• The Sheppard brushed scarlet from his scythe with a clean swipe. The outer spike-notch pleasing him as two trails erupted. Below him lay his Sheep, and a man sniveling at his friend's side.
    "Wh-why?" asked the man in earnest stupidity, "Wh-why do you F-Freaks do this?!" He spat the word at his friend's Grim, who looked uturly taken aback. "He was young- he had things to do- why did y-" The Sheppard had had enough, he swept his hand, ordering silence.
    The Grim Sheppard sniffed his hatred. "Your kind are weak. You live, you die, and that is that." He pointed to his Sheep, a young man with curly black hair and a handsome face, "He was stabbed twice, and cut along his back. He bled more than he should have. His death was a blessing to him." The Sheppard looked pleased with his explanation- the man looked sick.
    "b*****d! Any human wouyld gladly live until he, himself chose not to!" He spat at the ground near the Sheppard's feet. "Go tell your 'Caper' or whatever you call- you call that- Monster that we humans no longer need your damned 'grace'!" He stared defiantly up at the Sheppard.
    The Sheppard laughed, his Black Bird rocking on his shoulder. "I am The Caper, and I shall consider your word." and left, stepping through the shadows, to Dusken.

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    "Damnation," cursed the Sheppard, brushing his hands in disgust on where it already stained. "Knows full-well what goes, and runs!" He was grumbling to himself in disgust, anger, and, in a strange way, sorrow. It was unlike him to be angry like this. He felt unnerved that he was, and even more angry, actually. It was a sad enough story of the Sheppard and the Sheep. He'd rather not be the Sheppard, but he was, and nothing could change that. Tonight had not made things better. His Sheep had ran- ran faster than he had expected. He had had to give chase, and won. Messily.
    He stared down at the red streaks and the placid white face. He shuddered. Only a friendly caw brought him back to his senses.
    A few quick wing-beats; before caper greeted Death and landed on the Sheppard's shoulder. The Crow's eyes were a brilliant white that marked it for it's true nature. "Aurrow..." He said aloud, stroking the small caper's head like it used to know. The Sheppard laughed, then frowned. "It's been a long time since I had to give chase..." He trailed off in thought, the Crow cawed again. "Yes. You feel as I do, and no explanation of myself could describe this..." He went silent.
    The Sheppard was a very strange looking thing. He was quite small and had long black hair with red intones in his banes. Most of his face, and his body structure, resembled that of a 11-year-old boy. The only clues on his face that marked his true nature were his light blue eyes that caught no sunlight, his upper canines that looked almost vampire-ish, and his long ears that almost truly made someone believe that elves existed. He could hide none of these features as he did his most prominant one. One glossy black wing rose from his shoulder and reached down to a half a foot above the ground. It had been a defect that he had but one wing, but how was he to argue, what was, was. It had taken years upon years of practice, but the Sheppard had learned to hide his wing; disguising it in the shadows around him, almost literally placing it's feathers in Dusken without truthfully going there.
    Tonight his facial features had caused his Sheep distress. He had run from him at full-speed to a small grove of trees, and the Sheppard had had no choice but to swing his scythe in a wide circle and slit a gash in the Sheep's throat that almost decapitated it.
    He remembered now that his scythe still lay on the ground. Keening his eyes to the blood-drenched soil and spotted a glimmer to his left. The Sheppard had dropped it in his attack of the Sheep. More blood than he had wished to see had rushed out of the Sheep's neck, and now he found himself, and his scythe, drenched in red. Pulling an oily rag from his side pocket, he started to scrub the grime off of his scythe, the gentle angle in at the notched circle proved a challenge and, hissing in pain, the Sheppard found a clean cut on his left hand. "Damnation!" He spat, rapping the cloth around his new wound. His own scarlet began to add to that of the Sheep's, and he felt even more keen to sorrow.
    Aurrow had jumped onto a high branch on a thick old oak tree- he was making strange hissing noises and flapping his wings spitefully. "Oh Hush," ordered the Sheppard playfully, grinning bittersweetly. The caper did not stop flapping it's wings, and it's hissing became full-blown squaking and trilling.
