Ferny Fox Steals the Sun

Hello. Welcome to my story. This story is about a fox. We’ll get to that, I promise, but first, my name is Tali Tanager, and unfortunately, I’m a Tanager. Now I know you have two questions about what I just said. The first question is, “What is a Tanager?” That’s not a very good question because it demonstrates your lack of Aves knowledge. How embarrassing for you. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about your ignorance, and I’ll explain what a Tanager is. A Tanager belongs to the class of Aves characterized by beaks, feathers, and the ability to lay eggs. Otherwise known as ‘birds’. I’m a bird! I personally live in the Windswept Woods, although I have some cousins who prefer the rainforest. To each their own, I guess. I think my most defining feature is also the feature I hate the most. You see, I have scarlet red feathers. Excuse me while I go vomit.

Actually that brings me to your next question, which is “Why is it so bad to be a Tanager?” You’re really prying into my personal life here, but I’ll humor you. Not to brag or anything, but I’m something of a poet. . . I’ll give you a minute to bask in that glory.

And how did I discover my gift for words, you ask? I’ll tell you. It all started when I was a mere featherless hatchling. I came across the immortal, the indescribable, the inconceivably perfect poem, “The Raven” by Edger Allen Poe. Well I knew from the moment I read that poem that I too wanted to be a Raven. Big. Mysterious. Foreboding. Black. I prayed with all my might that my feathers would grow in black. But, of course, they didn’t. I’ll never forget the day I looked at my reflection in the Sorry Stream and saw disgusting red features looking back at me.

It’s a sad story. A tragic story, but I never gave up hope. I decided that if I couldn’t be born a Raven, I would become one! I’d just have to change my feathers to black – but how could

I do that? I flew around the forest for hours just looking for something that would turn my feathers black. Finally, I came across a blackberry bush. It seemed perfect! I collected the blackberries and brought them back to my nest where I crushed them under my feet like a little Italian winemaker. When the berries formed a black juice, I rolled around in it! I remember my thoughts, as I coated my scarlet feathers in that sticky, sweet smelling pulp. This was it. After this moment, I would be forevermore a Raven, just like Poe wrote about. When I was confident that I’d turned thoroughly black, I flew back to the Sorry Stream to study my handiwork . . . It was awful! The black berries left me all weird and patchy and worst of all, I wasn’t even black. I was maroon! The other birds called me Adam Avene for months. That’s how long it took me to get all the juice out.

My feathers are back to normal, but my dreams are thoroughly crushed. I suppose this crippling depression is great fuel for my poetry. So, at least there’s that.

Upon this withered branch I sit.

My scarlet feathers look just shit.

Were I a Raven I’d be legit.

But I’m not, so I’ll just quit.

You see! I told you I was amazing. Anyway, I know you’re not here to listen to me lament about my dysmorphic woes. You were promised a fox. Ferny Fox, to be exact. I like Ferny Fox. He’s a handsome fox. He’s a smart fox. He’s a fox who has no idea who I am, and that’s perfectly fine with me. I only know him because I watch him crawl out of his burrow everyday, like a fly on the wall . . . or I suppose a bird on the branch. Don’t worry, it's not

creepy! I only do it because I like Ferny Fox. Sometimes I wish I could just steal all his pretty red fur and weave it into a blanket so I can sleep on it at night and breathe it in and shove it all into my beak, rubbing my face in it until I’m one with the fur and transcending into a plane of ulterior consciousness that no one has transcended before — but yeah. It’s not weird at all. Don’t worry.

Oh! Speaking of Ferny, I think I hear him now. Let’s fly down to his burrow for a closer look. What’s that? You can’t fly? You’re also blind? Don’t worry! I told you, I’m great with words. I’ll describe what I’m seeing for you. Stay quiet or we’ll scare him off.

●

Ferny Fox comes out of his burrow right in the middle of the Windswept Woods. He is a handsome fox, as I’ve already said. He has the biggest, bushiest, most unruly tail of any creature in the forest, but I’m the only creature who knows this. That’s because every morning, when he thinks no one is watching, Ferny Fox gets two rocks and flattens his tail between them until it looks like the other foxes' tails. Still a tad unruly, but much more tame. I think he thinks it looks better this way, but I don’t agree. His tail is perfect, as it is. Just like the rest of him. If we were friends, I’d tell him. But we’re not, so I can’t. He can believe what he wants. Ferny is a silly fox too, I suppose.

When he’s done flattening his tail, he starts walking through the woods toward his best friend, Benny Badger’s burrow. His paws crunch dried leaves underfoot as he prances over the pathway, jumping over logs and fallen trees. Bits of sunlight stream through the canopy of the trees and make his red fur look like melted copper. I swoon, just a little bit. Again, he is a very handsome fox. I’m following in the trees, hopping and flying from branch to branch. I’m sure you’re impressed with my stealth, for I am very stealthy. I can, after all, fool even a fox.

When Ferny arrives at Benny Badger's burrow, he lowers his head and calls down.
“Hey, Benny!” He kicks a bit of dirt into the burrow. That was awfully rude, but he is sometimes rude to Benny. Benny is sometimes rude to him. I think it's how males become friends. I don’t quite understand it myself. “Wake up! We have things to do!”

Benny pokes his head out of his burrow with a furrowed brow. He wipes dirt off his snoot. “Ferny!” He seems annoyed. “Why are you kicking dirt into my burrow?”

“Why are you still asleep?” Ferny says with a wide grin. “We have things to do.” Benny stretches and yawns in a very badgerly way. “What things?” he asks, scratching his stomach. The trespass of the dirt is already forgotten. There’s a glint in Ferny’s brown eyes.

His smile becomes even more sly. I lean down from my perch, trying to hear better. “Extreme things!” He spins around excitedly, accidentally slapping Benny in the face

with his tail. Ferny is a rude fox, but he is still very handsome.
Benny doesn’t seem to mind because he jumps excitedly and says, “All right! Extreme!”

I notice he can’t jump very high. Badgers have short legs.
I tilt my head. They slap their tails together and say simultaneously, “Extreme Brothers!”

Strange little creatures . . . I’m contemplating the ways in which Aves are superior to Canidae and Mustelidae when quick as a flash, they run off. I gasp, having not expected them to leave so abruptly, and fly after them. They’re awfully chipper this morning for nocturnal species. Go figure. Finally, they stop, and I do too. I’m huffing and puffing, nearly ready to fall out of the tree. Poets don’t work too hard on physical fitness. It's a commonly known fact. I look down. We’ve stopped at the Sorry Stream.

“Our first extreme challenge,” says Ferny with the voice of an orange-skinned newscaster, “will be to cross the Sorry Stream!” He announces it like he’s expecting a big

reaction. He doesn’t get one. I frown, looking down into the rushing water that looks more white than blue this morning.

“That’s too easy,” protests Benny. “These challenges are supposed to be extreme.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Ferny says with a mischievous twinkle in those giant eyes. He dons his orange newscaster voice again. “We’re going to cross the Sorry Stream on the world’s smallest bridge!” I swear I can hear fanfare at his enthusiasm. It takes every bit of restraint in me to not burst into cheers. Ferny is a very convincing speaker, as well as a handsome fox. Perhaps he should become the president of the Windswept Woods. I would vote for him.

