The sky was a place of glory, safe beyond the reach of lesser creatures, with a commanding view across the land that made the land-bound mortals seem tiny and insignificant, while easily within his sight. From up here, Tezcahuitl felt he knew how the gods must see the world, and enjoyed the privilege of sharing in such a glorious perspective.

No wonder the land-bound mortals spent tremendous time and resources constructing higher and higher towers, craving as all men should the opportunity to share in the view of the gods, to emulate the privilege that Tezcahuitl enjoyed naturally.

No privilege would excuse carelessness. Tezcahuitl looped once, twice, three times around a tree before settling down on one of the branches. He was checking for tree snakes or other predators. Even as this he had curses to frighten them off, but he had no desire to risk the confrontation regardless. He may be gifted and favoured by the gods, but the jungle beasts did not know that.

There was someone on the road. Dressed in a hybridised manner that Tezcahuitl had come to despise. Those ragged leggings were more in the fashion of the foreign invaders, and the garment on his torso was vaguely womanish.

Perhaps not as imposing an ally as he had hoped, but certainly with the potential to be inconspicuous.

And by his side was an unfamiliar canine. They weren't natural here, but he knew the foreign invaders had brought something similar, creatures he had heard called the gothic schaferhunds. This one looked vaguely like them. A much different colouring, but a similar size, shape and build. He felt sorry for the poor creatures, coming to his land with all, that, fur.

Tezcahuitl swooped forward, expecting to be seen. Crimson plumage with contrasting yellow and blue wing and tail feathers did not make for the best camouflage. Again he swooped around a tree three times, before settling in sight of the stranger.

He held up a gold ingot in one talon and squawked in his avian throaty voice. “Hello! Where you going then?”

Hopefully the man would be polite enough to answer a parrot.

Since his exile, Tajaf kept the rising sun at his left, steadily made his way south. He figured that as long as he was to be an exile, he could at least make an attempt to escape the harsh winters of his home. Tales of lands the Gods had blessed with perpetual warmth had not escaped his ears. A small piece of paradise that had fell from the heavens some had speculated, responding that it must be small compared to the rest of paradise when ridiculed for calling vast lands small. But Tajaf knew better than to expect a life style fit for paradise just by going there, as others had come to believe.

On this particular day, Tajaf had woken up early and in a cold sweat. Nightmares re-enacting his exile had been plaguing his dreams since the day he left home, but none had been so vivid. Nor had they the disturbing alterations to the reality. In his dream he had been branded and stoned as he fled the village; in reality, the tribe elders had been kind enough to allow him a peaceful and quiet departure, even despite their insistence on exiling him.

As such, he had begun trudging south much earlier, as was apparent in the weariness with which he walked; dragging his steps and leaning into his staff. When Yotumbo came close, Tajaf would lean on the large wolf until he went off to chase after some scurrying rodent.

Tajaf had been lax on his discipline with Yotumbo, no longer seeing the need to keep the canine in line for shepherding duties. As such, the canine had begun to develop a much more playful attitude over their months of travel, further helped by Tajaf playing with him by throwing sticks from time to time. The result was a much more loving and loyal pet and it had helped Tajaf through the emotional turmoil of being exiled.

When the bird swooped before him, he stopped in his tracks, finding himself in awe of such a brilliantly coloured creature. Most animals he had ever come across exhibited boring shades of browns and greys. Sure, some animals exhibited exotic colours, but nothing like this. Tajaf frowned in doubt. Perhaps this creature was not one of nature but something magical. The tribe had been rather anti-magic, and Tajaf still carried those inhibitions with him.

And then it spoke to him. IT SPOKE. TO HIM! Eyes widened in fear. Why did it choose him? His lower jaw trembled slightly before his lips parted and he gave a response, his voice weak and shaky.

“What sort of witchcraft is this?”

Well, that was a suitable show of awe. The human spoke with due reverence as was appropriate when addressing one favoured by the gods. The macaw fluffed up its feathers and straightened in pride, causing its chest to swell and the bird to visibly increase in stature.

This made more of an impression than expected. Certainly, fear and wonder was a fitting response to being confronted by the magnificence of the Herald, but a proper demonstration of that magnificence had not come yet. According to his tremendous powers of observation, it appeared the human had been struck with amazement upon being spoken to by the Herald, as though that alone was the cause of such marvelling.

Was that it? The stranger had a point about witchcraft, since the Herald was a Nahual, but nothing he had done so far was magic. All he had done was ask a simple question, why should a simple question from a parrot produce such shock?

The bird shook its head from side to side slightly, making tutting noises within its beak. “Tut-tut-tut. How far you have strayed from the source, you poor man. I need no witchcraft to speak with you. What have the foreign invaders done to you?” That last part was said sadly, the voice going softer at the end, the large bird deflating back to its original size.

Such ignorance was a tragedy to be mourned. This man, with the blood of these lands flowing through his veins, had never seen a talking bird. It was offensive how few of the true ways the locals were being taught. Some of them had brought it upon themselves for allying with the outlanders and rejecting their birthrights, but in doing so condemned their children to similar ignorance and folly.

