Not all stories start with conflict. Not all stories have unusual protagonists. Not everything has to start off with a bang all the time. Sometimes it's nice to sit back and smell the flowers for once. For instance, this story starts off on a lone tree atop a peaceful hill. Particularly, it starts off with a boy on this lone tree atop this hill.

The boy, looking out upon the hills and feeling the wind brush through his curly ginger hair, is smiling in content and watching the sun that was beginning to sink lower behind the wall of forest that bordered this land of grass and fun. In his hand, freckled and pink, he holds a small wind instrument that produces only the gentlest of high pitched sounds called a leir. It's not often that he gets to play his leir, especially during sundown, but the marketplace had been closed this afternoon in preparation for the new moon festival, so he decided he had some free time to find a place to sit and play.

And now, in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to break the peaceful silence with a string of melody, wrapping up the day in a perfect and splendid way. But first, one can't just forget to stop and stare for a while at the beauty of another wonderful day.

The winds are gentle. The birds are playful. The hills are rolling. And most of all, it's free from the hustle and bustle of the village. The perfect place to play a symphony of emotions and freedom. After all, who doesn't love a nice cathartic serenade.

With that thought in mind, his smile is broken in half to let in a small gulp of air. Holding it in his lungs, he brings the end piece of the leir up to his mouth and waits half a beat. As the sun sinks lower by an inch, his music begins.

It starts off soft and low, like a small dip between the rolling hills, then bends upward and rises to the sky, bounding off of the grass and jumping for joy. Then it dips again, does a little twirl, and goes once again head first for the sky. Once in the sky, it takes residence there, light and fluffy as if the clouds are its neighbors. It jumps, leads, and skips twice, then lowers for a moment, almost wavering. This is usually the hard part, forcing the boy to close his eyes in concentration.

The music finds its foothold and continues on again, except this time more full of power than before. The deep yet gentle song starts to resonate in the boy's chest, and it's almost painful, but he remembers that it's not. His song grows frantic, reaching for something, calling out for someone. Grasping and whining, hitting the boy's heart with a small pang. He furrows his eyebrows and continues.

He blows his emotions out through his leir, and they begin to take shape in his mind. The screams, the feeling of being lost, the rage, the guilt. The fire. Note by note his heart comes out the other side of his instrument and his mind gets lost in a fantasy. No, a nightmare. A nightmare he has yet to wake up from. And still the song continues.

His breathing becomes a bit shakier, and he has to remind himself to hold onto his leir before he drops it on the grass below. As the song turns from anger to sorrow to emptiness, he can feel water overflowing on the sills of his eyelids. Not wanting to interrupt this moment to wipe his tears, he continues yet with his song. It has to end one of these days.

Taking another breath, he brings the song from hollow to wonder, trying to find some meaning behind it. Almost as if asking the sky for an answer, but never earning one. Almost as if calling out to an empty void and only being met with empty sympathy, sympathy that only brings more sorrow. More emptiness. Like an echo of something that once was.

His music, lonely now, gets softer and softer. It's not done, he knows it's not done, but he doesn't know where to bring the song from here. So he simply stops, ending it on an unfinished chord, leaving his heart with want. He wants to finish it, he knows he does. But he doesn't know how the song ends.

In silence, he sits on the branch, letting the tears flow freely now without a care for how they're making his shirt damp with salty water. In fact, acknowledging the tears just makes him smile. They kind of tickle. Actually, they really tickle. That.. actually really tickles. Which isn't something tears usually do... That, and they're not supposed to go up and down your face. Well, not usually. Huh, peculiar.

With a start, the boy opens his eyes, immediately regretting it as the dull light just makes his pupils burn in an effort to shrink down to accommodate the lack of darkness. Once he regains his sight and state of being, he looks over at the small fluffy creature on his shoulder lapping at the remains of the tears on his face. It looks back at him and stops licking, staring into his green eyes with its own beady ones. Together they stare, and for a moment the boy almost thinks the creature knows what he was thinking. But that's not how the world works. Obviously. Or at least not yet.

So until the world does work that way, it's up to words to fill in the gaps between cross-species communication.

"Hi there, little thing," he says, not breaking eye contact with the creature. It's about the size of an overgrown chick, he notices, but without the wings that come along with actually being a baby chicken. And with no beak to open every time it makes a small chirrup sound, he realizes it is not, in fact, a chick with its wings cut off. It just looks that way, apparently. "Aw, look at you. So different, but cute as heck anyway."

