Sephtis

15. On we run.

(Shout out to all my readers in Morocco, the United States and New Zealand. Comment your country as you read and I'll give you a shout out, I love reading about where my readers are from.)

I walk close to Shamar, and soon she begins to run, even-paced and slow, so I can keep up with her. She moves unerringly on her invisible course through the trees. She doesn't stop to sniff or check her direction, but runs as if her path is blazed by the aftermath of a fire. Yet I know that she must read signs; that a hundred smells come to her and are assessed and understood; that she is attuned to all the forest, to everything that lives and breathes and moves. A hare runs across her path, but Shamar runs on. On and on we run, and when my insides ache and my breath comes in gasps, she slows so I can birth my wings, the skin on my shoulders rippling, boiling before they burst forth in all their beautiful green and black glory. After a moment, when I am ready, she starts to run again, for she is attuned to me as well.

At last she stops and I alight upon the ground, my wings vanishing back into my being as I see that we are at a steep dirt bank on the edge of a clearing, stone cut stairs hugging the bare earth, and the soles of my feet feel caressed in coolness as I begin to climb up them, shafts of sunlight highlighting the heavily marked earth either side of the steps, the footprints of the wolves overflowing with the golden light. At the top of the stairs I see a broken stone castle, overgrown, slowly getting swallowed by mother natures embrace, and once again bygone memories sweep over me.

Zahar emerges from a dark hole at the base of a still standing wall, and sniffs my hand.

"No fish today." I say. She leaps up, her paws on my shoulders to lick my face, towering above me she licks the saltiness from my cheeks, for my face is still sweating from the long run. Then she drops down again, bumping her shoulder against my hip.

Two black fuzzy bundles come hurtling out of the hole I assume is their den, and leap so hard at me that I am bowled over. I roll down the dirt bank, narrowing missing the stone steps, feeling paws, furry bodies and wet mouths on me. I come to a stop and am jumped upon once again, licked, trampled and gnawed at. The cubs' teeth are sharp, and I yell. They jump away, and crouch with their noses low to the earth, looking at me sideways. I move, and they are at me again. This time their teeth catch in my skirt. They wrestle with the folds awhile, and the weave is soon is shreds. Zahar barks, and they run back to the den. She follows them in. Though I long to go with them, I stay outside, for it is their home, and I haven't been invited in. I notice that Shamar has gone.

I wait a long time outside the den, the songs of the birds heralding the start of a glorious day. The forest is alive, and radiance dances on the leaves and blazes on the earth. Kavah appears, dragging from his great jaws half the body of a great elk. Zahar comes out of the den, and he drops the meat at her feet. She nudges his nose with hers, whining as if she is thanking him; he mouths her ears and snout, and I can feel the great affection between them. Then she drags the carcass to a safe place away from the den, and begins to eat.

The cubs stumble from the den, blinking in the bright sunlight. They see their mother eating and race towards her; but when they attempt to drag the meat away, she snarls savagely, and they run away, whimpering. They go next to Kavah and crouch before him, yapping and begging. His sides bulge with food, and his mighty chest is stained with blood. The cubs sniff at him, they even try to poke their snouts into his great mouth, continuously begging for food. He steps back, his head low to the ground, his sides heaving. He vomits up half-digested meat, and Akar and Orbah tear into it, fighting over the larger pieces.

I am revolted, my stomach rolling. Then I realize that it is the easiest way for him to bring back meat for three, after a hunt. He, even with his large size, cannot drag an entire adult elk from whichever far place he caught it, so he brings back half for his mate, and for his cubs he carries the meat in his belly. My repulsion is replaced by respect, my stomach stilling as I see the wisdom of it. Kavah, having provided for his family, lies in a pool of sunlight, atop a stone-slab platform near the den, on the opposite side of the standing wall and sleeps. He has not acknowledged me. I think that perhaps it is a good thing. I could hardly spurn his generosity should he vomit meat for me. The sun is high when Shamar returns, sides swollen from her feast. She too offers food to the cubs, and they, like the young in my village already full, do not refuse it.