    The Sheppard looked around fearfully. The shadows had lengthened in the moonlight, and even the crickets did not sing. Something was wrong. "Dusken?" He asked the Crow, and it flew down and landed on his shoulder expectantly, a clear 'yes'.
    The Sheppard was about to ask why, loneliness led to talking to ones self out loud, when he remembered that Aurrow heard all his thoughts, and something important was happening, involving the High caper.
    Stepping close to a dark shadow of a tree that sat against the moonlight, the Sheppard stepped through into Dusken.

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    The sheppard rarely went to Dusken. Most Grims and Deaths were not permitted to stay there. The High Caper, his Red-tip Black Bird, Aeliip, and many of the surving first Grims, and only a select few Deaths, actually lived there for all time. New arrival Sheppards pass through the Dusken gates quickly. There is not much to learn in killing, and so they learn the few things they need to know, are gievn money to keep their head above water, and then leave to do their job.
    The Sheppard did not like traveling to Dusken. It was a very strange, very gripping experience. Darkness seemed to enclose over you, suffocate you, bound you tight and not let go. Each time the Sheppard went back to Dusken he felt death all over again.
    The soffocating darkness that spills into you like water, the choking feeling of your body going limp, gaining strength and thrashing, than laying still. In fact, one could actually say that the Sheapprd was dying all over again. The gates of Dusken made one feel the feelings they felt at death, and since the Sheppard was a death by right of his passing, he felt the clutch of water drain his strength, and a strong hand with sharp nails forcing the nape of his neck into the grimy swim with no sense, or sesire, to give. He forced his legs to take a step forward, feeling the tug of tide on his heel. The murk gave way, and he stumbled into the gloomy land of Dusken.
    One might say that Dusken was beautiful. It had all the makings of a beach at night. Pale tan ground with spurs and tufts of kelp-like grass. Stars that twinkled very dimly as though through a veil from the sea mist. Slight fog just below your feet. Gloomy blue sky jsut on the edge of your sight. And jsut on the beach sat a tan castle that, if stared at from far away, resembled a lop-sided sand castle cut in two. It's sand-coloured turrets dancing high in the sky, pale gray and deep black banisters waving this way and that on the very tips. It was a beautiful sight, no-one could deny. But it had a foreboding about it, and tonight made that feeling stronger than the Sheppard had ever thought possible.
    Around him ranks upon ranks of Sheppards jostling around him. He could never count how many Grims or Deaths stood there, and to his horror, more came still. Vultures, and red-tip Black Birds flew to the perches on his left. Those larger, more plentiful branches were for the many more Grims' capers. Crows lined the perches on his right. Aurrow, too, flew to join them.
    He felt alone and scared. All the younger Sheppards did. And in all considereration, one-hundred some years of Deathly work was not the youngest, but no comparison to the older, wiser Deaths that sat on the lower shelf below the Half-Castle of Dusken. Those proud few had seen many more wonders than the Sheppard. They had witnessed civilazations build, collapse, then build again. They never let go the fact that they had witnessed the fall of Atlantis. And the Sheppard did not care. He respected those Deaths; and in the way of rivalry, felt evny to only the older Grims.
    The last time he had been called to Dusken had been about twenty-seven years ago and it had been simply to inform the Sheppards on the list of Grims and Deaths that had parished since they last counted. That very same time he had found only one of his few friends. He had talked to Anx at the back of the crowd, White and Twitter nowhere to be seen.
    He felt anxiety rush through his veins when he saw none of his friends. Would he have to stand alone among the younger Deaths? He did not want that, his insticts of dog not liking strangers.
    He was about to brush past a large group of young Grims when he heard a voice call his name.
    "Rowl!!!" Called a voice from his right cheerfully; his heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of White's snow-topped head coming toward him. He pushed his way back through a group of new deaths, probably three years in, and almost colided with White.
    White was a Death that was almost exactly the same age as him but could pass for two years older. She had pure white hair, from birth, that marked her and made yer stand out. Her pale-pink eyes seemed to almost catch light by a trick of the light. Almost.
    "White- oh how glad I am to see you!" he exclaimed, "Have you seen Anx? Or Twitter?" She was looking him up and down with a scowl. He must look a mess.