“That’s not fair!” Benny is whining again. “You’re a fox! You can get across any bridge. I’m not nearly as agile as you.” Benny crosses his arms, and tries to rattle Ferny with his glare. It doesn’t seem to be working. Ferny is a confident fox too.

“Tough crowd,” he cups a paw over his mouth and whispers over his shoulder to an imaginary audience. “Benny,” he says, turning back to his friend. “I picked this challenge, because we both know that if I picked a badger-friendly challenge, I would fail miserably. But you,” he gestures toward Benny with his paw, like he’s some type of rare treasure. “You don’t need me to cater to you with the challenge. You’re . . .” he searches for the word, “versatile. Much more than me.” Benny eyes him warily. Unconvinced. “What I’m saying is you can easily rise to a fox-friendly extreme challenge, but I’m so incompetent, that I would likely die from a badger-friendly challenge. Do you want me to die, Benny?” He looks at Benny with pained eyes. Benny’s demeanor has shifted under the flattery. He’s blushing and trying to hold back a smile. I fancy myself the poet, but Ferny does have a way with words. That’s why he’s the politician, I suppose.

Benny waves a paw at Ferny. “Oh, get out of here.” He twists his toe in the dirt and holds his hands behind his back, avoiding Ferny’s eyes. “I mean it,” Ferny says, digging through some sticks in the brush. “Benny,” he pauses, holding Benny’s eyes with a severe stare, “these challenges are tailored to your prowess, not mine.”

Benny grits his jaw shut and narrows his eyes determinedly. He gives Ferny a curt nod before declaring with a raised fist, “EXTREME BROTHERS!!!”

“EXTREME!!!” Ferny yells back. He proceeds to place the thinnest, frailest looking stick I've ever seen across the stream to act as their 'bridge'.

Benny’s bravado fails immediately. “Nope, not doing it.” He turns and starts walking away. I guess Benny changes his mind a lot.

“Bennyyyy,” Ferny’s voice is sing-songy and teasing now. Benny turns around, committed to not being swayed. “Look,” Ferny says, pointing to something across the stream. Benny looks, and his eyes light up. Across the stream is a rotting, stinking squirrel corpse. Flies are starting to gather around it, but all in all, it looks relatively untouched. Benny licks his lips hungrily. I gulp. Badgers are foul. Not to be confused with fowl, which is what I am. “That’s your prize just for trying, Benny!”

Benny huffs. He looks over his shoulder as if someone will get him out of this. There’s nobody there, besides me, and I’m certainly not intervening. I’m just here to admire Ferny. Bird on the branch, remember? He gives Ferny another appraising look and checks over his shoulders just one more time. He gives in, bouncing on his heels and saying, “Fine, but you go first.”

Ferny drops his chin and raises his brows in the middle. “Is widdle Benny Badger afwaid of the scawy bridge?”

“Psh,” Benny crosses his arms. “No . . .”

“Awwww,” Ferny pinches Benny’s cheeks with both paws. “Does the widdle baby need daddy fox to go first?”

Benny swats him away, angrily. “Knock it off, Ferny! It’s your challenge. You go first.” Benny turns away, pouting.

Ferny laughs, shaking his head. “No problem, little baby,” he declares, patting Benny arrogantly on the shoulder. I think he knew he’d get Benny to come around eventually. He walks to the edge of the stream. His face becomes serene and peaceful. He takes a deep breath. This is his way of becoming one with the bridge, I think. I’ve seen this before on Fox news. “I am a fox,” he chants to himself. Yup, it was definitely Fox news. Delicately, lightly as a feather, he places a paw on the stick thin bridge. “I am a fox,” he says again, as though in a trance. It's true. He is. One by one, his paws move in front of the other in a beautifully straight line. The bridge doesn’t bow under his weight at all. He must weigh nothing. In less than a minute, Ferny is at the end of the bridge and safely on the other side of the stream. He takes his deepest breath, eyes narrowed in focus, before he bends his knees and pushes off the stick in one glorious bound. He tucks his head and tail, completing one perfect circular flip before landing effortlessly on his feet.

I’m seconds away from cheering before I remember that I’m spying. I cover my beak with my wings, horrified at how close I was to breaking the mystique. I bring back my Raven energy, and hide mysteriously amongst the leaves. But boy oh boy, Ferny is a deft fox too. I hazard a look toward Benny. He does not look happy. He does not look angry either. He looks terrified. “Ferny!” he shouts unhappily. “I can’t do that!”

“You can,” Ferny contradicts from across the river. When he sees he’s unlikely to convince Benny, he takes action. “Oh my god,” he says, walking over to the dead squirrel and inhaling euphorically. “It smells even stronger from over here!”

Benny groans clutching his stomach. A deep rumble sounds from within his belly. It is around breakfast time, after all. Benny is highly motivated now, though I think it's a stupid idea. “I’ll do my best,” he says, as he walks forebodingly to the edge of the Sorry Stream. He places one foot on the stick bridge, testing it under his weight with a couple light bounces.

Now I’m going to interrupt Benny’s attempt to cross the stick bridge with a brief lesson on the epithet of our humble stream. Many people have regrets surrounding this silly little body of water, hence its name: Sorry Stream. Such regrets include the time that Sally Salmon rode the stream straight to Brusky Bear’s den. She was never seen again. There was also the time that Donna Deer drank from the stream, forgetting that it's often used as a urinal by Morton Moose. There was also the time that Sissy Skunk took a bath in it, carrying her scent throughout the forest. We were all sorry then. Yup. A lot of forest dwellers become very sorry when they see the stream. Let’s see if Benny is about to become one of them. After deciding his chances of getting across are as good as anyone’s, Benny clumsily places one foot on the stick.

Ferny watches, eyes wide, a broad grin across his face. While his faith might be misplaced, he believes in his friend. “You got this, Benny! You’re extreme!”

“I’m extreme,” Benny quietly confirms, as he takes one more wobbly step. “I’m extreme.” For a moment, I think that Benny might actually do this. “I’m . . .” A sudden crack sounds throughout the woods. The stick bridge quickly snaps, crackles, and pops in two. There’s a deafening splash! Ferny and I both shield our faces from the spray. I guess Benny was not quite as weightless as Ferny. He rolls to his back and crosses his arms. His eyes are knit into a scowl, as the current pushes him downstream. As is tradition with the Sorry Stream, Benny is very sorry, indeed.

Ferny gasps. He wasn’t quite expecting that. “I’m sorry, Benny!” he shouts. Benny extends his middle finger in response, though he’s so far away now, it's hardly decipherable. I find crude gestures distasteful. You’re better off finding words to express your disdain, but I suppose we can’t all be poets. Ferny picks up the dead squirrel and calls through gritted teeth, “I’ll meet you downstream when the current stops pushing you.” Benny doesn’t respond. He’s angry and too far downstream to hear.

