you watch as a feathered hand reaches across to rest upon his heart. “You have my word as Regimental Scout First Class of the Treehoppers Brigade, you will reach the Nest unharmed.” You're genuinely taken aback by the show of chivalry, impressed by this one's conviction to his cause. You don't even have to fake the smile on your face as he gives a practiced bow before returning to a relaxed posture. Naturally Rowan had to ruin it by adding, “As for what may come afterwards, that is for the Marquise alone to decide.”

“Then I suppose I am officially under your supervision.” A polite nod accompanies your vocal submission which seems to put the Owl at ease. The mention of this ‘Marquise’ is interesting, as is any information about the Nest’s leadership, though at this point in time you’ve no interest in meeting her. Deciding that the conditions are about as good as they’re going to get, you extend your hand toward the Decidueye and carefully pad forward. The man doesn’t flinch as you offer the handshake, eyeing you still with some caution. You stop your advance just two paces from the Ranger, waiting for the gesture of goodwill to be reciprocated. “I am trusting you, Rowan..”

The seconds stretch by, your defeated expression matching his stoic regard, neither of you willing to retreat. The moments become tense as the awkwardness begins to set in, and you feel the only clue as to your deception, the fur on your scruff, start to bristle. Thankfully, Rowan’s stalwart notions of honor are the first to concede and he closes the distance easily to wrap your smaller hand (and most of your forearm) in his silken grasp. “And I, you, Kale.” A jerk with more **** than you’d expect from the downy palm radiates up your arm, forcing you to clutch all the tighter to maintain the handshake. The scout further surprises you as his other hand clasps your shoulder, giving it a firm pat. “I know not what awaits you at the Nest, Tree Cat, though from what I’ve seen so far…” He lets a small grin crease his beak as he concludes the shake, “.. You might be more than the stories of your kind let on.”

The unexpected compliment, backhanded as it was, actually hit home pretty hard. Your mask slips for a moment, genuine surprise clear upon your face as the faintest whisper of a blush attempts to take root. Cold, unfeeling pragmatism snuffs it out quickly, however, as the time has come to reaffirm all he’d been told of your people. A tiny, thoroughly annoying part of your conscience scolds you for doing what must be done. For all his faults, the man was really trying to play the hero. This was going to hurt you a lot more than it did him.

“T-thank you.. Rowan. That’s really nice of you to say.” Your hand tightens around his once more, likely to be mistook as a friendly squeeze before breaking the shake. You use those warm vibes he’d shared to cast a heartfelt smile up into his beaming face. “You’re one of the good ones, Mister ‘Scout First Class’.” He takes the light tease well, his own grin widening as you feel his palm begin to loosen.

“Which is why…”

Your grip tightens all the harder, denying his hands withdrawal, chasing the friendly smile from his face.

“It REALLY pains me to do this again~”

The owl's eyes go wide, a look of horrified shock plastered across his face as he watches your left leg retreat far behind you, clearly winding up for a wicked encore upon his battered nethers. The resultant screech of “NNAAaaooooo!!!” blisters through your ears as the terrified avian wrenches his hand free of your grasp to join his other in an effort to cup his sensitive groin. His violet eyes drop from view as he rapidly bends forward to further remove your perceived target from reach, allowing those viney hood laces to dangle exactly where you need them to. With a single, lighting-quick swipe they are locked tight in your left hand, and Decidueye understands his mistake. Still craned low to protect from the kick that would never come, it is he who now looks up to you, an expression of furious betrayal tainting his otherwise adorably embarrassed visage. A mischievous smirk is all you can offer the pitiable Ranger as you yank hard on the vines, nearly ripping them from the leafy mantle to draw the hood shut tight.

“You Bast-aaah-mmrrhh! MMMmmuuuhhhpphcckkmm!!!” is about the jist of what Rowan leaves you with as the headgear snaps closed, obscuring both you and the evening canopy from his fury. As far as parting words go, he could have done worse. Knowing you’ve only got a few moments of privacy, a skilled leap brings you over the flailing archer allowing you the chance to land a playful slap to the back of his head. Disgruntled shouts erupt from the enclosed hood as the man frantically pulls at the mantle.

From behind the stumbling scout, you teasingly call out, “I hope you won’t judge all by the actions of a few! Ta~!!”. With the misdirection laid, you immediately slip from the branch to silently land upon another some twenty feet below. You don’t have to wait long for the man to right himself, tearing open the cowl with such **** that a few leaves are sent scattering. Within the blink of an eye he’s produced a fresh quill and has it nocked, aiming in the direction you’d called from. Scorching puffs of air are expelled with each heated breath as his scan of the trees continues to present no target. You’re already tight against the opposite side of the trunk when the enraged novice thinks to check below. You aren’t overly proud to have brought the man to such a tizzy, though you must admit, you found it hard to suppress a grin.

At long last, denoted by the undeniably livid screech of a man lost to the thirst of righteous vengeance, Rowan the Decidueye launches himself in the last known direction of his most hated prey, barely slowed by the still half full belly containing the last sorry soul to catch his ire. The ‘Scout First Class’ is gone in a flash, feverishly searching for his phantom foe and you take that opportunity to quietly propel yourself the other way. It is a good thirty or so minutes before you are certain the Ranger has lost you for good and another five before your aching limbs demand a break. With little motivation to procure food or comfort, you find the softest bit of jagged bark to cradle your weary form before reclining against the wood. The thought to finally go over Lyra’s map briefly pops into your fried brain, though the first streaks of sunlight creeping through the leaves above promptly crush the notion. As you mercifully slip the bonds of consciousness, you hope that if you are indeed found by a feral, that they would at least have the decency to devour you quietly.