Autumn has silenced the cicadas when silver meets gold."You're not a normal caiman."
He doesn't reply.
...
The pond water begins to chill; the caiman basks on a rock.
"I've never heard of a cold-headed caiman," the doe remarks in passing.
A growl rumbles.
...
The maple trees leaves have been shed.
No comment leaves the doe's mouth.
Concern ruffles through his body.
...
The air is frosted as the doe lies shivering; asleep.
The caiman shuffles onto land, feels the itch so like fleas as the specter of his stag form appears behind him.
"May your children be full of humor to lift your spirits," he whispers.
