Reparations

Tiramisu was sulking. He would deny it until his final breath if pressed but he was truly in a sulky mood, dragging his feet along behind his packmates. He had little sway in the group when the girls agreed on something, and he really had no choice but to cave to democracy and follow them. The last time he had tried to strike out on his own he got bullied by an older raptor and his prey had slipped easily from his claws. Ignoring the fact entirely that his ‘prey’ was several feet taller than him, it was entirely that weird Utahraptor’s fault.

“Stop sulking,” Thistle scolded.

“I’m not!” Tiramisu protested. He kicked a pebble as he walked by. He wasn’t sulking, how dare she?

“Misu, don’t be a sour puss,” Foxglove joined in, “If this doesn’t work out we can try your way, all three of us this time.” He hated the sweet way she cajoled him into feeling better, she always acted like an adult despite being the same age as him. He hated that it worked. He looked down at the pomegranate in his claws and frowned again. The girls had convinced him to try bribing the Oviraptors with the nicest fruit they could find after his attempt at intimidation had failed. Tiramisu wasn't convinced, if that scary raptor couldn't make an Ovi talk then what chance did a fruit basket have? He also wasn't convinced about fruit as a gift in general, being an obligate carnivore meant he'd never felt the urge to try it. He wouldn't try this one either, he couldn't imagine that a massive chunk missing would make this fruit any more tempting. Thistle had been confident about it though, telling both him and Foxglove that anything that ate plants loved fruit as a treat. Thistle was great at being confident about things she didn't know anything about, Tiramisu had learned to not rely too heavily on her word alone.

"Look! There's one!" Thistle called. She tucked her wingful of food close to her chest and took off running. The others followed closely behind and three feathery tails bobbed through the long grass towards their target.  

He was a tall, adult Oviraptor, a soft brown colour that contrasted with the sharp quills that jutted from his back. The quills had bright green tips that made him stand out from the parched grass of the savanna, their colour contrasting greatly against the brittle yellow stalks around him. He lacked the warpaint of other Oviraptors but the dark brown patches and stripes over his face and crest mimicked them well enough without being too flashy. The pupil in his bright yellow eye constricted sharply as he saw three tracks speed towards him through the grass. Whatever it was, it was small enough to hide fully in the grass and only made its presence known through the strands bending around them. The Oviraptor took off towards a shorter clearing of grass, not wanting to be assailed by unseen enemies using their surroundings for an ambush. As he ran out of the tall grass, the pursuit didn't stop. Instead, three small Utahraptors barrelled out of the long grass towards him. The sight of the three, two a muted purple and one a striped brown, made him stop in his tracks. They were hatchlings, babies, and they each had a fruit grasped in their little claws. They skidded to a stop in front of him and the darkest purple one looked up at him with her huge eyes.

"HI! We have fruit for you!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

"My there certainly is a lot of you," the Oviraptor said nervously.

"We're a pack!" Foxglove informed him happily, "I'm Foxglove, this is Thistle and this is Tiramisu!" The Oviraptor had the presence of mind to greet them with a nod each. Something in his countenance softened as he looked down at three chicken-sized hatchlings out on their own. Something about it reminded him of a hypothetical childhood, where he had to fend for himself or in a group instead of being cared for, or even the thought of his own future chicks being left in such a predicament.

"I'm Larry, a pleasure to meet you," he greeted in turn, "So, what brings you three to this neck of the woods?" he asked. Thistle puffed up her feathers, clearly making herself the representative for her little pack.

"We brought you some fruit, Oviraptors are always moving and we never see you guys eat," she explained. She handed the orange in her claws to Larry and stepped back again, tilting her head back to make eye contact. "Well, we think we always see you guys moving. You're pretty new around here y'know?" she said, as if Larry himself wouldn't know how new Oviraptors were to the island.

"I'm aware," he said patiently. "Thank you for this, these islands seem to be such a strange mix of aggression and kindness, from herbivores and carnivores alike," he pondered.

"That's just life, isn't it?" Thistle asked, tilting her head to the side, "Some people are jerks, some are nice. You just have to figure out who's who." Larry smiled at her childish innocence, feeling a sudden wave of parental fondness for these poor things. The pinker Utahraptor stepped forward to give him a soft, fuzzy peach and her sharp eyes watched him tuck it into his pouch.

"What's in there?" Foxglove asked bluntly. Larry clutched the pouch instinctively, which made the little raptor narrow her eyes even more. "It's not nice to keep a secret," she reprimanded. She marched up to his side and tried to stand on her tip toes to peek into the bag. The other two crowded around as well, all trying to look inside while Larry held his bag over their bobbing heads. Foxglove fluttered her arm feathers as she jumped up, just out of reach of the bag.

“Why won’t any of you show us?” Tiramisu finally snapped in frustration. He threw the pomegranate on the door and watched its red pearl-like guts spill across the dirt.

“Misu! That’s rude!” Foxglove chirped.

“He’s being rude!” Tiramisu argued, “Why’s every one of these guys so mean about their pouches? What are they doing with all these seeds? What’s wrong with the plants they’re growing?” Larry tried to interrupt but the three hatchlings were in a full-blown argument now, tackling each other and yelling loudly. He sighed and looked to the sky. He was supposed to be meeting the others by sunset but he couldn’t leave these helpless babies to hold a deathmatch in the middle of the savanna. 

“Children!” He called, clapping his clawed hands together, “How about I show you what we do with the plants? Would that make you feel better?” Three sets of glittering raptor eyes turned to him and he had the sudden sinking feeling of regret as they looked expectantly at him. “Um, right. Follow me, then, I’ll tell you once we find the others.” The hatchlings fell into a single file line behind him like a row of ducklings and waited for him to start walking. With a healthy dose of trepidation, Larry began to make for the meeting point under the arch.