    She nodded, still staring. "They were both behind me a minute ago- theres Twitter." She cut off, spotting the Grim as she tore her eyes away from the blood stains on Rowl.
    While it was uncommon for a Grim and a Death to be friends, Rowl and Twitter were the Grim and Death of the same city and soon became close friends after sighting each other many times. White and Anx, being the deaths of two towns parallel to Rowl and Twitter's had favored Twitter when Rowl introduced them Twenty-Seven years ago at the last meeting in Dusken.
    Twitter loped through the young deaths Rowl had, grunting and growling as he did, and bumped into Rowl as he came out of the mob. Twitter was younger than Rowl, but did not look it. He could easily pass for a 13-year-old boy, while Rowl hardly made eleven. He had ginger hair with darker streaks at his roots that showed his tabby nature. His eyes were a pale gold that seemed to stare, and his haunches resembed a fawn's with paws and a tail- the haunches of a cat. All of his canines grew long, unlike Rowl's which were only the tops, and his ears loped down and pointed at the end. "'Ello Rowl-" he spotted the stains, "Sheep getcha' runn'in?" He asked with a smile as Anx followed him with a grunt as a Death elbowed him.
    Rowl could not help but laugh, despite his sorrow for the Sheep, it had been an adult human, but he looked so full of life, his sheeks bearing great dimples and lines of laughter. Rowl still remembered how the joyful man's features had snapped to wariness. "Yeah..." He muttered, then greeted Anx with a nod.
    Anx, on the other hand, was older than Rowl and White. He had navy hair with saphire eyes and a broad chin. He looked to be fifthteen or maybe even sixthteen. He almost never hid his wings, valuing them highly, and was an expert at being oblivious. He, unlike many Grims and Deaths, did not have to work or get any more money to sustain himself. He had entered the lottery shortly after the lottery became a huge thing, and won with one of his twenty-eight tickets. He was now filthy rich, and the reason Rowl had enough money for bread.
    Anx was about to tell them about a stubborn Sheep he had downed a year ago when a trumpted silenced the sea of Sheppards. They all turned to the Half-Castle, whether they could see anything, or not, and prepared for The Caper to speak.
    Coughing loadly, his voice somehow louder than thunder, The High Caper silenced the Grims and Deaths that had ignored the Trumpets. Dusken bcame even stiller than that of the Moon's pale light.
    "Grims," he nodded to the left where a banner with the upward triangle hang, "Deaths," he nodded to the right where the downward triangle hang, "I have great change for you all."

    All ears, tall and sharp or loped and curved, turned to The Caper's bellow. Many Grims and Deaths had never heard The High Caper open a meeting with such force and drama of voice. Rowl caught an anxious look from Twitter before he cast his gaze to the Alchemic Star above The Caper. He could not, of course, see their leader nad was not the only Sheppard to have this problem. But focusing of the Star offered a view when a view was needed.
    Only the sounds of a nervous caper from the ranks of Black Birds and Vultures clung in the hush. Rowl felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand high and gulped his nervousness.
    The Caper coughed twice before his voice interrupted all trains of thought and forced attention on him.
    "Today will change your lives. Your thoughts. And your welfare." He let the words sink confusion into his followers with a long pause. "I decided for fresh air today," he continued in a voice that sugested deep thought, "As you all know, any Sheppard on the Living Realm must do their deed." He was reffering, of course, to the 'Shepherd and the Sheep' motives of the Sheppard. "I took my Sheep as all bound Sheppards do. I had but two more left before your time would come," he nodded to the Deaths, "And I would return to Dusken before things got out of hand." Some of the older Soul Sheppards laughed at this, while the younger ones, not knowing their place, simply wondered where this story was heading. Rowl included.
    The High Caper must have waved his hand again, for quiet enstilled the surrounding Grims and Deaths once more.
    "On my second to last Sheep, I barely made an inch before his time passed. His friend, a foolish young thing, swore at me and claimed my acts unjust." Whispers and shrieks came from the older Sheppards, the younger ones, having just died themselves some of them, kept still. "Hush. That is not all." A portly Grim near Rowl quieted only when his friend slapped him hard on the back of his head. The Grim grunted and snarled at his friend and looked up at the Star as Rowl did.
