Edgar did not say anything. Then, after the pause, he said "Damn." He turned his head to the side, and a ball of flames gathered at the tip. With a flick of hi beak, the flames shot forward and struck the Soul Eater in the chest.

The Soul Eater tumbled back, the spot in the center of his chest still smouldering. However, he seemed to have a pecuilar durability, and survived, albeit weakened, and a fair bit slower.
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Ryan paused. "Well," He began. "Soul Eaters feed on two things. Obviously, the Soul of the victim. The name would be rubbish if they didn't. But they are not wasteful, and feed on the rest as well."

"When a Soul Eater opens it's mouth, it immediatly attempts to clamp it over the face of it's victim. Now, they have terribly bad breath, so it may seem like their trying to kill you with that. But it they suceed, they proceed to remove the victim's face. Rather inelegantly, I'm afraid. But that's not the half of it. Anyone killed by a Soul Eater cannot be claimed by Death, because the do not truely die. Instead, they are trapped, until the Soul Eater finishes slowly feeding off the soul and body."

Ryan looked at all of them. "Now, is that pleasant?" He said sarcastically.

If Edgar had been capable of displaying a true expression, it would've been one of anger. But instead, he ruffled his feathers irritably and croaked. It was infuriating, not being able to tell the man off. But one thing Edgar prided himself in was common sense, something that he perceived Ryan as not having much of.

It was why, then, that when Edgar heard the faint footsteps of a new intruder, he was on guard. He didn't care about the mortal, especially with the nevermore remark, but he certainly cared about himself.

He stared angrily at the nearby entrance for the parking garage. It was shrouded in shadow, but not impossible to see.

From the darkness, a fat man emerged. He was wearing a Pizza Hut jacket, a grey shirt, and grey pants. He had nametag, which was askew, that said 'Hello, my name is Joe'. There was also what was definantly not pizza sauce, but was certainly red, stained on his mouth and shirt.

He started walking with determination, towards Edgar, Daigoro, and the mortal.
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"I certainly hope not." Said Ryan. "Seeing as you've touched it multiple times."

Ryan looked around at the assembled cops and detectives, and continued.

"You'll need to be on guard at all times, Soul Eaters look human until they open their mouths. Generally, there will be some bloodstains somewhere on them." Ryan leaned back against the shut racks of corpses.

"However, they don't talk, and are usually terribly stupid."

I was one who wanted to see Jack Thompson getting mobbed. I hate him so much.

"Well... whatever a 'bridge' is," Said Thistle, still not entirly sure what Basil meant. "It's going to help us get across. Basil said men made it, so we probably shouldn't spend too much time... Basil? How exactly do we cross it?"

Before the Hare could answer, Thistle added. "Nevermind. I don't think that we would understand. But I think that we'd understand if we saw it. Lead the way, Basil."

Thistle hopped further down the river, trying to see if there was any possible way to cross it. Seeing none, he sat back, and looked around. He hadn't seen Basil yet. He figured, if anyone knew how to cross this, it would be him.

"Basil?" He called. "Basil?"

Thistle realized that, despite most of the rabbits' willingness to accept him as chief, he wasn't much of a use here. If he was to be chief, he should risks before the others have to.

"I'm going with Basil. Soapwort, you stand watch. I want to judge this water myself, before anyone else has to face it." With that, Thistle followed the path that Basil had taken.

As Mayberry started to cower on the ground, Thistle became worried. Her mumbling was frightening the others, and that was a major risk.

"Mayberry?" Thistle questioned, nervously. "Mayberry!" He nudged her side. Her cowering and muttering had caused Walnut to shrink back in fear.

Then, Thistle remembered when Mayberry had muttered in a similer manner. When she'd been asleep, under the brush by the wood.

But there wasn't time to puzzle over that now.

Thinking quickly, Thistle said "Mayberry, you're an Owsla officer! You shouldn't be frightened of some water!"

"It's my foot." Walnut said, in his nervous tone. "It doesn't hurt really bad... but it's starting to ache again."

Thistle paused. 'Could that be...?' He thought. He had heard something a short way away. But it was not the foreboding, slight rustling from the wheelbarrow.

It was the sound of running water.

Thistle surveyed the rabbits one more time, and started to move on. Walnut was close behind him, not at all willing to be stuck near the back. Most of the other rabbits fell into line rather uneasily.

"Yes. Get the others together. We're going to use Mayberry's idea of moving in a line." Thistle replied at last. "It does seem like the safest option." Without another word, he hopped over to Walnut, to get him moving.

Most of the Rabbits had passed into the slower, picky state of feeding that proceeded the hasty, hungry feeding that occured earlier. It would not be too hard to get them moving.