The oddest thing, a pigeon dancing, that is. To be specific this one is dancing around Octus' s collection of Scandinavian forks. Something about the forks almost reminds him of something. Many such items are in his collection almost like a hoard of near memories. Octus stares at the pigeon contemplating it's demise. One must not after all dance on a mans' Scandinavian forks.

Octus has been waiting for a winged messenger for weeks, years, maybe centuries he can't be sure. Did Magnus always send pigeons? Surely not. Definitely a nefarious attempt of humor at Octus's expense. Drawing his 1911 pistol ever so slowly as not to give warning... The bird explodes in multiple directions each a ghostly trail of possibilities. Damnable flying devil rat is too unpredictable to shoot. A child's laughter filters into the tent and it's familiar...

Octus goes harrowing out of the ramshackle dwelling and spots the small grime smeared urchin who laughed. Just like that the chase is on. The child bolts at the sight of Octus and runs, howling gleefully, through the circus grounds. The circus is in full swing and the agile youngling is weaving across the crowds with ease. If not for his gift there would be no chance to catch up. Taking a deep breath Octus focuses on the path ahead and begins to weave his tapestry of movement. Gracefully spinning past a pair of young lovers kissing, bounding over the burrito cart, and tripping a pick pocket who spills his ill-gotten gains he pursues the child.

The foot race is inexorably leading him towards the ringleaders tent but no such thought occurs to Octus. He is gaining ground no amount of speed can out maneuver the implacable future. Reaching out his fingertips touch the collar of the youths raggedy shirt when... He cannot remember why he is doing this. Abrupt stop, directly behind the ringleaders tent, mayhap his old friend Magnus can tell him why?