Return sighed. It wasn’t a heavy sigh, but it was deep- like he had exhaled from his very bones. “I have a story,” he said. Nearby Kin raised their ears in surprise; Return was a listener at these gatherings, never a speaker. Not a few thought he knew no stories at all (beyond those told here), and that he lacked the imagination to conjure one out of his own mind.
“It… is not right to say it is mine. I heard it once, when I was a foal,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I could make little enough sense of it then, and not much more now. But those of you who have felt the stirrings of love or passion may better understand it.”
“Ugh. You mean it’s a love story?” one colt asked in disgust.
Return nodded. “It is,” he said, and his tone was without irritation or apology. “Once, when much of the world was water, and the Motherfather had yet to make the Kimeti (I cannot speak for the Kiokote or the Acha; such knowledge of their birth is beyond me), there was a water snake and a song bird.
“I always imagined that there were more than one of each, but this was not something the original teller touched on.” He paused for a moment, considering this puzzle. “Never mind,” he said at last, “It does not matter. In any case, there were the two I spoke of. And they were deeply in love.”
There was a giggle-snort from a filly in the audience, “A snake and a bird in love? With each other?” A few of her friends also laughed.
“And what is so funny about that?” Return asked, completely serious, “It is quite tragic, from what I have heard, to be denied the one you love. And as I said, most of the world was water: there were trees, and there were great lakes. Very little solid ground where two ill-fated lovers could make a tryst.
“Nonetheless, they tried- so deep was their passion. She, the bird, would perch on emerging roots, and he, the snake, would try desperately to climb onto what few boulders were not completely submerged. This went on for many years, until the Motherfather was moved to pity for her unlucky children.
“One day, Matope came to them, and told them plainly but gently that they could not be together in this world. Not as they were. There was one other option…”
Here, the audience was silent and attentive, excepting those that were asleep or particularly inclined to rudeness. Return went on, “A secret mud-hole used exclusively by Matope for the purposes of creation. In it, the Motherfather explained, they could join with one another. But joined they would be ever after: never again two beings with the freedom of separate flesh, but one with two souls in union.
“The bird and the snake looked at each other for the last time, and found the answer in the gaze. They would be as one inseparable, rather than two forever sundered. And so, though two creatures went to bathe in the mud-hole, only one emerged. Bigger than both, with the body of the snake and the wings of the bird- a thing of two worlds.”
“That’s awful!” one foal cried in dismay.
“Why?” Return asked, “So far as I know, the snake-bird never came to regret its choice. And besides, the twinned souls shared their body in bliss until the end of its days.”
“So...” a buck started, “There was only the one, then?”
Again, Return shrugged. “So it would appear. Have you heard differently?”
