“I will… stand for… my people. But I must… get a message… to them.” Geran wheezed.

The Guardian looked him over for a moment, then whistled. A sparrow landed on Geran’s shoulder.

“Do not move. I will know.”

The Guardian moved off. The sparrow fluttered its wings, briefly lifting off, then settled. Geran waited.

The forest was still. Geran breathed in the calm, and doubt left him. The sparrow hopped about on his shoulder.

In time, the Guardian returned, carrying vellum, a quill, and a small bottle of ink.

“Write. Make it small. This bird will carry it.”

Geran uncorked the bottle, and dipped the quill. “Viceroy Montreaux, we have a problem.”