    Impatient, The High Caper did not wait for total silence and began to speak, "He so much as ventured to order me to tell The High Caper our 'grace' is not needed." It took awhile for most Sheppards to understand the horrid words that The Caper just spoke. Some muttered amust themselves, but no appaulded shrieks broke out like the last. Even the Grim behind Rowl simply stared.
    "And so now, my Sheppards, I claim that we shall do as man asks for the first time in our lives, however long they be."
    Breathe itself stopped to listen to The Caper's next words.
    "As of this day, a Stand Still is now held."
    Gasps exploded around the Half-Castle. White choked on her own spit in a sharp intake of wair, Anx howled along with the portly Grim is sputtering disclaim, and Rowl felt his heart die all over again.
    A Stand Still? The word made his legs shiver, his ears tuck, and his wing tremble madly. A Stand Stil had not occured in Rowl's time, living or dead, but all of them knew what it meant.
    The Caper had obviously not told his ranks, even those at his arms, about the Stand Still, they shook viloently and whispered to one another. One ventured to ask a question to The Caper himself, no-one heard them. The Caper yowled a warning at the Grim and he stepped back, his tail thrashing wildly. The Caper's next words enstilled fear.
    "It is not bad, my Sheppards, please see the usefullness in this." All began to sitll again, but not as crisp and quiet as before as a few muffles and growls came from the crowd. "As of this day you are free to do as you like. No maim shall torture you under flaws. No city will hold you to it's pain. You will still be what you are, and will stil stand as their Sheppard, but you will be free. Free to go where you like. Free to live a life of simple and comfort. Until the humans can think for their own well bein- you are FREE."

    With a sweep of his right hand, The High Caper ended the meeting, turned, and strode in through the Half-Castle's oaken doors. His Sheppards at arm followed slowly, looking back once or twice to see the reactions of the other Fifth-Gate-Deniers.
    Rowl had expected most Sheppards to stay and chat the news to its core, but soon found himself being bombarded by cloaks, arms, legs, wings, tails, and a foot, to his surprise, from the portly Grim, knocked to his side. The Grim's friend laughed. Rowl noted that it was the one whom had struck the fat fellow behind his head. Rowl also laughed, but quickly stopped and turned as a yellow-brown eye stared at him reproachfully from the fallen Grim.
    He felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to see White trying to wrench him through a gaggle of young Deaths. Rowl was given two strikes from elbows, one from a head, and a stomp on his foot before White could successfully pull him free.
    He was suddenly being dragged through Griim after Death toward the fire pools.
    Rowl had never liked the fire pools, they were the essence of all Death- or at least the gates of Burn and Drown. The fire pools were strange to any Sheppard, no matter the times they had traveled to and from Dusken, for they were nothing more than deep black pools with licking blue and orange flames topping the swim.
    The first time Rowl had tripped from Dusken to Lorn for his Deathly duties to begin, he had been reluctant to come near the pools. They instilled fear in his mind- the fear that he would burn to nothing or that his lungs would feel the rattling off put of water seeping into him- taking every ounce of his strength for it’s own; and worse, the fear that both would occur- that he would catch flame and fall head first into the black depths only to find it the waters of Styx- poisonous and gripping. These very fears that had trapped him long ago now rattled at the back of his mind. He felt Aurrow’s mind become somber and short-willed as though to pay attention to his worried match.
    But this time the frightful thoughts of that time long ago only harbored a new one- the worry that the humanes would understand the changes The Caper has declared of around the entirety of Lorn. White, dragging him absently through the withering groups of Soul Sheppards came to a wide pool with bright blue flames that peaked orange then died down to a sapphire.
    Rowl took his truthful form, his mind snapping back into awareness as he prepared himself for a feel of Death.
    Around him White, Anx, and Twitter took their true forms, their capers cawing as they dove before their Sheppards through the flame and surf.
    White nodded at him in her canid form and trotted through the blaze- her fur becoming ignited- a flaming azure torch- before it dissolved only to be uplifted again by Anx, followed by Twitter.
    Rowl stood for a second before the pool. He gazed in and thought of the shadow his small side-street home lay in. He concentrated on that shadow as though it were a life line; he then leaped into the pool- into the life line of Death.
