Although Stephen the Stephens Island wren did have a return story in my book Deader Than a Dodo, his presonal Lazarus Tale is yet to be written. Here is an excerpt of what Stephen had to say in my story, Deader Than a Dodo. The tiny voice, referred to earlier as Stephen spoke, not from his extinctional position after Captain Strong, but from somewhere above the giant moa spoke, “I am the Stephens Island Wren and as Eldey stated earlier my chosen name is Stephen. The Stephens Island wrens once flourished around the island known as Stephens island for a long time before the people came. Like many others here, our downfall was not being able to fly and living on a small island. The people built a lighthouse to keep their boats from running ashore. We were excited at first and very curious about the lighthouse which opened on January 29, 1894. David Lyall was the lighthouse keeper on the island and seemed nice enough, but he was lonely. He brought a cat which he called Tibbles to keep him company. Tibbles ran amuck, killing my kind indiscriminately. That is why I have a slight case of ailurophobia, which is a fancy word meaning I have a fear of cats. I mean no offense, but I agreed to join this mission as long as no cat species would be joining our quest.” Stephen explained. A few of the animals looked further down the line at the Tasmanian tiger, but she simply smirked. Before he could finish sharing I blurted out, “But why are you above Moana during our meeting tonight? I can’t even see you up there.” Many in the group scowled at my rude outburst. I swallowed hard, realizing I may have inadvertently offended a member of this extinction group. I saw a flash of movement up on Moana’s back and a scurrying brownish, yellow figure moving along the moa’s back. Moments later Stephen emerged from behind Moana’s massive leg and stood upon the giant moa’s toe. The wren was brown in color with golden splotches from head to stumpy tail. “The Tasmanian ‘tiger’,” Stephen said air quoting, “is more of a dog mixed with a kangaroo, so I don’t count her as a cat. I’m not scared of tiger lillies either in case you’re wondering…” Stephen joked, ignoring my rudeness. His wings blended in with his speckled body and could only be seen only when Stephen fluffed his feathers before continuing, “Being from the New Zealand area myself, I have a regional friendship with Moana. Plus I feel more comfortable having a big friend to keep me safe from any felines I might come across. I’m definitely still fearful, but Moana gives me the confidence to try to help out with this mission. It’s kind of a symbiotic relationship if you will. I help her communicate more clearly, and she ensures my safety. Although I trust Strong,” Stephen said looking over to the previously introduced Falkland Island wolf, “and Benjamin who you’ll meet soon, I still have trouble trusting predators, especially when we return to our homelands. Here in the Garden, we’re all vegetarians you know, but back there it’s not that way. Better safe than sorry when you’re so small. Don’t you think so?” Stephen said, smiling at me. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll climb back up there,” the little bird stated, pointing his tiny beak up to the massive bird’s back, “Oh I almost forgot. My kind went extinct February 5, 1895, just one year after Tibbles arrived on Stephens Island.” Stephen disappeared and nestled into the thick fur-like feathers around Moana’s neck. Next in line was Martha, who I had met several times in the short time I had been here in the Garden.