The squirrel and the falcon stood in front of a set of tall, iron gates.
“This is how you’ll fix my wing?” Griffith asked, starting to feel less inclined to believe Oswald.
The squirrel grinned. “Well, I wont, but the people inside will.”
“People?” Griffith was definitely not doing this. He had heard stories about people who were cruel to animals and intentionally killed them for fun. And after seeing the pack of dogs just hours before, he had no intention of wearing a leash or being made into a pet. “This was a bad idea. I can’t go in there.”
Oswald was becoming frustrated. “They’re good people in there. They help animals. They have doctors and smart people who know about us and can heal us.”
“How? How would they fix my wing?” Griffith held his left pinions up and counted the missing feathers.
“I don’t know, but they will. Just follow me, will ya?” The squirrel moved forward and ducked beneath the railings. Griffith, after another uncomfortable shuffle, went through the tall fence and hopped hesitantly after Oswald.
It was an enormous park, far, far bigger than Oswald’s, with well-groomed trees lining paths, streetlamps shining brightly on fences and benches and friendly buildings. Signs with pictures of animals Griffith had never seen before were everywhere, and suddenly he realized that the strange smell bombarding his senses was from multiple creatures all living close together. As they went, he listened to the foreign breaths of sleeping herbivores and faint snarls of huge cats.
They stopped at a building connected to a huge glass structure, which Griffith could see was filled with lush foliage and dimly lit with warm, yellow light. Nesting among the leaves were birds from every species, color, and size. Griffith gasped.
“This is incredible! Where are we?” His eyes were wide and he was shaking with excitement.
Oswald smiled. “It’s called a ‘zoosk’. This is where animals can come for help. I was here once with a broken foot, and a week later I was walking fine. I know that if anyone can help you, the people here can.”
After seeing the glass house filled with birds, Griffith was starting to feel better. He was still scared, but he knew that taking a risk was the only way he’d ever fly. “Okay. I’ll try it.” He looked around for an entrance. “How do I get inside?” he asked the squirrel.
“They’ll take you in if they see you. You should wait outside the door for morning. That’s when the people arrive.” Oswald grinned. “I’ll stick around until then.”
Griffith spread his wings and patted the squirrel on the back. “Thank you for bringing me here.” The falcon choked slightly on his words. “I’m thankful for your help, Oswald.”
“You got it, buddy.” The squirrel stretched and yawned. “When they show up, make your wing stick out awkwardly and look all pitiful. They eat it up. Now I’m going to take a nap.”
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