It was offensive. Very offensive. The Herald would ensure retribution was carried out.

And this one could help with that.

Now the splendid macaw swelled up larger again like a bellows filling with air, this time slightly larger than before. As tragic as this one's ignorance was, he showed the proper reverence, which meant he might be open to more guidance. If he could make this one great and strong, maybe the others could see what had been taken away from them by this pact with the outsiders and would return back into the fold. And he would see that this one was amply rewarded. And he could start towards this now.

A small nugget of gold was tossed forward from one claw, to land in a clear spot of road near the stranger's feet. It was a flat gold bar with round edges, roughly the size of a human thumb. “This will be worth something where you are now. The outlanders suffer a sickness of the heart that can be cured only with gold. Choose wisely and they will give much to possess it. Be wary though, for many of them will seek to steal it from you.”

Now would be a dramatic moment for the avian messenger to fly off, but the Herald wasn't done, so he flew up to another branch higher up instead and waited to continue the conversation from there.

Tajaf’s hand tightened around his staff as the odd bird appeared to inflate in size, his entire body becoming visibly tense. He wasn’t sure what to expect at all. Was this more magic? Was the creature getting ready to obliterate him with some sort of spell?

Then the parrot began speaking again, and Tajaf took a startled two steps back, half-expecting a fireball to come from that beak. But, no; there was no sorcery being performed beyond the fact that this bird could speak. Maybe this sorcery ran deeper. Maybe it was trying to put him under a trance with its words. Tajaf’s paranoia of magic was hardwired and ran deep. And now it was insulting him!

“I have nothing to do with those pasty scum!” he retorted, his hate for the foreigners overcoming his fear of the present situation. He had revealed another hatred that had been instilled in him from an early age. His tone communicated shock and outrage that the parrot could suggest such a disdainful thing as associating himself with the white men.

But then, maybe this was just a simple animal. Sure, he had heard of parrots before, with their mimicry and mockery of language. But he thought they were only capable of just that: mimicry and mockery. This creature spoke with a sentient intelligence; unless it had been trained extremely well. Eyes scanned the environment, looking for the parrot’s owner. Of course…there were the legends…but the last conclusion he was willing to come to was that he had stumbled across such a one. That would just be arrogant.

His search was cut short as his attention was brought back to the parrot throwing shiny projectiles at him, causing him to take another step back and glare at the parrot. Then he looked down and saw what it was. Yes, he knew well enough the simple-mindedness of the foreigners and their infatuation with shiny things. He stooped to pick up the gold nugget and pocketed it. He presently looked at the parrot with an arched brow. No doubt the gold would come in handy, but he didn’t understand.

He was beginning to feel like forces beyond his control were at work here, and he was about to get swept away by their current. Questions were beginning to accumulate in his mind, but presently he asked the one that stuck out the most. “Why do you assist me?”

Just then, Yotumbo came out from some brush, returning from chasing a rodent or something. The wolf approached the tree the parrot sat on, sniffed, raised a leg and marked his territory. Tajaf went wide eyed. How would the parrot respond to such desecration of its perch?

So far they appeared to be making progress. Which may or may not have been a good thing. They were getting closer to the matter at talon, most notably bringing down the foreign invaders, but progress would risk the stranger getting past his awe, and costing the Herald valuable influence over his first potential ally in his glorious cause.

Time to fix that then. The stranger clearly did not take his gift in stride, nor the misbehaviour of his animal. Time to be straightforward, and reserve his subtlety for the downfall of his enemies.

“I am the Herald.” the parrot squawked out, “I bring word from the gods.”

A suitable announcement. Reasonably true. One that no sensible man would ignore. Given that the stranger was impressed by a talking bird, or at least such an eloquent one as the Herald, Tezcahuitl surmised that the stranger would deeply value a message from the gods. Of course, Tezcahuitl would not share the message word for word, the details of the visions themselves were his privilege, but he could convey the gods will easily enough.

From up on his perch, the parrot stretched out his wings, like a man raising his hands to deliver a speech to an audience. Which was exactly what he was doing. “The pasty scum you speak of draw the people here away from the Source! They stifle away these people's heritage! Their meaning! These invaders isolate the people from the gods! It! Must! End!” Shrieked out the parrot with force.

Slowly he folded his wings down again, as though drawing back his composure. Really, he had never lost it, but it helped to create a lull after such a denouncement. Then the parrot drew itself up again and pointed a colourful wing towards the stranger.

“You have been drawn across my path for a reason. You can help them find their way back to the Source. You can help bring them back to the gods! Join me in this, and the rewards shall be great. Power is the least I can offer. In time, I will impart the blessings of the gods on you.”

Now he chose to respond to the canine. The beast urinating at the base of his tree would have mattered more if the Herald was not so high up. Now it was merely convenient. The grass under the tree began to grow at the pets paws. Before their very eyes.