"A city," says the blue peacock. "A city and ... the hunters of mortals."

"Our city," the pink peacock says, because the memory is slowly coming to her. "It was the city we grew up. We were in the ghetto our house was in and it was empty and everything looked like something bad was gonna happen."

"Yes," says the blue peacock, even though he did not recognise the place, at all. "So, ah. We're a little on edge, darling."