We're coming to the end, the peak is in sight.

Avians again, an obsession of late, right?

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Aviis was a cynical bird, solitary and reclusive. He trusted hardly any of his fellow avians, and disliked all other species besides. Those poor souls that were in his 'favor' had to endure his almost constant criticism of the world and all those in it. His countenance did justice to his personality, his beak was long and sharp as a cutlass, his tongue likewise in property by its keen ability to lacerate those who met his verbal disdain. Though a mere look could accomplish that just as effectively. His eyes seemed to keep a perpetual icy gaze, all that met them were filled with unease, though those few who dared look deeper could sense the hopelessness that really filled his imprisoned heart. They dared not help him.

A cold winter evening found Aviis in a snowy old world village called Scarlettville, searching for a place to sleep, he skirted offers by jovial tavern owners and the few sympathetic families who'd seen him trudging down the street. They called out to him, offering food and fire. A plump, rosy-cheeked feline woman actually bounced out her door and to the curb, donning a bonnet and tying a scarf around her neck. She waved enthusiastically and shouted through the roaring snowstorm. He didn't answer.

"Poor dear," the woman said sadly as she re-entered her cozy cottage. Aviis never looked back. He kept as cold as the weather and continued on, away from the light and warmth of the cozy cottages in the center of town. He walked nearly to the edge of the village. Here there were only a smattering of ramshackle houses, their glows dimmer yet no less welcoming. At the end of a dark and dismal street he obviously found appealing, he came upon what seemed an abandoned house. All the windows were dark and several were boarded up, the number '82' was set in tarnished black steel above the doorframe. Empty flowerpots littered the porch. With a disdainful look up the deserted cobblestone street to check if he were alone, Aviis shuffled up to the the building's door. It was made of wood, the paint was scratched and heavily peeling, though a floral pattern was just visible in the semi-darkness. There was an askew doorknocker made of old brass and cast in apparent likeness of some trumpet-shaped flower. He placed a hand on the doorknob and gave it an experimental squeeze, the door opened easily and silently. It seemed the last owners whoever they were and for whatever reason had left the door unlocked.

He pushed the door open with a quiet creak, gave the empty street one last shifty look and slipped inside.

(to be continued in the next part)
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This one has 3 parts actually- 2 of the sequence and then a third of aftermath.

Part 1
Part 2: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/3288870
Part 3: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/3288892/