    He felt the same sensation- the water tugging at him- his mouth gaping wide for breath- his body thrashing, giving way, and thrashing again at a much weaker struggle. And he felt the nails dig into the skin on his neck- urging his entire face into the swim until he lay limp. He felt no anger toward the nails that were his Mother’s at this time- only fear- a solid fear that he was going to die…

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    He took a step forward and the water fell away. He gasped and coughed- retching slightly as his paws shook from below.
    It took a second for his canid eyes to adjust to the gloom of night fall- after all, Dusken had a misty glow to it that gave light to the scene- he looked around with a sniff, taking note that he was, as planned, in the deep shadow of “Café Escape” the café that obscured his home.
    He looked around to make sure the others had come to the same spot, and smiled slightly in the way only a dog can as he gazed upon their truer forms.
    All Sheppards had a ‘true form’ that was, actually, stolen from their caper’s past. Rowl, as example, now held Aurrow’s limber black frame with large powerful paws, a brush tail, and a slim maw with even slimmer set high ears. He now bore the likeness of Aurrow before death, a black German shepherd with pale amber eyes.
    Around him Stood two other dogs, a white collie with the faintest streak of orange running from her shoulders to her flanks- this body had once belonged to Bane; whom Rowl noted flew low above them with the other capers.
    The second dog was much slimmer and tall, Anx’s form was perhaps the thinnest and most lanky grey hound Rowl had ever seen- his fur a deep blue-gray with a white sock on his front right paw. Rowl smiled wider as he noticed that he had both wings perched atop his back, as though daring any humane to call him a normal scamp. This form had once been Mekki’s.
    Twitter’s form was perhaps the most normal among them. He sat in front of White in the most simple of true forms- an orange tabby with a white belly and front paws. Twitter’s form had once belonged to the only Grim caper- Geren the red-tip black bird.
    Rowl could not help looking up at the capers with a wonder lust as he though of their truths once being that of the small, white-eyed birds. This was, perhaps, the most peculiar thing of the caper and Sheppard- the fact that each caper had to give away their body to the Sheppard for a much smaller, worthless form that can only be frowned upon by the eyes of mortals. Rowl wondered if Aurrow had any sealed-away hates toward his Sheppard. He doubted this to the extreme since anger is, and will always be, the second most powerful emotion- second only to sadness- and thusly is very hard to conceal.
    He looked down from the capers and gave himself a shake; his pointed ears flopped together as his slim-set head shook in a mighty blur.
    He bounded over to his fellow Sheppards and gave a small smile that was answered by a twitch from White’s lower lip, and a small shuffle of Twitter’s dainty white paws. He frowned a lowered his head, his wing sagging slightly. It was obvious they wanted nothing more than to shout to the skies their feelings, as though some mightier being might listen to their petty misgivings.
    Rowl simply sighed and tracked over to the old lame door.
    The wooden slab that was the entrance to Rowl’s house was perhaps the most hideous thing one could ever happen across. The door was an ugly straw yellow with rivets of orange and light brown running deep along the cracks creeping along the top and base. So ten years ago a humane had found the courage to graffiti the ugly door. The word ‘Unwanted’ had ever since shown a dull green across the top of his door, an unreadable squiggle below it that Rowl took to be the signature.
    “It’s still be there?” ,asked Twitter in a loud, laughing meow as he gazed at the word with slight disgust, quickly overlapped by a glimmer of amusement in his green feline eyes.
    “Of course it’s there- It be wood, not come off no matter what try I.” ,Remarked Rowl, gazing up at the word with a bitter melancholy. He did not stare long, but rather closed his eyes and nosed the door open. Even with eyes closed the word burned into him, but then again he was used to such things, and thus the cold feeling simply went to the back of the line that was to emotional roller coaster.
    White sighed from behind him, “You still don’t lock your door?” She asked him.
    Rowl turned and gave a slight nod, “What’s to steal in a house marked: ‘Unwanted’?” He questioned her; White fell silent.
    The capers instantly made themselves at home. They fluttered around the room for a hot second then landed with noisy flaps and caws on Aurrow’s spindly perches crafted from branches, glue, and tape.