When the water becomes shallow enough, Benny flips over and crawls to the edge of the bank. Slowly, he places one claw in front of the other, dragging his profound weight over the damp pebbles. He’s a limp, lifeless husk of a badger. He’s cold and shivering. He turns his head and sneezes before wringing out his stubby tail then slumps miserably into the mud. Ferny approaches cautiously. I think he feels bad about this. He approaches tentatively and drops the squirrel at Benny’s feet. I can see, he’s very contrite. “Benny,” he says, a sorry frown on his face. Benny glares back at him, stone cold. Ferny swallows thickly. I wonder if I’m about to witness the downfall of their friendship. After a moment, something in their eyes shifts from tension to something more . . . glittery. The corners of their mouths tick up higher and higher until they’re both grinning stupidly at each other.

“EXTREME BROTHERS!” they cry, bumping tails. I roll my eyes. Males are moronic. Benny scoops up the squirrel in his claw and takes a massive rotting bite, squirting soupy squirrel meat onto the ground. I dry heave a little bit. “What’ll we do next?” Benny asks through

mouthfuls of squirrel.
“Hmmm,” Ferny looks around the forest, his eyes narrowed to slits. He’s thinking. Foxes

do that, I suppose. He lowers his nose to the ground and starts sniffing, searching for something. Benny belches, licking the tips of his fingers to get the last remnants of his carrion treat. Ferny

continues sniffing, weaving his delicate steps in zigzags across the forest floor until finally, he stops at a bush. “Hmmm,” he says again, tilting his head from left to right. I follow the motion, as though doing so will help me understand what he’s thinking.

“What?” asks Benny. He’s filing his nails against a tree trunk. I do the same thing with my beak sometimes. Did you know that beaks need to be kept trim like that?

“This is a blackberry bush.” He nudges a berry with the tip of his snout. Benny waddles over and examines the small pieces of juicy black fruit. He plucks one from the branch and pops it in his mouth.

“Yup,” he confirms. “So what?”
“So,” says Ferny, “who do we know that likes to eat berries?”
It’s a weird question. Lots of forest creatures like to eat berries. In fact, I think we all do,

but there is one creature that likes it most of all . . . but that would be insane. Ferny is a smart, handsome fox. He’s not insane . . . is he? I pause. Maybe I would like him even more if he was insane. That could make him more fun.

Benny shrugs. “We all do, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Ferny agrees. “But there’s one forest dweller in particular that likes it more than the rest.” He turns to look Benny in the eye, willing him to read his foxy mind. “One of us, who is the most extreme.”

Benny squints and licks his lips, as though doing so will help his dull mind think more quickly. I can’t imagine being that stupid. Thank goodness I have the intrinsically deep mind of a writer. After approximately five million years, realization dawns on Benny’s face like a light bulb. It's about time. “No,” he says, though the gleam in his eye is a resounding ‘yes’.

“Oh yeah,” Ferny responds, nearly shaking with excitement.

“Brusky Bear?” Benny’s hands are clenched into excited fists.
“Brusky Bear!” Ferny confirms.
I slam a wing into my forehead. Brusky Bear . . .
“What’ll we do to him?” Benny’s rubbing his paws together, eager to hear the rest of the plan. I lean down from my branch. I’m pretty eager to hear too.

Ferny takes a large stick in his jaws and says, “Ve’ve gong to pok hm wif awstuck.” His eyes are gleaming and triumphant. I frown. Benny does too. Maybe Ferny’s made up a new language. He gets smarter and smarter everyday, after all. It’s not too surprising.

“What?” I’m glad Benny asks for the both of us. I’m still undercover, remember? Ferny places the stick on the ground, freeing his mouth. “I said we’re going to poke him with a stick!” He gives a quick satisfied nod, and takes the stick in his mouth again. Benny looks at him incredulously. There’s a silence between the two of them, and for the briefest moment, I think Benny will object. That would be the smart thing to do, so I should immediately know that Benny won’t do it. It was a silly thought. Instead, his lips spread into a slow smile, showing the pointed tips of his canines.

He raises his fists into the air. I already know what he’s about to say, so I mouth the word along with him. “EXTREME!”

They’re off again, stick in tow. I fly, not too far behind. We stop only when we reach the den of Brusky Bear. Let me tell you a bit about Brusky . . . via poem, of course.

Hey stop, would you look right in there.
It’s a dark hole that leads to nowhere.
Inside comes a rumble. Your hands start to trumble.

They raise up on your arms, all your hair.
You tell yourself, don’t be a square.
He’s a teddy. You simply don’t care.
You march boldly inside and you find that you’ve lied, As into his eyes you now stare.
He shows teeth, drool drips to the ground.
You were brave, but you’ll never be found.
He’ll first eat your guts. You’re a fool. You’re a putz.

But at least you’ve faced old Brusky Bear.

I pause. Letting my words soak in. My eyes are closed, and I sigh, as I remove my black beret. It’s immortal. Superb. And it simply flowed out of me. Take your time to enjoy the poem. We’ll get back to Ferny and Benny in the next paragraph.

PAUSE NOW TO ALLOW THE DEEP MOVING POETRY TO SINK INTO YOUR SOUL

LONGER

LONGER

CONTINUE

They’re already at Brusky’s burrow. They peer into the pitch darkness. Perhaps I should have let them read my poem. It was full of wisdom, after all. But I didn’t write it down. Guess they’re on their own.

“All right,” says Benny, patting Ferny on the back. “Good luck, brother.” He smiles and nods, gesturing for Ferny to enter the burrow.

Ferny flinches. “Oh, I thought you would do the honors.” He smiles as if he’s offered Benny a great gift.

“Oh,” Benny waves a bashful hand. “I could never. You’re the brains of this outfit. Everyone knows that.” I shrug and nod. It’s true.

“What?” Ferny sounds surprised. He shouldn't be. It's no secret that Benny is dumber than a brindle fly’s asshole. “No . . .” The word is long and drawn out. I raise an eyebrow. Is Ferny afraid? That’s not possible, is it? “You go first. I insist.” He gives Benny a nudge toward the burrow’s opening, wide like a ravenous mouth.

“But,” Benny is stuttering, “whoever goes first will anger old Brusky.”
“Then whoever goes second will have a more difficult time.” Ferny nods as if he

checkmated his friend. “Would you rather deal with a sleeping bear, or an angry bear?” Once again, Fenry has placed himself in a position that is unarguable.

“Hmmm,” Benny hesitates, trying to see how he can best Ferny without sounding like a terrible coward. Finally, his eyes light up like he has an idea. That’s novel. “I know!” He snaps his fingers. “We’ll do it together. Extreme Brothers, right?”

Ferny gulps. I pull the corners of my beak down in surprise. Well, I’ll be damned. Benny might have got him there. I didn’t think he had it in him.

Ferny looks to the left and to the right, thinking. Finally, he smiles. “Of course,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s smiling, but he seems annoyed. “Extreme Brothers,” he says, taking hold of the stick in his mouth. Benny takes hold with his claw. They give each other a determined nod and start walking. Slowly, trembling, they march into the burrow.

