Club and Fang | the old fear
Where is she? They were now whispering all around. Where is she?
Snorting, their breaths grew louder, warm bursts of mist whipped away in the wind. Nuzzling, a little one scoots closer to his mother — the smell of wet moss and frozen leaves must have been comforting. Somewhere ahead, everyone promised, somewhere ahead. Across the steppes where nothing but rotten bramble and soggy stalk mingled, across the meltwaters so rapid that there was no reflection. Somewhere ahead, father groaned and lifted his brow, his heavy sounds were drowned in the flurry so that the little one heard nothing.
Onward. They must not stay. Onward.
Under that moonlight, all was dim to his large shining eyes. This was the promise made to him when he stumbled and stumbled and stood in the setting light. From his murky memories, Mother had lain for a bit, panting; the rest of the company let loose a tight-drawn breath. He thought of soft nooks in the trees, and even a queer, feathered thing they called a bird. At this he tried to slow his companions, to stop, to watch the swirling drifts of snow. The torrents and layers made his little heart swell with something he could not describe. And the lights! Little lights gleamed in the folds of the storm, playful and darting, never in one place. No. The little one saw his mother’s heavy-lashed eye: wider than ever, trembling and strange. She twisted her head and nipped his tail. He yelped, and for the first time he felt pain but he did not know why. No. They must not stay.
Somewhere ahead, father stopped. He murmured something and soon they were all around him. Wild eyes, so frightening that he tried to turn away. Flanked and pinned, he struggled in the confusion.
Where is she? They were now whispering all around. Where is she?
The little one shook his head and pranced about. From every angle there was a tail, from every side a flank. Why did they shun him? He thought of everything he had seen and done and his little mind was so occupied that at present he was caught off guard and he stumbled in the slush and he sneezed.
At his delight, the little lights grew a little bit brighter.
Swept low to the ground, slinking through the deep dark, she left behind her a trail of prints that were soon blown over by the snow once more. She smelled him from under an old pine tree, his scent of fresh milk and river-stones. Now she heard him for the first time: that single ringing sound struck clear and welcome.
Her form was as quick and as brisk as night, roving about, just beyond the watchful eye but close enough so that only her eyes drifted and left trails of light in the storm, like little pendulums of a grand and terrible clock — the wild whirl of a primal overture.
The lights were now dancing to the trot of the wind, spiralling and quick. He danced with them — for they surely understood his loneliness. As if on cue the heaving walls of his company closed tighter — he felt suffocated. He could barely move. Enough, the little one thought, enough! Stooping beneath the legs of his wardens, he slid into the open storm.
And like a bride to a bridegroom, she came to him with a passionate kiss.