"Ya know, I have no idea what you are," he continues, "but you must have liked my song, huh? Is that why you came? Or was it for the tears...? Can you sense salt from a mile away or something?" His questions are met with a blank stare and a small peep, so he just smiles and gives the creature a half chuckle. Good things must come to those who play music in the afternoon, probably.

He's never seen anything like it, and yet he decides in that moment that he's fallen in love with it. Its soft white fluff and shiny little eyes make his heart feel a certain joy he hasn't exactly felt for a long time. Maybe he can take it home and keep it as a pet; his little sister would absolutely adore it.

Before the boy can reach onto his shoulder and pluck the creature from his being and into his grasp, its tongue lashes out again and flicks across his face. Surprised from the sudden movement, his eyes go wide and he flinches a bit. However, the little flinch is enough to make him lose his balance and begin falling sideways off of the lone tree. So much for peace, I guess.

As he and the creature fall, he gasps suddenly and lets out a frightened scream. Below him is a whole herd of the little fuzz balls, all gathered together and looking up. They must have been attracted to the music and followed the sound to its source: The sad boy in the tree. Except now they're starting to scatter, as one does when they're about to get squished to death by a human-sized human.

They only seem to backup a little bit at first, but as the screaming human gets closer and closer to the ground, they realize that being there only brings them closer and closer to death. What else to do then to start running for your life then, right?

And with that, the little creatures scamper off, chirping in fright and jumping for safety. All as the poor guy lands on his arm with a thud and a scream of silent pain. The little guy that was on his shoulder, though, only leaps off from him a moment before impact and runs off in the direction opposite of his brethren. And the boy is left there, surprised and in pain, clutching his arm and watching the herd of fluffy things disappearing into the hills.

He watches them go as the pain in his arm slowly subsides. Hopefully it's not broken, that'd be a whole other problem to fix, and he already has so much on his plate. Then again, it would mean no work for a few months, so that's nice. Thinking over his options for if this is a serious incident or not, he doesn't even notice the dark shadow looming over him until it's too late.

"What have you done?" came a deep voice from behind him, accompanied with a small chirp from presumably the little guy that had hopped off in that direction on his own. The voice brings a chill down his spine, and he freezes up, refusing to look back at his fate.

Despite the boy's silent pleas and prayers, the shadow moves closer and the voice continues on, "What did you do?" Swallowing his fear, but not entirely, the boy begins to turn toward the voice, trying not to show how scared he was. However, the trembling didn't seem to help his case much.

When he finally meets the eyes of the person looming over him, a gulp makes its way down his throat but he allows his body to relax a bit. It's just another guy. A menacing and angry looking guy, yes, but he's just another human like the boy. He notices that the guy has jet black hair, longer than his own but almost as curly, and that his piercing blue eyes are glaring into the boy's soul, making him feel self conscious in his own skin.

He's wearing a hat, a pointy one at that, that matches his short black robe and baggy black pants, giving off the indication that this man before him is a wizard. As if to add to the fright of being caught doing something weird, it's now apparent that this guy could easily end the boy's life if he so wished to. Which, by the look he's giving the boy, doesn't seem too far fetched to believe. Even if they might as well be the same age, by the looks of it.

The guy is holding the little ball of fluff that had been on the boy's shoulder earlier. It's obvious that it belongs to him. Which probably meant.. The rest did too.

The boy slowly sits up and stares silently at the guy, not sure whether to run, cry, or both. Only after another moment of silence does the guy repeat himself. "What did you do to my picheeps?" he finally continues. The boy is confused for a second, but quickly realizes that it maybe might be his turn to give the guy an answer.

"Wh-what-" his voice cracks. The boy nervously clears his throat and tries again, "What's a picheep..?" Upon saying this, he notices the guy's face changing. What once was a face of anger is now an expression of pure psychotic rage. With a sharp inhale, the boy decides it's probably in his best interest to keep going. "I mean," he corrects himself, "they scampered off when I fell from the tree."

"I can see that," the guy snapped. The boy realizes at this time that it's probably a good idea to stand up to meet the guy's eyes properly before he got the amazing idea to step on some part of the boy's body that was probably not meant to be stepped on. "I can also see," the guy continued, making the boy stand up straighter and look to the floor, "that they've gone over the hills and out of sight."