I don’t know what happens after that, because I sure as heck am not following. I sit on my perch. Waiting. Waiting. The wind blows a soft breeze through my feathers. I bristle, fluffing the scarlet down. For a moment, I forget I’m a tanager and think I’m a raven after all. I make myself bigger by puffing out my chest as words, poetic and brilliant, flood my mind. If Poe had only met me his greatest work would have been The Tanager, not The Raven. I take a deep breath. The forest can be so peaceful this time of year. My reverie is cut short through the sound of screams. My eyes bolt open, and I look down at the burrow. Ferny and Benny come running out, as Brusky, roaring and furious, trails behind. I gasp. This should be good!

Ferny and Benny aren’t that far ahead of Brusky. “What were you doing in my burrow?” he bellows, swiping a massive claw at Benny’s backside. He narrowly misses and only because Benny tucks his bum in the nick of time.

“We’re sorry,” Ferny yells over his shoulder. He’s still managing to smile, although he’s being chased by a bear. It’s an admirable quality, that positivity. “You have to understand, it pertains to matters of an extreme nature!”

This only angers Brusky, and he swipes again, this time nearly making contact. I want to close my eyes and fly to safety. But I have to help them, or they’ll be bear breakfast. I take a deep breath and dive to the forest floor. I take a rock as big as I can carry in my mouth, and drop it on top of Brusky. Once it hits his head, I hide amongst the leaves.

“What the hell?” Brusky looks up. His voice is deep and full of gravel. I didn’t hurt him, but he is confused because he can’t see me. This bought the Extreme Brothers time, which is a commodity that they are distinctly deficient in at the moment. When Brusky realizes this, he’s mad. Madder than he was before, if that’s even possible. He bolts after them, twice as fast. The Extreme Brothers are losing their lead, but they continue laughing and looking over their

shoulders, taunting the massive grizzly. Idiots! I dive again, this time quickly pecking Brusky in the eye before returning to my place in the trees. He roars and bounds to his hind legs. I gulp. I’m very happy I can fly right now. “My eye!” he cries. “Who just poked me in the eye?” I look up. The Extreme Brothers are nearly in the clear. I just have to get Brusky to turn back. I adopt my most whimsical ghostly voice and recite one more poem.

I’m the spirit in the forest tree.

I say, let those boys go free.

If you don’t, well, nice try.

I’ll take both your eyes.

And never again will you see.

I hold my breath. I really am a marvel. That was awfully ghostly, but still . . . I’m not sure if it’ll scare off Brusky. “Spirit?” he asks, holding his massive paw over his pecked eye. “There are spirits in the forest?”

“There aaahhhhrrreee,” I call down, sounding as spooky as my little voice will allow. Brusky bounds to his hind legs, sniffing the air. He’s suspicious. I make sure my blasted scarlett feathers are hidden behind a green leaf. I think they are, because he returns to all fours again. I hold my breath.

“Hmph,” he huffs, wiping his nose with his claw. He looks in the direction that he last saw the Extreme Brothers and shrugs. “I didn’t want that damned fox anyway.” He begins walking off and I release my breath, only to catch it again when he turns back. “But mark my words, spirit of the trees.” He says this skeptically. I wonder if he’s on to me. The thought makes

my tummy all twisted. “If that fox ever comes into my den again, I’ll eat him for lunch!” I don’t bother responding because Brusky is walking away again. I sure hope Ferny heard that, because I don’t think I’ll be able to save him a second time. I wait a moment before flying off to check on the Extreme Brothers.

They must have gotten pretty far, because I can’t find them for a while. Not until I hear some giggles coming from a nearby bush. I stop and land on a branch, looking for the source of the laughter. Ferny and Benny poke their heads out of the prickly leaves, grinning ear to ear.

“That was amazing!” Ferny exclaims.

“Yeah! Amazing!” agrees Benny.

I don’t think much of the compliment until I realize they’re looking right at me. I’ve been spotted! I gasp and fly to the tallest branch of the tree and hide behind a leaf.

“Wait!” Ferny calls. I don’t answer him. I can feel my little birdy heart pounding. If I was a raven, I wouldn’t get this nervous. I hazard to look down quickly before hiding again. Benny and Ferny have their heads tilted up to the branches, looking for me.

“Huh,” says Benny with his claws on his hips. “I guess she doesn’t want to talk.”

Ferny ignores him and calls up to me. “That poem was amazing! Did you make it up just now?” I don’t respond and bury my face in my feathers. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away. Ferny pauses, waiting to see if I’ll say anything. I don’t. “Well,” he sounds a little sad. “I think that was one of the most extreme things I’ve ever seen!”

“Speaking of,” Benny interrupts, “we’ve got one more extreme challenge to go.” Since they’re back on the topic of their extreme challenges, I take a step out from behind the leaf. They’re not looking at me anyways.

“Right,” Ferny says, returning his gaze to Benny. “What shall it be?” Benny taps his chin for a moment. He then smiles and opens his mouth, lifting a finger like he has a good idea . . . then he shakes his head and starts tapping his chin again. He does this several times, as Ferny paces lithely back and forth – thinking. He is handsome when he thinks. I get bored watching them think for so long, so I start writing poems and stories in my head. Some are good. Others are alright. Some are inspired! Genius! When I look down again, Ferny is looking up. For a moment, I think he’s looking at me and the scarlet of my feathers deepens. But, no. He’s not looking at me, but just past me. I look over my shoulder to see what caught his attention, but there’s nothing there. I look back at Ferny. A ray of sunshine bounces off his brown eyes and into mine. I blink away the glare and watch as a smile spreads across his wily face.

“Hey, Benny,” he nearly whispers.

“Hmmm,” Benny’s brow is furrowed. He is thinking very hard.

“I got an idea.”

Benny lights up. “Tell me! Tell me!”

“For our next extreme challenge. . .”

Benny leans in. “Yes?”

“We’re going to . . .”

“Yes?” Even I lean in now.

“Steeeaaaaalll . . .”

“Yes?!” I nearly say the word with Benny. The anticipation is killing me! “The sun!”

Benny’s smile fades. I lift the ridge above my eye, because I don’t have an eyebrow to cock. “Steal the sun?” Benny asks. Ferny nods with a magnificent grin. “But if there’s no sun, won’t the earth implode?” For once in his life, Benny asks a fair question.

Ferny’s grin fades as he contemplates. “Maybe,” he says, looking up at his target. Benny nods somberly. It won’t work. “I know!” Ferny says after a moment.

“What?” Benny’s eyes are wide again with anticipation. I creep out to the edge of my branch, listening.

“We’ll just steal a piece of the sun!” I look up at the great yellow orb in the sky. It’s pretty big. What difference can one little piece make?

“That could work . . .” he says pensively. “But . . .”

“But what?” Ferny cannot imagine why he would object further.

“But how will we get to the sun?”

“Hmm.” Ferny looks at the forest floor. He hadn’t thought of that. I lean down just a tinge further. I have to make sure I hear everything, after all. How else would I describe it for you poor blind folks? He shrugs. “We’ll have to fly, of course.”

