Using the same trick, three intelligent beasts pushed through the fifth ring of flames, followed by a quarter of the remaining horde.
Except for the parrots, the other birds retreated to the mountain, settling on the thick branches of the great tree. They cast lingering glances at the mockingbird, anticipation hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Woodie, no longer as enthusiastic, busied herself with her ever-growing magical tree, its branches twisting and pulsing with latent power. Bubble, sharp-eyed and ruthless, silenced any restless murmurs with a single, cold glare. Blackie, unnervingly calm after his first blood-soaked battle, remained perched in quiet contemplation, his dark feathers glistening under the fading light.
John, the mockingbird, shook out his wings and let out a crisp chirp, his tone carrying absolute authority.
"Parrot Hall, burn all the paths in the fifth ring of bonfire."