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You found your train of thought derailed by images of an ideal future.
You found yourself dreaming of entire cities of earth's creatures, free of the modern day's contempt for their wellbeing, with visiting children asking excitedly how an eagle could fly or a salmon could swim. You saw entire councils of naturalists dreaming up complex habitats and programs tailored solely to the animal they centered around-- luxurious mock-habitats where those residing in the zoo were content to hunt, sleep, and live however they would in the wild, with more and more people of the world being able to learn about their many intricacies through naught but a short visit.
And during those visits... you saw various neofauna accompanying even the smallest of children. They were companions that would always be by their sides: they would play with them, teach them how to cooperate, and show humanity how to keep themselves safe. You saw one of Mary's kin following a little girl in a short dress. One of the ferocious eagle chicks was now so tame that it could sit upon a small boy's head with little issue, while Steele's mole would be marveling at its earthly relative from a distance. Each and every one had its own special name, deemed internationally to be its moniker: the name Khrysómallon would become universal, such titles as Vultegens Silensenus taking on new life among non-naturalists as colloquial nicknames; perhaps Vultes? Silens? Or even something as simple as "darker fox"...
It was hard not to get lost in such a wonderful daydream. A dumb smile on your face seemed to be the only thing you could feel back on Earth... until a ticklish crawling motion interrupted your dreaming.
It was coming from your hand...?
You blinked yourself awake and watched as an enormous bug, about the length of your entire palm and about as wide as half of it, quietly inched across your hand and began crawling atop the pained eagle.
Mary moved to object, trying to station herself between the bug and the eagle, but by the time the bug had reached the eagle's wing it was too late for the sheep to do much about it. Florian, meanwhile, seemed delighted by its appearance. You speculated that it might have something to do with the leafy collar that the bug wore...
...
"...Buchanan? Is that..."
Steele shook his head. "No, it can't be. Surely not!"
You were in no position to answer. Your mouth was too busy hanging itself open, after all.
The bug continued spinning a <span class="mu-s">silk</span> cast across the dying bird's wing.