“Of course,” Benny agrees as if he was foolish for not thinking of it. I nod. Good thinking. There’s another pause. “But, Ferny?”

“Hmmm?” Ferny looks at Benny, certain there can be no further objection. “We can’t fly.”

Ferny’s face falls. “We can’t,” he agrees.

“We can’t,” Benny repeats, sadly. I sigh. It’s true. They can’t. I sit forlorn on my branch when Benny and Ferny’s eyes meet. A glowing lightbulb appears above their heads. A grin leaks onto their faces. Then slowly . . . dangerously slowly, their necks crane until they are both looking up. For a moment I think they’re grinning at the sun, until I realize, to my horror, they’re both looking at me. Oh no!

“Nope,” I say, before returning to my hiding spot behind my leaf.

“Hey!” calls Ferny, placing his paws on the trunk of my tree to get close to me. “You participated in the last challenge!”

“Well, I won’t participate in this one!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Benny says. His voice is grave.

If I had visible skin, it would blanche. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“If you participate in a challenge,” Ferny is back on all fours now that he has my

attention, “you accept initiation into the Extreme Brotherhood.” “It’s essentially a blood oath.”

“Binding.”

“Irrevocable.”

My beak drops open. I didn’t know that. I should have let them be bear food.“But you guys were going to get mauled.”

“We appreciate your intervention, Ms. Bird but . . .”

“Tali,” I interrupt.

“What?” Ferny tilts his head.

“Tali,” I repeat. “My name is Tali Tanager.”

Ferny studies me for a moment. I don’t like it. His eyes are too focused. It makes me want to hide again. Finally, he says. “Tali,” like he’s testing my name. He smiles. “I like tanagers!”

“Well you shouldn’t,” I bristle. “Ravens are better.”

“Ravens are ugly old oafs,” Benny calls over his shoulder. He’s found more carrion and is mostly preoccupied, but I suppose he’s overheard some of the conversation. But what did he just dare say?

“They aren’t!” I exclaim. “They’re immortal and amazing!”

“Well, I like you better as yourself,” Ferny says. I’d blush if my feathers weren’t already red. Maybe he’s just trying to flatter me into agreeing. I don’t think I want to be an Extreme Brother. It seems hazardous. “So how about it?” he says, bounding to his hind legs to get closer again. “Extreme Brothers? Or sister, if you prefer.”

“Extreme Family,” Benny adds, keeping it gender neutral.

I sigh. Ferny is a handsome fox with big pretty brown eyes. I don’t like when he looks at me with those pretty big brown eyes. It makes me want to say ‘yes’. But that would be foolish. It would be insane. I’m not going to agree. I’m not. I’m not! I look down, and my eyes lock with his again. Shit . . . I’m not going to say ‘no’.

“What do I have to do?” Ferny explains everything. The instructions are simple enough. Fly up to the sun and come back with three pieces, one for each of us. I look up. It doesn’t seem too far. “Well,” I hesitate. “You have to try some other things first. I’ll be your last resort.” Ferny thinks about this a moment before nodding.

“Deal,” he says with a smile. “I guess I better get to work.”

I fly down to a lower branch. They’ve already seen me anyway. I might as well play along. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m going to build a sun machine! Benny!” Benny flinches and spits out a rat’s eyeball.

“Yessir?!” He stands straight and salutes Ferny.

“Collect as much wood and sticks as you can find!”

“Yessir!” Benny clicks his heels and runs off into the forest. Meanwhile, Ferny starts building. He works for what feels like hours, biting sticks in half, tying them together, sending Benny back into the forest for better stronger sticks. After what might as well be forever, Ferny takes a step back.

“It's ready!” He exclaims.

“It’s beautiful!” Benny looks like he’s about to cry from the majesty of the contraption.

“What is it?” I ask.

Ferny looks up, as if he’s forgotten I was there, but when he sees me, he smiles. “That, Tali Tanager,” I blush when he says my full name, “is a sunapult!”

“A what?” I’m completely awe-struck by the machine. Ferny is an inventing genius!

“A sunapult!” He says again, stepping aside so I can get a better look. “You pull it back like this.” The sunapult has a bowl tied to the end of a long bendy stick. Ferny pulls this back and hooks it to a loop, so it's very taut. “Then when you release it, it will send whoever is in the bowl straight to the sun.”

I stand perfectly still. I want to be encouraging. I really do, but that seems
dangerous. I guess if it wasn’t dangerous it wouldn’t be so extreme. Maybe danger is the point. “Oh,” I say neutrally.

“Brilliant!” howls Benny. He hops into the bowl without question. “Let me loose, brother!”

Ferny bends down, poised to snap the hook with his teeth, thereby sending Benny to the sun. My heart starts racing. He’s really going to do it! We’re going to get a piece of the sun! “Blast off in three . . .” Benny is bouncing excitedly in the bowl. “Two . . .” I smile with wide eyes. This is happening! “One!” Ferny bites the hook. The sunapult releases! Benny is flying-flying-flying! — Before Benny can become airborne, the bowl hurls him down to the earth with a thud. That looks painful. Ferny and I both wince before rushing to his side.

“Benny!” Ferny lifts the bowl, freeing his badger comrade from being crushed. “Benny, buddy! Are you all right?” Benny’s eyes are x’s and a circle of yellow stars appear above his head. He lifts a claw and wobbles a bit.

“That was a doozy, boys.” I’m a girl, but I don’t correct him now.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

“Me?” Benny sits up and sways back and forth. “I’ve never been better.” He wobbles some more, left, right, left, right . . . then he falls flat on his face. I wince.

“Whoa, buddy.” Ferny picks Benny up and rests him against a tree. “You’ll be fine. Just rest a minute.” He looks at me. “Any ideas?” he asks.

I tilt my head. Ferny never fails to impress me. That was a massive failure, but he has a distinct ability to move on from his failures. I would have given up after that disaster. I wish I could be more like Ferny, but I don’t really know why he’s asking me what to do next. “Me? You’re the smart one.”

Ferny cocks his head, confused. “No I'm not,” he says matter of factly.

I don’t know why but this irritates me. If Ferny isn’t smart, then I must be especially stupid. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m not,” he says, smiling. Is he teasing me? I stiffen.

“Well, I say you are, so you are.” I cross my wings and give a decided huff.

“Hmm,” he muses, sitting down dejectedly. “I can’t be too smart,” he says, gesturing to the failed sunapult. “How will I ever get to the sun now?” He looks up, using a paw to shade the sun from his eyes. I sigh. I guess I’m up.

“Well,” I say. He looks up hopefully.

“Mary had a little lamb.” I look over at Benny, who is singing deliriously. “Whose fleece was white as peanut butter.” He passes out again, bumping his head against the trunk of the tree. Ferny and I both shake our heads and look back at each other.

I sigh. “I suppose I can give it a go.”

Ferny gasps through a smile and starts jumping. I’m suspicious. I think he expected I’d give in. “Thank you, Tali! Thank you! Thank you! You’re the world’s first Extreme Sister!” I chuff a laugh and look up at the sky. At least he’s grateful. I can see the sun from here, so how far can it really be?

