River Bound

destined for greatness

You are destined for greatness, Stella.

The words of their father echoed through their head like a whirlpool, a repeating promise that was bound to be broken. It was what he'd said the very first time that they set a furred foot into water. Tiny, it was, compared to what it is now. A little clawed paw that hardly matched the size of the Starting Pebble, unlike that of the rest of the students.

They remembered staring at that pebble- it was such a big thing; not in size, but in importance. Nothing special in the grand scheme of things, really- just a little round rock, small in size and gray in shade, colorless and dull in matter of vibrancy, and circular in shape, just about the perfect match for a little paw. But to the Lutrinae, it was something special- almost otherworldly. It mattered a great deal. To all the students and their mentors, the Starting Pebble was the beginning of a journey that was most important to all Lutrinae shifters. Every upcoming student placed their paw onto that pebble and left an imprint of water, and though the water evaporated not long after, they were all assured that it was good luck, and overall good karma, for a young student to leave a mark on the Starting Pebble. For them, it was like a talisman that carried its importance through the currents of harsh rivers through which they had to wade, day in and day out.

In a way, the Starting Pebble was supposed to give them all fortune. So, each student stepped on the pebble, and leaped into the coursing water below. They dove deep down into the aquamarine waters, fighting the current and- then they swam up, heads above water. Stanley- then Stella- was no different. Back then, they wondered if their father said those same words to every starting student who stepped towards the pebble, but they chose to believe, as youthful and naïve as they were, that those words were special, only reserved for them. A belief in their ability to make the world a safer place. Destined for greatness.

The Lutrinae shifters were a small community of river-mingling hermits. Like a village in the middle of nowhere, the habitants of the community all knew one another, so, passing through the river's smooth stream would often come hand-in-hand with countless greetings; hello-s and how are you-s. The river was large, weaving through a dense and mystifying woodland. With foundations of chiseled stone and mud, small huts rested just along the riverbed. In the middle of the river- the confluence- where all smaller rivers met the widest, wildest of them all, a river island stood firm. Upon it, a hut. It was bigger than all others, with an elm tree at its core, surging through its foundation, its roof- the symbol of its strength, and perhaps the symbol of the strength that the community had in its unity. On the door stood a wooden sign with words engraved: "United we stand, divided we fall." At its side was an ornate veranda from the edge of which were hung fairy lights of sparkling, warm orange- like the colors of the setting sun upon the river's rippling surface. Forever in motion, never quite still.

Even when the river seemed to grow inert- when the clock reached midnight, the bright, burning stars upon the sky aligned, and the song of the crickets reached its crescendo, the humming chorus melodiously expanding downriver, harmonizing- the rippling river remained in motion. A restless thing, never quite still.

Unlike the river at night, almost idle, the community was dynamic and bustling. Underneath the ornate veranda, the sparkling starlight and the glowing fairy lights of the main hut on the river island, the community of the Lutrinae hosted nightly events for shifters from all walks of life. Though the children weren't particularly fond of staying up late into the night, they shared dinner with their forebearers and distant ancestors, offered their thoughts and gratitude for the fortune they've received, and went to sleep in their home huts, their soft beds.

Elders shared the sentiment of the juveniles, but the youth- the shifters in their prime- carried their awake state deep into the night. Some, even into the morning. The music that played, reverberating in the walls and on the cobblestone floor of the large hut, was never loud enough to reach the huts in the distance. Most adored were the beat drops, the bass that shook the earth below them. And through the night, they danced, feeling the music, flowing through it like they flowed through the river they called home.