Dark bristled, feathers ruffling up with an alarmed, defensive thrill, and he took a swift and taloned step backward as Bevy began to chitter and jabber, shrieking at herself and at him in two different voices. Fear stabbed at him, and the urge to flee mixed with concern that drew him to stay, leaving him trembling a few feet away, staring at her with his side turned half toward her as if prepared to fly away.

When did she go crazy?!

"...Bevy?" he asked softly, voice quiet with that same fear and concern. "W-what's wrong? Why do you have two voices?"

He stared at her with unseeing eyes, only able to listen as the only safe anchor he had in this world dissolved into madness, leaving him cut adrift and alone, everything feeling cold and empty and suddenly dangerous.

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For all his larger size, the owl remained frightened, leaning away with wide blind gem eyes. For the longest time, he was silent, like a child not knowing how to react to bad news--which, in essence, he still was. Despite his adult body, his mind remained childishly simplistic.

At long last, he spoke only a few words, and those very quietly.

"...Enna-Bevy? ...Why is your friend mean?"

He was trying on the concept of multiple personalities--of many spirits within one bird body--carefully. He thought he could picture it--he was blind, after all, so two voices almost always meant two people. But it was disorienting, to him--the sharper voice had come from precisely the same location as the gentle one, so it was as if both were sharing the same space. Which... they were, but he was having trouble comprehending this. For one who made his way by sound, it was jarring, to say the least.

And then there was the idea of it! Two Bevys? If she hadn't described it as "your Bevy," he might have flown into utter terror and grief, wondering where his bird-mother had gone. But she was still there, she was Enna-Bevy, and the others were--were what? Within her? Another, brief jolt of fear washed through him as he wondered if other spirits would fill him, would burst forth in sharp-tongued hatred.

He hoped not. Before he could think about it too much, the question spilled from his black beak.

"Am I going to have those, too?"

He couldn't keep the fear out of his voice. He didn't even have the presence of mind, right now, to try.

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Dark stared unseeing for several long moments, silent. He thought about this.

She was different, but she was still Bevy, somewhere in there. There were just... other Bevys. The other one was speaking to him now, he thought--he wasn't sure. It was still her voice. The owl finally inhaled, held it, exhaled... and spoke.

"...Okay. I think so. ...Then--ask what you came to ask? The thing that made you mad. Something with those words, again. The ones that don't mean anything. Maji Walezi." Something had made the other-Bevy angry, and while he was still afraid and nervous about the entire thing, that's not what she'd come to speak to him about. He had to focus on one thing at a time--and while it was hard, and his response had come halting and hesitant, it still came. He was frightened, but still capable of talking.

And he was still capable of understanding. Bevy was angry with him--he just didn't know why.

He only knew that he didn't like the feeling. He still winced, still leaned away. He just had to hope that, whatever he'd done, it hadn't been so much that his bird-mother would cast him away.

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"Well--they don't mean anything. They're just sounds," Dark explained, calming a little. He shuffled toward her, fear slowly draining, though not altogether gone--not by a long shot. "The other words--I hear them and they echo. I remember what they mean, in time. These ones, they are empty. I remember it is a group."

He thought about it, for a moment. What did he know of Maji Walezi, aside from the fact that the words themselves were nonsense? Something someone had made up, coughed out.

"I think I heard the name Cancer. I don't know for sure. You brought me here--I followed you here. Someone said 'welcome to Maji Walezi.' And then they talked about other things, to other people. I don't really know." The way he said it expressed his utter indifference; he was here because of Bevy. He didn't know about any of the others in Pisces, and truth be told, he didn't care. They were fleeting voices, ones that--bar Quix--had never personally addressed him, not that he could recall.

They'd been wrapped up in their silliness when he'd tried to warn them about the monster nearby. He didn't think himself superior, just... distant. Different. He didn't know what any of them were for, and he didn't particularly care. The owl thought all of this in the space of a few heartbeats, and then spent several more trying to figure out how best to put these thoughts into words.

"They are all voices. They come and go. Some are loud and some are soft but I don't know them. I am here to stay with you. I followed you."

That was the best he could do to explain it. He'd followed Bevy--and he still didn't know where he'd followed her to. What he couldn't put into words was the idea that he'd follow her anywhere. Of course, that was because she was the only thing he knew--and the only one he trusted.

Or had trusted.

He was still a little on edge about this new other-Bevy snapping at him from within her, and he worried that his mother-bird might lose control, and attack him. In his mind, having never touched Bevy nor seen her, she might be enormous--he simply wasn't aware that she was tiny. To him, his "mother" was and would always be a looming, powerful figure, and so her sharp tongue had sent him into an edgy, vague distrust that would take a great deal of time to dispel--if it ever faded at all.

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Dark listened intently, mind focused wholly on Bevy's words and what they meant--and their meaning to him, in terms of his life. He understood instinctively that this decision would be a big one. That it would impact his daily life from here on out. He had only one concern, and he voiced it softly.

"Can I still explore? I have friends, that I meet, and I wouldn't have known about the fire-monster if I didn't explore. I want to explore. To learn." He paused, then tilted his head, staring through Bevy, briefly lifting his own taloned foot to gently touch her own.

"I knew it was a group. That's why I came back--to warn you all. But nobody listened," he added, his voice sterile and empty. It wasn't harsh, exactly--just null. Nobody had listened to him; they'd been busy with the foolish "trial," with their idea of bringing justice to two juveniles whose tempers had taken them too far. There'd been something so much bigger--and nobody had listened. He didn't care--but he felt that it proved, at least, that he'd had the group's welfare on his mind before... even if nobody had noticed.

"So... I would like to help. If I can. That's why I came back. But I want to explore, too. Even if I'm blind--even if I can't see. I can still see other things," he explained. "I can see things that were. Things in the rock, and in the metal pieces on the ground. I can see things that used to be. And then I can show you--in your mind. Maybe that will help."

It was the longest speech the owl had ever given, and now he watched Bevy quietly, and though he was unseeing his gaze was unerring--guided, perhaps, by some small sounds the pitouhi bird made. Even as he did this, he called upon his power, felt the glimmer of magic surge up in his gem. The deep green of his emerald began to glow, putting off a soft light as he clasped black talons on the stone beneath.

Maybe he could show her what he meant, while they talked.

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