“Well,” I say with a gulp. I look at Ferny. His face is so hopeful. I look at Benny. He surely has a concussion. I look up toward the sun. “I suppose I can give it a try.” With that, I push off my branch and up toward the sun. I flap my wings as hard as I can, as Ferny and Benny get smaller and smaller in the distance. I fly for a while, certain that the earth behind me is getting farther and farther away. The problem is, the sun doesn’t seem to be getting any bigger. I look up. It feels hot and almost unbearably bright. That must mean it's getting closer, right? I fly on for another ten minutes – twenty. I’m getting tired and thirsty, and still the damn sun doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. I look down and gulp. I can’t see anyone. I can only see the tops of the trees and they look so very far away. But I can’t fail the mission! I’m an Extreme Sister! But I did get initiated for my prowess with words, not my physical strength. My heart starts beating very fast. Maybe this was a mistake. I look down again. Even if I start flying back right now, I’ll be too tired to make it. Oh no. What have I gotten myself into?

I turn around to start flying back to the Windswept Wood. It feels far, and my wings are tired. So very tired. If I was a raven this would never happen. I’d have big strong wings, if only I

was a raven. As I lament my horrible fate, my wings give out. I’m falling now. The wind is blowing through my feathers, making my eyes sting. I fall faster and faster toward the canopy. I’m going to die! I don’t know what to do, so I write another poem. At the top of my lungs, I scream:

I hate to deliver bad news!
But my wings are just lightly used! I’m not strong enough,
Though I try, I’m not tough.
And I’m plummeting back down to you!!!!

I scream, and my body collides with something – soft? I open my eyes slowly and Benny and Ferny are looking down at me.

“Tali?” Benny picks me up in his claws and strokes my head. “You okay, little tanager?”

I look down and see a bunch of leaves woven into a net and pulled tight between four trees. It saved me. “Did you set this up?” I ask.

“Insurance.” Ferny shrugs with a crooked smile. “Just in case you fell. I guess you did fall?”

I look down. “I guess I did.”

“Don’t feel bad.” Benny puts me on a low branch. My wings are sore. “I fail extreme challenges all the time. The important thing is trying and having fun.” I nod, but Ferny doesn’t look convinced. He’s still looking up at the sun.

“I’m sorry, Ferny,” I say. “I guess I’m not so extreme, after all. If I were a raven–” He interrupts me.

“I’ve got it!” Without another word, he runs off into the woods and doesn’t return for I don’t even know how long. Hours pass with no sign of the handsome fox. A few other animals pass through, nodding their heads to us politely. I nod back, but keep my distance from Penny Porcupine. She’s nice, but she doesn’t have good control over her quills. More time passes, and Benny and I get bored. Within the next couple of hours, we end up lying on our backs in the grass, playing truth or dare. I don’t even remember who started the game, but this is how we’re found when Ferny finally returns. I’m grateful because the last dare involved trying some of Benny’s carrion, and I really didn’t want to do it, but we’re playing no takesies backsies. All that to say, Ferny’s return is timely.

We sit up and look at the clever fox. He has a strange contraption on his back. It's made of sticks and leaves fashioned to look like wings. The contraption is strapped securely around his rib cage, with two strings that attach his paws to the wingy bits of the machine, but he can’t possibly be serious. Both Benny and I just stare at him without saying a word. “Well,” he says, smiling expectantly, “what do you think?”

“I . . .” Benny starts.

“It's . . .” I attempt to finish.

“What is it?” Benny approaches Ferny and runs his claw along the outer edge of the strange machine.

Ferny looks disappointed, like we should have known what they were.“They’re my wings, of course!”

“Wings?!” Benny and I blurt out at the same time. Now I’m something of an expert on wings. I’ve had them for my entire life, after all. These strange things strapped to Ferny’s back may look like wings, but they’ll never work. They couldn’t possibly. Wings are delicate and light. This thing is bulky and . . . it may be light. I can’t really tell, but they are definitely not wings.

“They’ll take me to the sun!” Ferny is beaming now. I don’t think we’re giving him the reaction he hoped for. Those wings are not taking him to the sun. I’m sure of it.

“But Ferny . . .” I stammer. “Those will fall apart the second the wind hits them.”

“Yeah,” agrees Benny. “Foxes can’t fly, buddy. Even with cool inventions.”

Ferny scoffs. “Foxes couldn’t fly until I made this.” He tugs on the string, causing the wings to flap a bit.

“I don’t know, Fern.” Benny gives one of the wings a light tug. “This seems dangerous, even for an extreme challenge.”

“You can’t be serious . . .” Ferny looks between the two of us, desperate for someone to validate the machine. He looks hurt, but I can’t bring myself to tell him what he wants to hear. Instead, Benny and I press our lips together and look away. Well, we do something reminiscent of pressing our lips together, as neither of us has lips. “I thought we were the Extreme Brothers, plus a Sister.”

“We are!” I’m fluttering overhead. “But even extreme challenges should be abandoned if they’re deadly.” I think this is a reasonable statement, but Ferny doesn’t seem to agree.

“Nuh-uh.” He sits down, pouting. For the smartest fox in the world, I would think he’d have something else to say.

“We just don’t want you to get hurt,” Benny says, treading lightly.

Ferny glares at him. A look of determination washes over his face. I don’t really like the look of it. “I’ll show you.” He looks at me. “You think you’re the only one who can fly just because you were born with wings?” That’s exactly what I think, as a matter of fact. “Well, just watch this.” Ferny bounds to his feet and climbs up the tree. One branch. Two branches. He’s three branches high, which is high enough that he could really get hurt if he jumps.

“Ferny, don't do this!” Benny seems panicked now. “At least jump over the net in case it doesn’t work!”

“I don’t need a net!” Ferny looks down at him, eyes blazing. “I have wings!” I fly up there and land on his head.

“These aren’t wings!” I peck at him, trying to get his attention. “There’s no way they can take you to the sun.” He swats me away with his paw, and I bristle. That was very rude.

“You just watch!” Ferny looks up, eyes locked on the sun. “Count me down!”

“Ferny . . .” Benny is begging now.

“Do it!”

Benny sighs. “Three . . .” Ferny furrows his brow. “Two . . .” I close my eyes. I can’t look. “One!” Benny closes his own eyes, as Ferny pushes off the branch. He’s falling faster and faster toward the earth. The wind blows his fur back. He bears his teeth in a determined grimace. He’s so close to the ground. I’m afraid I’m going to watch him splatter into a thousand pieces! I already saved him from Brusky. Was that in vain? Did I rescue him from a bear just to watch him fall victim to the Extreme Brotherhood? I’m about to write another poem, when suddenly, Ferny pushes down with his paws. The strings wrapped around them pull down on the wings, making them flap. His path makes a sharp U, driving him suddenly upward. Ferny laughs, cheering himself on, as he flaps the wings again. Benny and I look up in astonishment. He’s . . . flying. He’s flying up, higher and higher! He’s flying!