    If Rowl’s door was ugly, his house was a hideous fraternal twin to it. His house held the same pasty-straw-yellow colour and brown and orange insets the door did, but rather pulled the look off, if possible, horribly in comparison. His house was not ‘small’ by any means. In fact, it was huge. Perhaps if the home had the makings of a humane’s it would be more pleasing and well spaced, but Rowl, being a Death, had little to contribute to the order of his abode.
    The few sparse furniture he possessed was scattered into the corners, leaving a large plain gaping across the tan carpet. All together this furniture consisted of: a small twin-size bed to the far left, a puke-green couch with four seats two yards from the bed, pressed up against the wall in the same way, a small oak bookcase with seven books, four of which were thicker than Rowl’s palm, a mini fridge that lay a foot away from the wall, a mess of wood from a forgotten shelf lay directly behind it. The last of his furniture took up the most room in the pale house. A three-and-a-half-foot-tall slate-coloured dining room table with papers and pencils scattered all along it’s length- which was perhaps Rowl’s size if he were to lie on the ground and spread his limbs in different directions, as though creating a snow angel. Around the table lay an odd assortment of four chairs. The first chair was a short plastic chair the colour of a blue sky, its legs looked extremely feeble- as if warning the next person to take a seat of its strength. The second chair was much grander, it being Rowl’s favorite, a red cushion sat on the dark oak chair that was carved into a perfect rounded top with four poles running down the back.
    The last two chairs were a laugh for they were just two upturned logs from a fat tree. Rowl, having little money, had figured it easier to just grab anything that worked- and thus the last two of his chairs had cost him little more than it took to feed him and Aurrow for a month.
    The only other part of the house was a small bathroom on the right-hand wall. Rowl remembered with a start that he was plastered with blood, his mind, and nose, whined for a hot shower now.

    With all four of them inside, White closed the door- making a spectacle of turning the lock with a dull chick, chaos broke free.
    Anx instantly turned into his Death form, and flexed his wings with a sigh, White struck up a barking laugh as her eyes found the log-chairs- Twitter began to complain, his nose wrinkling, of Rowl’s bloody scent- and Rowl found himself growling at it all.
    “I’m washing up.” He said with a growl, turning to stalk toward the restroom.
    “What’s wrong?” He heard White ask, her voice still carrying a hint of laughter. Rowl, ignoring her question, turned into his own Death form, closed and locked the bathroom door, and turned to gaze into the mirror.
    He was used to it now, the hollow eyes that looked to him from the depths of the mirror, but now they seemed alien to him, as though a beast were glaring at him in the place of his reflexion.
    Turning the old copper faucet, he splashed running water into his eyes. He let the cool shock him into reality. Shaking his head, he took a second look into the mirror.
    With a shock, he saw red, streams of blood that now watered down to his chin took him back to the moments before the meeting at Dusken. He remembered the Sheep- no, he corrected himself- the humane’s terrified eyes, and shuttered.
    The humane would have lived had he but let him last. But would the Maim be worth that humane’s life? Rowl did not know. It was hard to tell the worth of a life when yours extended for so long.
    He quickly undressed and washed the scarlet stains from his hair and skin. He grumbled as he came to a bloody knot in his hair—if there was one thing Rowl did pride of his appearance- it was his long lanky black hair with red self-applied intones in the banes. His obsession with his hair could only be explained by a prolonged boredom that turned to routine over time.
    Once he had freed himself from the horrid stench of blood he dried and dressed as fast as possible. Since his mind was now clean, perhaps a byproduct of the steam, he felt like confronting his friends in the matters at hand. He brushed out his elbow-length hair with speed, hung his bloodied clothes on the side-rack, and closing the door with a click, reentered the main room.
    He instantly knew he had taking a long time. Twitter lay curled up on the red-cushioned chair in cat form- apparently asleep, White had been lounging on his bed but upon his entry, had sat up- and Anx simply glared at him as though he had been insulted by the highest degree.
    “Sorry…” Rowl grumbled walking past to sit on one of the stump chairs.
    Without lifting his feline head Twitter meowed with a yawn, “Is that be you Rowl? Took yen so long I be thinking you be dead.” He flicked an ear in mock irritation.
