The Tree Pirates

"It's as if she were bleeding her last."

"I prefer to think she is crying." The Lizard corrected, as we both looked at the stump, siphoning groundwater to the surface. I did not offer an argument, sensing Lizard's loss.

What the storm had started, the motley troupe of tree pirates had finished off. Regardless if their fervor was based in euthanasia, or entrepreneurial motives, they made quick work of the laced bark.

Sunshine now took collateral damage on the ferns that had once sheltered beneath a majestic canopy.

Two Flags, Red and Black

CGC Phoebe stood at her post as daybreak filled the darkened room. I sipped the tea Lizard had made for me after she had awoken from a deep sleep.

The cyclone had given us a rough ride, but The Bishop had labored long, directing our efforts in preparation these last few days to fortify our dwelling. He had stood watch overnight, shoring up the defenses where necessary.

He looked tired, and I was surprised when he said, "We'll have our work cut out, clearing debris, once the gale subsides."

I nodded, and asked, "What do you think the worst part of last night's experience was? The high winds rocking our quarters? Or perhaps the rain seeping through unseen cracks?"

"Well, if I were to be pressed," The Bishop answered, his eyebrow raised knowingly in my direction, "I'd have to say The Lizard's snoring."