"Oh, oops. My bad," the boy manages to say, despite his mouth barely moving for fear of showing how afraid he is. "I didn't mean to scare them away, they just happened to be there when I fell. I'm sorry."

"Oh really? Wow, that makes me feel so much better, thanks," the guy rolls his eyes, shifting his weight to one leg and repositioning the fuzz ball to sit in one hand patiently.

"I don't know what else to say! I really didn't mean to do it. I mean it's not my fault I flinched, flinching is involuntary!"

"What are you doing in my tree anyway??"

"Your tree? I didn't know it was anyone's tree, I just wanted to sit in it to play a song, I wasn't trying to lure those things to me."

"Oh, so you admit that you lured them here?"

"Not on purpose..!"

"And yet the act of you luring them here is what made you fall which is what made them scatter, so what you're really telling me right now is that it's entirely your fault?"

"I- What- No- I just-" he whimpers softly and looks to his sides for some sort of way out of this argument. It's quickly becoming clear to him that there will be barely any ways for him to get out of this without just making a run for it and risking the guy chasing him down and beating the crap out of him. The gods know what this guy would do to him, and he wasn't wishing to be let in on that particular secret.

"You just what?" the guy asks, feigning patience. His voice is oddly gentle but the look in his eyes is condescending, like he's looking at a child who broke his lamp while playing hero. It makes the boy just wish he could disappear from the situation and curl up in his bed, never going to this part of the hills again.

He's not the type to get into trouble -especially for losing someone's... pets? Is that what those things, those picheeps, were to the guy? Probably. It makes the most sense. Even if the guy is a wizard. Wizards have pets, right?- so when he does get into trouble it's a bigger deal for him than it is for the person he causes trouble for.

However, this time, it seems like the guy he's caused trouble for is just as upset as he is, which only proves to make the boy feel worse about the position he's been put into. A simple sorry obviously isn't going to fix this problem. But if not a sorry, then what else?

Almost as if the guy is reading his mind, he then says, "Fine then, go get them back." He crosses his arms as the boy's eyes go wide and flit back up to look at him. "You heard me," he answers the boy's silent question, "go get my picheeps. They're important to me and I would like them back as soon as possible."

"But-" he stammers, not sure how to combat this request, "but... They've gone so far and already split up. How will I-"

"I don't care how you do it," the guy interrupted him. "I just want them back. Alive and well. You made them run away, so you're going to get them back. Am I being understood?"

"I.. Yes, I understand you, but they've already-"

"Look, kid, I don't care if they've already gone far. They could have bounded into the forest by now for all we know. I just want them back. If not them, then I'm going to bring something home, and I have a feeling that a human wouldn't fit well in a picheep sized cage."

The boy whines, turning his head to look off in the direction the small fuzzballs went off to. There's no doubt in his mind that they've already bounded off into the forest, but that's why he doesn't want to go after them. He's never been in the forest. No one he knows has been in the forest. And if they have been in the forest, they've surely never come back from it.

"I-" he begins again, trying to find some way, any way, to weasel himself out of this one. "I... can't do that." Welp, so much for a clever way to get himself out of trouble.

"I didn't ask what you could or couldn't do, I told you to go get my picheeps."

"No! I mean.." Currently, his choice of words isn't helping him in this situation. He's never seen a vein bulge out that far before. Creepy. Best not to stop talking now before he digs himself into an even deeper hole than the one he's already in. "I mean.. I can't go into the forest right now. It's almost dark. And I've never been in the forest. I'll probably... die!"

"That sounds like more of a you problem," the guy spits back, showing no signs of wavering from the initial demand he gave to the boy. Heart pounding in fear and mind racing a mile a minute, cursing himself out for being so frightened by a simple little creature tongue in the first place, the boy begins to plea.

"Please! I can't go in the forest like this. I'll actually die!" He pauses a while. "Plus," he suddenly interjects, making the guy before him raise an eyebrow in confusion, "if I actually die while going in the forest, there's no way you'll get those things back without going in the forest yourself to finish the job."

The guy freezes suddenly, considering what the boy just said. The boy smiles, he knows he's not wrong. "So," he goes on, "the best point of action is for you to do it yourself, because you'll end up doing it anyway." His smile turns prideful, and he crosses his own arms in defiance. Check and mate, that's the end of that discussion.

"You're right about that, I guess," the guy finally says, still glaring at the boy. But the boy isn't exactly prepared for what he says next.