“Ferny!!!” Benny shouts now, smiling. “You’re the most extreme of all of us!” Benny and I break into uncontrollable applause as we hear Ferny call down, “EXTREME BROTHERS!” He goes! Up and up until he breaks through the covering of the trees, leaving a winged fox shaped hole in his wake. Then he’s out of sight.

Benny and I still keep our gaze upward for a moment when he looks over at me and says, “So, about that carrion . . .”

●

We’ve been waiting for hours, or at least it feels like hours. How long does it take to get to the sun anyways?

“He’s sure been gone a while,” I say.

“Hmmhmm,” Benny agrees through a mighty yawn. “He really can be determined.”

“I guess so.” I ponder this. Maybe if I could only be more determined, I would be a raven by now . . . or at least more like a raven than a tanager. “Hey, Benny?”

“Hmm?” He’s picking carrion out of his teeth with a stick.

“Do you think I’m terribly boring?” I land on a low branch, making myself comfortable.

“Hmmm . . .” Benny ponders this. “I don’t know you too well. I think you’re weird. Weird is not usually boring, so I guess not. Why? Are you bored with yourself?”

It's a strange question. I think about the answer. “Yes,” I say after a moment.

“Why?” Benny lays onto his back and looks up at me. His hands are resting behind his head like he’s waiting for a story. I am good at telling stories, so it's a reasonable thing to want from me.

“Well,” I shrug. “Tanagers aren’t particularly foreboding. We’re not even terribly well known among the Aves community. We don’t have an interesting diet or behavioral pattern. There are no poets writing about tanagers. You and Ferny didn’t even notice me until I rescued you from Brusky.”

“You’re not foreboding,” Benny agrees. My heart sinks a little. I sort of hoped he’d argue the point. “You’re also not well-known, but doesn’t that make you rare? Rare things aren’t boring.” He's not wrong. But maybe I'm more irrelevant than rare. “Anyways, you’re the first Extreme Sister ever to exist. That’s not boring either. But,” he rolls onto his stomach, resting his chin in his palms, “its normal not to like yourself, so maybe that makes you boring, after all.”

I land in front of him. “Do you dislike yourself?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, waving his claw like it should be the most obvious thing. I feel a little bad hearing him say it. I like Benny a lot. Why would he dislike himself?

“Why?” I tilt my head.

“Because I’m stupid.”

“That’s true,” I say furrowing my brow. He nods, as though he made his point, but looks a little sad, so I keep talking. “But you’re nice.”

“Well, that’s very boring.” He rolls his eyes. I don’t agree. I like nice critters. I try to hang out with mostly nice critters.

“You’re also brave.” He thinks about this. “Would you rather be a coward?”

He bristles. “Of course not!”

“Well then . . .” I nod, having made my point.

“I don’t get it.” He moves to sitting on his bum.

I sigh. Of course he doesn't. “Well,” I clarify. “You usually have to be quite stupid to be brave. Smart people don’t try to cross tiny bridges over Sorry Stream. They don’t bother Brusky Bear, and they certainly don’t climb into untested sunapults.” My eyes light up. Benny is thinking! This is a rare moment, indeed. “You were first in line for all these things. You’re the bravest.” I smile and add, “And the dumbest.”

“Huh,” says Benny, looking up to the sky. “I never thought about it like that. It’s a shame one can’t be smart and brave.”

I give him a soft smile and slight nod. “That’s just not how reality works.” He nods, agreeing with me. He gets it. I really do have a way with words. Satisfied, I return my gaze to the sky. It's getting brighter. I hold my wing up, shading my eyes. “Benny,” I say. “Do you see that?”

He holds up a claw now, keeping the glare from his own eyes. “Uh-huh.” We look up, and both of our mouths drop open. Ferny is descending upon us like a little fox angel. His wings are flapping softly, as he pulls on the strings with his paws. He’s grinning, and there’s something shiny and brilliant bursting through the spaces of his teeth.

“Ferny!” Benny yells, waving his claws and smiling. We both separate, making room for Ferny to land between us. When his feet hit the ground, he bows deeply. We stare for a moment, completely stunned. Then we burst into applause. We’re cheering, hugging him, hugging each other. Ferny grins wider and wider, before he bends down and spits something onto the dirt floor of the Windswept Woods.

“Help me with this,” he asks, gesturing his head toward the wing machine. Benny untethers him before turning his gaze to the earth. Three bright yellow spheres glow against the dirt.

“Ferny,” Benny breathes. “Are those . . .”

“Pieces of the sun!” I finish.

“They sure are.” Ferny says, looking down at them almost lovingly. I can’t believe it. They’re the size of baseballs and absolutely beautiful. More beautiful than diamonds or gold.

I look to Ferny then to Benny. Benny and Ferny look at each other then back to me. In tandem we all yell, “EXTREME!”

“What do we do with them?” Benny asks.

“I don’t know.” Ferny admits. “I’m surprised I got this far.”

“We should make wishes.” I say after a moment of contemplation.

Ferny tilts his head. “Wishes?”

“Yes,” I say. “What else are you supposed to do with a little piece of a star?” Ferny shrugs, considering. “Besides, there are three pieces. One for each of us.”

“What do you think, Ben?” Ferny looks over at Benny.

“I could use a wish . . .” Benny muses.

“All right.” Ferny gives me my piece of the sun. Then he gives a piece to Benny. “We’ll make wishes then.” I pick up my piece of the sun. It’s warm and glowy in my talons. I swear I can feel just a little bit of magic soak into my feathers. We all pause, ready to make our wishes, when Benny stops us.

“Wait!” We pause and look at him expectantly. It’s a wonder the sun doesn’t burn us. I guess it's manageable in small pieces. “What if we made wishes for each other?”

Ferny narrows his gaze on Benny. “What do you mean, Ben?”

“We should make wishes for each other,” Benny says. “I’ll make a wish for you, Tali. Ferny, you make a wish for me. And Tali, you make your wish for Ferny. That way everyone gets a wish from a friend.”

“But,” I place my piece of the sun on the ground. It’s a bit heavy for my small body. Like I said, poets don’t focus on physical fitness. It wouldn't be an issue if I was a raven. I don’t know that I like Benny’s dumb idea. This might be my only chance to become a raven, and he’s taking it away from me. “Why?”

“Well,” Benny looks down at his piece of the sun. It casts a light shadow over his eyes, illuminating his snout gold. “I just think a wish could be more valuable if it comes from a friend.”

Something in Ferny’s face shifts, but I can’t quite place it. I think he’s thinking what I’m thinking. Benny, miracle of miracles, has a point.

“Hmm,” I say.

“Hmm,” Ferny echos.

“It was just a thought.” Benny is nervous now, like he’s afraid we’ll think it's a stupid suggestion. Now that he’s explained, I actually think it's the smartest suggestion Benny has ever made, so I say so.

“That’s a good idea, Benny.” I smile at him.

“It’s a great idea,” Ferny adds.

“Yeah?” Benny’s face is brighter than his piece of the sun now.

