Beneath Ceaseless Skies 005 by Scott H. Andrews

Author:Scott H. Andrews [Andrews, Scott H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Periodicals:Fantasy
Publisher: Beneath Ceaseless Skies Online Magazine
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Sing praise to Life-giver, endure through her race,

We live by her running, we live by her grace.”

A puddle song, by the gods. I hissed in rage.

“Peace, peace,” he said, as if to comfort a whimpering wog. “Look, what is the real problem here?” He was so reasonable.

I knew the problem. Prowl is my brother; we could not mate. Oh, he would try, if he saw me. Try in a lust-driven state that stripped him of reason. I had already changed enough that he would not recognize me; he would only see a female. Yes, he would try and, if he caught me, I must gut him. I had brought him up, trained him. For his sake, I needed to escape.

He peered into the darkness, shifted, tried to spot me. I waited a beat and rushed him, hit him hard and knocked him into the water. He went under and I scrambled up the bank and raced for the trees. Faster than he could see, I scaled bark and disappeared against the trunk, just a lichen-spotted knot on the shady side of a taubaugh tree.

Prowl searched. The others found him and joined in. I hugged the trunk and watched them, my pack, in frenzied search below, and I longed for them. They were more than meat to me, they were my companions, and I missed them. Worse still was knowing they would not welcome me, not as brother. They were no longer my pack.

Prowl and Dare fought twice—quick, vicious tussles that decided nothing. They gave up the search during mid-day’s heat and wandered upstream. I wondered if they would remember the hunt and stay together, or drift apart to live their lives separate from one another, as our kind did.

The air hung hot and still through the afternoon. My toes stuck together when I tried to spread them. I needed water, but dared not go where others might see me until dark.

At last, the sun set. I eased down the tree, throat too dry to swallow. My spurs were long enough now to be useful. I hated this sneaking female weakness, waiting ‘til dark to move. I longed to roar from the branches again, to throw litter from the forest floor and bellow challenge to any who heard me.

Hiding instead, first motionless, then moving slowly, I reached the water’s edge and sank into a pool with only my nostrils clear. Water plumped my skin. I caught a dragonfly, sifted out small meat from silver wings, and wished for big meat with my pack feasting in victory. Never, never more.

I thought of empty silent sitting by some puddle full of eggs every evening, waiting. Small meat. Defending wogs while their legs grew strong, and their gills shriveled, and they walked away. Small meat. The sometimes praise, the sometimes race, the sometimes reverence given, all small meat.

Night voices rose. I lifted up and threw mine into the chorus, and I didn’t know my own sound, so thin and weak. I tried again, full belly and cheek.

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