    Rowl gave a slight smirk “Had enough blood in my hair to pump a heart.” He half-heartedly laughed.
    Anx snorted, “Didn’t have to be so rude.” He growled, quite a dog’s growl, despite being in his Death form. “Ever slam the door on us again and I’ll cull you.” He added, rubbing his temples in displeasure.
    Rowl sighed, not brightening as White sat down in the last chair- the last stump one- and gave him a smile.
    It took a moment for one of them to speak. The first to speak was Twitter, whom was now sitting upright, but was still a feline.
    “So, useless we are hence forth?” He asked no-one in particular out loud.
    His question was quickly answered by an outburst from Anx, “Useless? Of course we are useless now! The Caper has abandoned us!” He slammed a fist on Rowl’s table; it swayed in an unsteadied manner.
    And thus the conversation came to a shout-fest, with White next in line.
    “Abandoned?” She exclaimed, “How can you say that? The Caper-“
    “-is a fool!” Anx interrupted, “He’s a fool, a deceiver, and he doesn’t give a rat’s a-“
    “-this be great, though! Now the humanes are under our thumb- and they don’t know, they not know it!” Twitter cut in, yowling over Anx and White’s argument.
    “That’s not true! They have no clue what is going on! They could think they won and invisible war!”
    All became still… And even White gave a fearful look that showed she was taking in what Anx spoke of to be a possible truth.
    Now Rowl felt a need to speak.
    “Anx is right.” He said in a matter-of-fact tone, “The humanes don’t know what’s happening- they might just see our Stand Still as us tucking our tails and running away.” He looked to Anx, as though for reassurance, and continued only after his navy-haired friend nodded. “And how are we to defend ourselves now?” He stopped for an answer, none came, “If a humane did get cocky enough to pick a fight with one of us, we can’t just swing our blade and let leave of them…” He trailed off.
    All of them took this in, even Rowl, for he did not fully understand his own words. It was Twitter who revived the conversation. “Rowl be right, and we can’t exactly bear a gun or something of the such. What humane in their mind of right would be selling weapons of death to a… well…. A Death-or Grim (he added).”
    Anx laughed heartily, his caper, Mekki, joining into the loud sound. “Only one that has a Death wish.” He said, still laughing, putting emphasis on the word: ‘Death’. “Then again, don’t all humanes have a death wish?”
    Rowl didn’t know what he meant, but Twitter beat him in asking; “What mean you?” Twitter meowed, curiously.
    Anx laughed even harder now, his caper, Rowl noticed, began to bob it’s head in delight, and soon all four capers were fluttering, cawing, and dipping their heads in the same manner. Rowl could not help but laugh at this.
    He did not stop laughing as he spoke: “Isn’t it obvious? They only have a thousand ways to kill themselves! Whether it’s lighting a smoke, or dare-devil stunts, a humane is number one at asking for Death!” He, again, put emphasis on the word: ‘Death’.
    Rowl found this oddly true, and indeed all of what he said was the sheer truth of things. Humanes were, of all things, drawn to death. In fact, most of them spent their whole lives working towards death.
    Rowl thought of the drugs humanes took, and nearly vomited at the notion. He had, in humane life, and Deathly life, noticed that humanes took vile things, drugs with slang names and true names, for reasons one could never, or a Sheppard could never, dream of. This was true, because, a Sheppard literally could not take drugs. The awful substances made them purge instantly, whether cigar or shroom, their bodies could never take in the substance. This was vise versa for humanes whom took the drugs to dull pain, physical, emotional, and somewhere in between, to gain happiness, to promote death even. Whether intentional, or on purpose, these drugs could, and would kill them, with enough use.
    But that was only one method the species of humanes used to gain death in time or instance. Rowl preferred not to think anymore of these things but found dare-devil stick figures dancing across his imagination, leaping in front of traffic for game, cutting wrists for pleasure, gorging food in silent discontent… How foolish humanes now seemed, more than ever to him, as he thought of such things.
    Twitter gave a snort, “True, true, but not all do so- some have sense above such things.” He stared at Anx with unwavering green eyes.
    “But what of the ones that have no sense?” Anx retorted.
    “Perhaps fear them, should we, then.”