"So I guess I'll just have to make sure you don't die."

What? What's that supposed to mean? The boy uncrosses his arms and furrows his eyebrows, staring at the guy as he puts the small creature, the picheep, he was holding in his hands into his pocket and turns towards the direction of the rolling hills overlooked by the looming forest. "Alright then, let's go."

"What?" the boy says, watching the guy walk past him and head toward his precious pets. "Right now? Wait, stop. Where are you going?"

"I'm going to make sure you don't die. Let's go, I want my picheeps back as soon as possible, I don't have time to wait for you to gather up the courage to walk into some measly trees."

"Wait, I meant there's no reason for me to go into the forest at all!" The boy calls out after him, stumbling over his feet to try to catch up.

"Of course there is. You do the dirty work of catching my picheeps for me and I'll do you the favor of saving you from certain death. Now let's go. End of discussion." This might be an even worse situation than the one the boy was in previously. Whoops. Again, so much for a peaceful end to the day.

"Wait! No, please. I don't want to go into the forest. Especially not at night. And especially not with someone I literally just met. You could be an evil wizard for all I know," the boy whined.

"You want to meet me? Fine then. The name's Blaise, nice to meet you. Now let's. Go."

The guy, Blaise's, tone of voice stops the boy dead in his tracks. Does he really have to go out into the forest and pick up some little fluff balls from wherever they were hiding armed with only some jerk to save him from possibly dying? Tonight, of all nights? It's like the universe is cursing him for wanting to play music instead of having a nice quiet night at home with his family.

"I said let's go, kid. I'm not going to ask you again. I have ways of making humans do what I want," Blaise threatens. Swallowing his fear for the hundredth time in the past hour, the boy begins to follow the wizard. Maybe getting the little picheeps won't be that hard. Maybe they stopped running a while ago and are waiting to be rescued. Maybe he'll get to go home in a couple of minutes. Hopefully, anyway.

"I'm not a kid," he whispers, glaring at the ground as he follows quietly behind Blaise. Blaise gives him a look, almost as if inspecting him, then turns back to the front.

"I didn't ask, kid," Blaise concludes.

The boy clenches his fists, frowning. "I have a name." Then, after not getting a reply, he decides to go on, "My name is Mikey."

"Congratulations Mikey. You have succeeded in somehow pissing me off more than I was before."

"Hey, I only told you my name..!"

"And I said I didn't ask..!"

There's silence for a while as the boy, Mikey, just glares at the back of the wizard's head. "Why do I have to go with you? How hard is it to just... catch some little... not-birds?"

"I don't know, Mikey, how hard is it to just catch some little not-birds? Obviously hard enough to make you think you'll die doing it."

"It's not about that! I've never been in the forest before..."

"Well it's about time you went. We all have to stop acting like a baby at some point."

"I'm not acting like-!" Mikey pulls at his hair. He's never felt so angry at someone he just met before. And yet here he is, arguing with some chad about how much he didn't want to go into the spooky scary forest to get back his little not-bird-creatures. How petty can someone be to go out of their way to inconvenience others when it can easily be done themselves?

"Don't act like you're faultless in this situation," Blaise says suddenly, as if once again reading Mikey's mind. "You're the one who scared them off."

"On accident!" he retorts.

"If I stab you in the neck, on accident, will you still die? Or better yet, if I accidentally turned you into a picheep and locked you in a cage would you still be trapped forever? Or maybe if I left you stranded in the forest by accident, would you still cry like a baby for me to come back for you?"

Mikey is silent then, trying not to show that he's extremely upset and on the verge of angry tears. Even though he's almost certain that Blaise already knows he wants to cry.

"Now stop talking" Blaise continues, "I just want to get there and back."

Fine then, if he doesn't want to talk Mikey doesn't have to talk. They can just silently hate each other forever, and then when it's over Mikey will never even think about him again. Even if his heart did skip a beat whenever they made eye contact... but that's probably just from fear. Or heart murmurs. They do that a lot.

How hard can it be though, right? To just... catch little fuzzy things. And not talk... and go into the dark scary forest at night time... leaving the safety of his own region for some stupid little pets. Okay maybe it's gonna be a little hard...

Well, at least Blaise and Mikey want the same thing. To get this little adventure over with.

Unfortunately for them, this story is miles away from its finishing point. But like I said, not every story has to start off with a bang.