For a single, charged moment, a stunned silence fell over the crowd. The only sound was the wind whistling through the valley.
Bismark leaped next to Polyphema and stroked her scaly cheek. “Come now, Tutti-Fruity,” he sang, laughing nervously. “You must have misspoken. The only thing banished around here is banishment itself, oui?” Bismark anxiously hopped from foot to foot, waiting for the tuatara to take back her words. But she didn’t, and her expression remained distant and stiff.
At last, her thin lips parted. “As I said,” she began, speaking in a low hiss, “we have no other choice. Our net is ruined. And the beast will strike again.” She lowered her chin toward the ground, exposing her flickering third eye. “He is enraged. I see it.”
A low growl arose from the crowd. It was Dawn. Her claws dug into the ground, her jaw clenched tight, and her fur stood up along her back. “Even if you do see something,” Dawn started, “banishment is not a choice. Nothing has changed. No one supports you.”
The animals began to stir. The birds’ feathers trembled with fear and anxiety, and the jerboas chattered nervously among themselves.
Dawn snarled again, this time exposing her long, gleaming fangs. “Give up, Polyphema. You’re outnumbered.”
The jerboas’ chattering grew louder and more ordered, as if they were starting some sort of chant.
Dawn craned her neck, attempting to make out their words, but the wind carried their voices away. Nevertheless, the fox stood tall, encouraged. “The animals are united!” she shouted at Polyphema. “Even without the net, we’ll find a way to fight the beast!”
The tuatara flashed a toothy grin. “United, yes,” she whispered. “With you? No.”
Dawn opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, the wind slowed its speed and the chanting grew louder, allowing the jerboas’ words to reach her ears at last. The fox froze.
“Banish the birds…banish the birds….”
The words, though faint, stuck her like porcupine quills. An unpleasant tingle ran down her spine. The jerboas were not shouting in protest—they were chanting in support.
“Banish the birds! Banish the birds!”
The chant continued, picking up volume and power like an avalanche.
“BANISH THE BIRDS! BANISH THE BIRDS!”
The jerboas were in a frenzy now, jumping up and down, pumping their tiny fists in the air. The birds, meanwhile, retreated, taking the first few steps back in a slow, painful exit. Their faces were blank.
“Oh goodness!” cried Tobin, edging closer to Dawn. “The jerboas are revolting! What do we do?”
“Allow me,” Bismark said, cracking his knuckles. “This teensy-weensy little problem will be resolved in no time at all. These little pea-brains forgot who they’re dealing with.” The sugar glider cleared his throat and cupped his paws to his mouth. “Jerboaaaaaaas!” His voice boomed over the crowd. “This is your maestro speaking! Now listen up! Écoutez! Lend me your big floppy ears!” Bismark paused and cocked his head. His face crinkled up with confusion. “Uno momento,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder at Dawn. “What, exactly, am I commanding these peewees to do?”
The fox marched forward. “Stop your chanting at once,” she ordered, narrowing her dark, amber eyes.
“Exactamente!” Bismark bellowed. “My words precisely! Stop your chanting! At once!”
But the chanting did not stop. It grew louder.
“BANISH THE BIRDS! BANISH THE BIRDS!”
“Mon dieu! Don’t you listen to your maestro anymore?”
“We’re…we’re sorry,” stammered a jerboa, stepping forward and approaching the Brigade. “We don’t mean any disrespect. We just don’t have a choice. If we don’t banish the birds…well…”
“It’s them or us!” another jerboa chimed in. “Either they leave or we die! Banish the birds! Banish the birds!” He raised a clenched paw in the air and picked up the chant.
Step by step, the birds backed away from the angry, wild mob. But then, one hawk sprang forward. “This isn’t fair!” he protested. Though his voice came out strong, his speckled feathers were trembling. “We’re in danger, too. We worked just as hard as you did to make that trap. We don’t deserve this!”
“We wove the net—not you!” the jerboa shot back. “And you’re the ones who broke it! If the beast strikes again, we’ll be doomed. At least you can escape—you have wings!”
“That’s right,” said Polyphema. Slowly, she moved forward to stand alongside the fox. “The birds must depart. It would be selfish of them to stay.”
Faced with the intimidating glare of the tuatara, the hawk tucked his beak toward his chest and backed off.
“But this is our home!” screeched a falcon. “This is where we were born, where we built our nests, where we lay our eggs!”
The tuatara tightened her muscles and swallowed hard. “The forest has spoken,” she declared. “You must leave. Now.”
The birds bowed their heads, and the jerboas’ chant faded. It was no longer necessary. The decision was made. Then, from the back of the crowd, burst loud, uncontrollable sobs.
“I can’t go!” blubbered a kiwi. “I just can’t!” She buried her long, pointed beak in her partner’s feathers. “Honey, do something! Anything!” The bird was quivering uncontrollably.
Many of the kiwis that surrounded her had begun to shed tears as well.
“Mon dieu,” Bismark sighed. “I never thought I’d say this—but this is even sadder than losing my fur! Poly-poo,” he called, “por favor! There must be a better way!”
But the sugar glider’s call seemed to fall on deaf ears, for the tuatara simply brushed by him. With measured strides, she wove through the crowd, carving a path with her tail, until she reached the bereaved kiwi birds.
“Oh goodness,” said Tobin. “I hope she doesn’t get angry. Those kiwis can’t take anymore!”
With a knot in her gut, Dawn watched Polyphema. Her heart rate began to quicken.
The tuatara stood before the kiwis, craning her scaly neck, as though she were examining the round, fluffy birds. Then she spoke. The kiwis can stay,” she said abruptly.
Polyphema’s words struck Dawn like a lightning bolt. While the kiwi birds rejoiced and the other animals buzzed with confusion, the fox was already deep in thought.
“I don’t understand,” said the pangolin. “Why did she change her mind? Why only the kiwis? Why can’t the other birds stay?”
“It’s befuddling, indeed,” agreed Bismark. The sugar glider scratched the bald spot on his head. “If anything, the kiwis should be banished first! Poor excuse for a bird, if you ask me. They can’t even glide!”
Dawn’s face lit up. “That’s it,” she breathed. “She’s only banishing birds that can fly!”
Tobin looked blankly at Dawn.
“Don’t you remember what Otto told us?” she asked. “He said that the birds had been grounded—that Polyphema ordered them not to fly because they were in the beast’s territory.” The fox paused, lost in thought again.
“Uno momento!” called Bismark. “What about me, Tutu? Can’t you see with those three eyes of yours? Does this not look like flying to you?” Bismark stretched out his flaps to catch a breeze and lifted from the ground. “Aren’t you forgetting to banish the sugar glider?”
“Bismark!” yelped Tobin. Reaching up with his claw, the pangolin pulled his friend back down. “What are you doing? Don’t you know what that means?”
The sugar glider’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course. Best to keep my brilliant flying abilities hidden for now, I suppose, oui?”
Together, the Brigade looked out at the sorrowful sea of feathers. All they could do was watch as the hawks, owls, and falcons walked away, holding each other for strength, and dragging their feet through the ash.
“Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Tobin whispered. “Is it really ending like this?”
Dawn placed a paw on her friend’s scaly back. “Of course, we’ll do something,” she said. The fox narrowed her amber eyes and fixed them on Polyphema. “We just need a plan. This isn’t the end. Not at all.”