Water rains from his body in rivulets as he becomes himself once more. The surface of this pond nearly touches his stomach as he stands, content and unafraid. He has grown; that which he had once feared—murky depths hiding the reptile which had plagued him since he dreamt safe within his sac—is now home. There is comfort and acceptance as he spies his caiman brethren and crocodile cousins. Between them there is respect, now, as he sees in them what he knows is within himself: hot pulses of instinct, sharp protective teeth, tough scaled leather skin. Peace reigns between them.
“You’re so far… Where have you gone… Why have you left me…”
As Wolf Parade’s voice fills his ears, the water begins to feel heavy. Pin pricks of pain lance into his limbs with a sting that makes him grit his teeth to keep from screaming out. Beneath him, the firm bottom disappears and he feels a foreign grip begin to pull on his hooves. He forces himself to move, struggling to get to the solid ground that sings from under a tree that seems to shoot clear up to the sun.
“Are you coming soon… We miss you… Please, it’s important…”
Bitter Heartbeat fights through the mud that clings to his fur until he collapses in the shade. Behind him the lakebed dries up as the instinct of danger wells within. It is like being struck by lightning and he knows, a clench deep within his heart, that it is not he who is in trouble. Wolf Parade, their children, their children’s children—his lineage, his family, needs him. And yet he knows not where they are, though, he hears his heart’s voice calling, pleading, for him.
“It’s too late… I hope you can live without a heart… Good-bye…”
A guttural cry of rage erupts as the strength of her voice diminishes. He forces himself to his feet and throws himself towards the sound of weeping that falls like rain. There is nothing but the ragged breathing of his exhausted body as he runs, runs as if the very existence of the swamp depends on his speed. The world around him blurs and he holds onto the timber of his love’s voice. He cannot live without a heart, his heart, Wolf Parade. He refuses a life that can continue without her, without their children who have populated the world with children that do not wilt for having him in their blood. He will not let them be harmed.
The stag crashes through a wall of underbrush, adrenaline pumping his system into overdrive. As he skids to a stop, the heart within his chest pounds and he struggles to breathe. He expects there to be an enemy, some dangerous animal that has chosen his love for its meal. Or a creature that has sunk its fangs into them and demands to follow the blood trail to his relations. Except there is no such thing that stands before him. Instead there is his family, all of them—some he knows by name, others he has yet to meet—together in a pile of slumber. He doesn’t know whether to laugh—they’re okay, they’re safe—or sobscreamsleep—they’re okay, they’re safe. Confusion falls down upon him like a cobweb and strangles his senses until he feels that he can barely stand.
He crawls towards his family but his energy is low and he has to settle for just being able to see them. It’s as he lies there that he starts to put a word to the feeling that had so consumed him earlier. It’s not a fear of their deaths. It isn’t even a fear so much as a wriggling curiosity. Independence and confidence has widened his world. And there are moments when he looks at them and wonders if he has grown apart.
There are times when he has been tangled up in their sleeping pile but only as a stag. He is a caiman and while he is welcome, the form puts a distance between them. It is not exclusion, it is more subtle. In water, his caiman body is fluid and quick where his family is more languid; on land, they flourish in a way that hinders him. It’s slight, a timid heaviness upon his limbs that makes walking on land a bit more tedious. And he feels that piece of his soul, inharmonious, ring sharp. He lets himself believe.
He is small, still, as his body morphs. No hooves, no webbed toes, but there are slight individual digits. Claws rake into the ground as a dense coat of fur springs from his flesh. He shakes himself, feels the weight of his body shift. A rumbling growl escapes his maw and he rears up, excited, before rushing towards his family. He burrows into the pile, a soft ball of fur, and finally feels at home.
A warmth flashes through his body, the pieces of his soul melding into something complete, as he lies there; included. There are familiar instincts that twitch in his gums and tingle at the base of his claws, the desire to protect rings fierce as ever as does the solid loyalty to Wolf Parade. He doesn’t believe in life mates exactly but she is a part of him, he will always return to her and love her. There is enough love and kindness in his life for many but there is only ever one heart. He revels, content, until the urge to explore, expand takes over.
He wriggles out of the pile of kin and makes his way towards a copse of trees. As he stands beneath them he notices a trail—the dry dirt has given way to dense damp sand—of paw prints that lead forward. With a lightness and precision that belies his bulky frame, he follows the tracks and finds that his own paws melt into the marks left behind. They are the same now and he begins to pull in quick breaths through his nose. A scent—vague in the way it scratches at his memory—fills his nostrils. It’s woodsy and warm, safe yet powerful. And it is high, he thinks, as he comes to the base of a thick tree that goes upupup until he sees only clouds and sky. He cannot see the leaves, not really, just shadow shapes that hint at leaves somewhere in the heavens. But he is a bear now, and he does what all bears can; he climbs.
Claws pierce into the trunk, left then right. He scales the tree, higher and upward, until there is nothing below him but the thin wisp of clouds. Around him there are leaves and berries—a beehive full of honey tempts him but he leaves it untouched—as he sees a majestic shade awaiting him near the tree’s top. The trunk flattens out into a high risen platform and he pulls himself up, eyes squinted as the sun blinds him. It is like this that he realizes the smell; the Motherfather.
There may be a conversation when the sunlight fades into the red-orange-pink of dusk. Or perhaps only a mother with her cub. He remembers a growl, a chuff of air, as they cradle him beneath big burly paws. And then there is only a tubby little minibear—him—sitting against the tree’s trunk with the abandoned beehive between his forepaws. Around him his family partakes in the meal he has procured and his heart, his soul, are harmonious. Stag, caiman, bear. He is all; he is complete.