“Yeah,” Ferny nudges Benny with his head. “It’s settled then. We all know who gets our wish? Benny to Tali. Tali to me. Me to Benny.” Benny and I nod. “Then wish away.” Ferny closes his eyes and makes his wish. Benny and I do the same. When we’re done, we look at each other. Nothing has changed.

“Did it work?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Ferny admits. “Maybe it takes time.”

“Well,” Benny looks at the sky. It’s getting dark. “Maybe we should sleep on it,” he says through a stretch and a yawn.

“Yeah,” Ferny says, taking his piece of the sun in his mouth. “Maybe so. I’ll see you guys tomorrow?” He’s already walking in the direction of his den.

“Tomorrow,” I say, gripping my piece of the sun and flying toward my nest. I’m pretty far out of earshot, but I just hear Benny say, “Tomorrow.”

●

Tomorrow is here! I wake up as usual and take a quick peek at my piece of the sun. It kept me warm through the night. I’m starting to like my little piece of the sun. I even wonder how I ever got on without it. I yawn. Stretch. Then I fly to the Sorry Stream to wash my feathers. I dip my feet into the rushing white current, carefully, so I don’t get swept away. I’m washing my wings when I notice something in my reflection. My wings are quite a bright shade of red. I tilt my head. It’s bold. I turn, looking over my shoulder to get a better angle. Noteworthy. I lower my face to get a really close look. Dare I say, pretty. I had never noticed it before. I was too preoccupied with wanting to be a raven to appreciate it. I study myself in the stream. I’m . . . petite. A charming little bird with a delicate yellow beak. I tilt my head the other direction now. Why hadn’t I noticed before? I guess I wanted to be a raven so bad, I never appreciated how lovely I was as a tanager. It’s a little strange to be thinking this way, and for a moment, I think maybe I’m getting dementia. It would be just my luck. Hmm.

I fly to my usual hiding place where I like to spy on Ferny. He’s just waking up and pokes his pointed snoot out of his den. I can see him sniffing the morning air, taking in a new day. His entire head pops out now, looking around the forest with sunlight streaming through the leaves of the canopy. It smells earthy and clean today. He takes a deep breath, breathing it all in. Finally, he pulls himself out of the den, bushy tail and all. I assume he’s going to go press it down the same way he always does. I’m waiting for him to do so when . . . well hell fire satan ashes, fuck a duck and see what hatches. He doesn’t flatten his tail. He walks into the wood, tail lifted proudly. What is going on? I fly behind him, very stealthily.

“I can see you, Tali!” he calls from below. Damnit.

I fly down. “Good morning, Ferny.”

“Good morning,” he beams at me, tail swishing. “Let’s get Benny and see what extreme things we’ll get into today.” I fly behind. Benny’s den isn’t too far away. When we reach it, Ferny calls down. “Benny! Tali and I are here! Come out!” We wait a moment, but no one answers.

“Benny!” I call. “You in there, buddy?” No response. We look at each other first. Then around the forest. Where could he be?

“I’m not in there.” We stiffen. Benny’s voice comes from behind. We whip around and see him, leaning against a tree moodily. He’s chewing on a stick and has his arms crossed, almost menacingly. He’s wearing . . . sunglasses?

“Ben?” Ferny says, a little nervous. “You okay, pal?”

“Me?” he asks, swaggering over to us. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but Benny seems cooler, more confident somehow. “I’ve never been better. I’m cool.” He does a
somersault. “I’m confident.” He leaps up and stands in front of us. “And,” he wraps his arms around either one of us, “I’m street smart.”

“Street smart?” Ferny's face lights up. “You think you’re street smart?”

“I don’t think,” Benny points at himself with two claws, “I know.”

“Benny!” Ferny tackles him to the ground. “That was my wish for you! I wished that you could see how street smart you are, so you wouldn’t worry about how much of an idiot you are!”

“You did?” Benny’s eyes are wide. “It worked then? The wishes? Tali, do you like being a tanager.”

My mouth drops open. “I do! Ferny, do you like your tail?”

“Yes!”

We all start screaming and leaping, disturbing all the creatures of the forest, but we don’t care. We did it! We accomplished the most extreme challenge of them all: overcoming our self-hatred! Benny had the smartest idea in the world when he suggested we trade wishes. When our excitement dies down, we stare at each other, smiling and breathing heavily.

“So . . .” Benny says. “What’ll we do today?”

“I don’t know,” Ferny says with a shrug. “Tali, do you have any ideas?”

I tap my chin, mulling it over. “Extreme poetry contest?”

Benny furrows his brow. “What is extreme poetry?”

I open my mouth to explain, but Ferny beats me to it. “It’s poetry that makes you feel things. Big things! Things so huge that one may call it . . .” He looks between us wickedly before we all shout, “EXTREME!”

“We each get thirty minutes!” I say before racing to my next for paper and a pencil. Yes, of course birds use pencils and paper . . . speciesist.

As I’m flying to my nest I have a thought. Well, several thoughts, in fact. It's funny, when we make wishes for ourselves, it's always to change who or what we are into who or what we want to be. The thing is, I’m already what my friends want me to be, and they’re what I want them to be. I don’t think we saw anything we wanted to change about each other. I just wanted my friends to see themselves the way I see them. I think it’s a magical thing to see yourself through the eyes of someone who loves you. It’s kind of like a gift. It made my scarlet feathers supreme. Ferny’s tail fantastic. Benny’s brain brilliant! Maybe you should consider the wishes of the people who love you. They just might help you see things in a different light. I reach my nest and write my poem.

When I’m done writing, I return to our meeting spot. It only took me fifteen minutes to write because I’m a literary genius. I show my poem to Ferny and Benny and they show me theirs. It wasn’t even close. I won the extreme poetry contest by a landslide, and given the emotional depths of my poem, it's hardly a surprise. I’m sure you’re wondering what I wrote. I’ll tell you.

Oh, but first, I’m sure you’re also wondering what became of our pieces of the sun. As you know, I sleep next to mine. It keeps me warm, and reminds me that as a tanager, I’m beautiful. Benny keeps his piece of the sun under his pillow for the same reason. Only it helps him remember that not all intelligence is the same. Great minds think alike, I guess, and I think Benny has a great mind now that he’s embraced his street smarts. Ferny is a little different. He told me his piece of the sun is in his memory box. Given all of the extreme stunts Ferny has completed, I imagine he has lots of memories in there. I don’t know if it's just the piece of the sun in my nest, but I always feel a little warmer knowing that I’m a part of just one of the memories in there. Well, that’s the tale of Ferny Fox! I’ll leave you with my final poem, the one that won me the Extreme Poetry Contest. It's not written by a raven, but by a tanager, scarlett and supreme!

It is a special knowledge to be loved and seen.

It’s something sacred. It is like a dream.

We may long to change what we don’t like.

But ask a friend, and they’ll tell you right.

What you wish to change, is what makes you, you.

And you shouldn’t waste it. To yourself be true.

So, remember this, when you see a star, Tempted to wish from so very far.

I love you, Ferny, just as you are.