    “Fear them?” Anx roared, “Why would we- the Sheppards- fear them?” He laughed the laugh of a mad man, glaring at Twitter with burning eyes. “The day I fear a Sheep is the day Rowl here sprouts his second wing!” He seemed pleased with himself as he reclined with a smirk.
    White gave a snort, “Well we can’t argue there!” She smiled, holding back an onslaught of giggles.
    “Hey!”
    “Oh, hush, Rowl, you know it’s true!” White laughed.
    “Yeah, but-“
    “If you can’t take a joke, feel free to leave.”
    “This is my hou-“
    “And soon it won’t be if you can’t take a joke.”
    Rowl was irritated now, he knew they only poked fun but he had never been good at playing along with jokes that involved his wing- which had been common since he met Anx. He simply grumbled now, swearing under his breath.
    Rowl decided to change the subject, “Why don’t you fear them?”
    Anx looked mortified, as though the questions had no answer and was meant to be tossed aside as though it had never been of any use.
    “W-what?” he stuttered, glaring at Rowl, “Does that really need an answer? Isn’t it obvious we-we Sheppards are the top?” The intensity of his glare made Rowl flinch, but he held the gaze for a minute before looking down.
    He sighed, “What if that all changes? The humanes have no clue what is happening, as we have already noticed, for all we know they will act like a cornered snake and… and strike.” He was glad to notice that Anx seemed to think his reply, at least for a moment, before answering.
    “What if they don’t, or, rather, what if they try to strike and they miss us and leave a chance for us to cut them down?”
    It was White who answered him, before Rowl could even move his lips.
    “Don’t think that way, Anx! You always have to think ‘what if’! If you go around thinking that no matter what, we’ll come on top, then it is most likely we shall end up on the bottom of the hill!” Anx’s frown threatened to dance all the way down his chin at this. “Honestly, you might as well be throwing yourself into fire, thinking that we will stay on top if the humanes notice they now have power as we cease killing them off, not to mention they will most definitely point the blame at us once more and more babies are born still- we are literally on a see-saw that could lead either way at this point.”
    Rowl understood exactly where White was coming with this, they were, it seems, not only at a Stand Still, but they were at a stand still in the balance of power of Sheppard over humane.
    “We can not be sure.” Twitter ended the argument, curving his spine into a shape any creature but a cat could never manage. ‘So what plan you all of living?”
    Rowl had not thought of that. He guessed, perhaps that he would stay where he was. He lived, after all, in a very useful down town area that resembled an older city with new things here and there in between. Perhaps his favorite part of his district was that, while it was in fact a city, foliage remained all around. The humanes had done a decent, no, a good job, in preserving the green here.
    “I-I want to stay here, actually.” Rowl voiced, aloud.
    Twitter gave a loud purr, “Did we expect anything less?” He asked with smiling eyes that made up for what the muscles in his feline jowls could not create. “Honestly, Rowl, had not you stayed here think, I would, you ill.”
    “And how is-“
    “Isn’t it obvious?” answered White before he could finish his question, “Your too predictable, Rowl, any blind Sheppard could see that you wanted to stay here- no, let me finish- It’s easy to see through you, just the fact that you still have the word ‘Unwanted’ on your door-“
    “It told you! It won’t come off!” Rowl defended himself with the lie, he had, actually, never tried to remove the graffiti, he found that it symbolized the life of a Sheppard quite well.
    Anx laughed, although the sound was far less hysterical than the bouts he had had earlier. “Won’t come off? Do you think we honestly have never had our homes graffitied before? It’s not hard to remove, especially seeing that your door is more slate than wood.”
    Rowl felt himself being bombarded by the truth he had hidden. “So what?” he argued, “Perhaps who ever wrote it knew what he was talking about! Just look at what’s happened- now we’re at a Stand Still- a STAND STILL- because of humanes hating us!” None of them answered his shouting.
    Rowl calmed down quite quickly, in silence, as though it had never occurred, “So where do you all plan on heading?” He changed the subject.


    I apologize that this ends abruptly.
    I didn't fee like writing more in part 1-
    part 2 will be quite soon though, so add ths if you like it :3

    Please cmment and rate if you read this- I'm sorry that it is long.

    ~*Epans