The Shapeshifters - Winner at #RetellingsUnite

Naked Creature

Nem was aware the others loathed him. He saw it not in what they said or did, but in the slightest narrowing of their eyes, be they wolf or ox, as he passed them engaged in their daily lives. They judged his form with tacit contempt – scrutinising his soft, furless body and the way he walked upright on his rear legs –though never so much as acknowledged him.

His bizarre form was one of personal design; a shape that returned many millennia of errors, humiliation and, most of all, dissatisfaction. Finally, after countless trials of assembling the anatomy he deemed perfect, the other shape shifters had only snickered at him when he revealed the product of his ambitious task. Now their mockery had grown thorns of gnarled envy and left Nem isolated and self-conscious.

It was not only because Nem was distinct from the other shape shifters that he was the target of their scorn – it was because of their abundant similarities that Nem no longer needed to shape shift at all. He had sculpted his assets for every obstacle, every danger, every enemy he might face in his eternal lifespan. He could outrun the wolf on his two long legs; leap higher than the cat with the powerful thigh muscles he'd taken for himself. He was stronger than the bear, sturdier than the ox, could swim as deftly under the waves as the seal and climb trees and cliffs without tiring. His sweat lent his muscles the stamina to hunt without stopping. His pointed teeth could bite to kill. His voice carried low, enchanting notes that rivalled the beauty of the songbirds', and he used it frequently to console himself when his sadness overcame him.

There existed no word in the language of old for a creature like Nem. He stood tall and naked, brown of skin that did not dry or burn in the sun, with golden eyes sharp as a hawk's. Possessed with the edge of every beast he had ever been in his lifetime, he'd built one to encompass them all. When at last he'd unveiled his infinite form, no longer needing to shape shift to fill everyday needs like the others, it had come crashing down on all sides.

His only remaining companion was a rather unforthcoming shape shifter who went by the name of Arka. She visited his den only at night in the form of a fox cub to play-hunt amongst the ferns, though what she became by day, Nem never asked. He did not want to defile the illusion that Arka was anything besides the sweet creature that offered him brief reprieve from loneliness. Though she never wandered closer than the mouth of his den, she seemed at ease in his presence. She often stared at him with her head cocked for long periods of time too, but never once burst into laughter at his unusual, gangly body.

On a summer's night at the edge of the world, far away from the den where Arka played, the other shape shifters convened in secret. Amongst them were beings of both the land and sea, great and small, predator and prey; all of whom had grown to loathe the arrogant, ugly creature who called himself Nem.

"He traverses the mountain passes as though they are his to prowl," said the cat to her audience. She stood proud and still upon a flattened rock, flaunting her spotted coat. "He leaps and climbs with such grace it is as though the mountain's perils no longer faze him. How am I to compete for food with a tailless creature more sure-footed than I?"

At this the wolf pack bared their fangs. "Your woes are trivial," growled the alpha male. "That creature outsmarts us on the plains and snatches our hunt before we are even close enough to chase it! He tracks for days and stays silent on those nimble feet. Tcha! He has only two, not four, like I!"

"The way he swims in an unusual quirk," admitted the seal. His body was cumbersome on the land, but he reminded himself he would not suffer it for long. "I speak for others of the seas when I find it odd he shed his fur to be at home in the water when he spends so much of his life on the land. It does not seem fair that he shouldn't have to change his skin."

A shape shifter taking the form of a small songbird ruffled her feathers. "It is neither about how nimble he is nor where he chooses to roam," she began. "For many years I have sang and chattered with my brothers and sisters in the trees, but to my ears this creature's mellow tones are both beautiful and unbearable at the same time. Since the dawn of the shape shifters the land has been vibrant with birdsong and no other!"

"I care not for this creature's racket," hissed the cat.

"Nor do I care for his exploits at sea," added the wolf. "I am more concerned that he has not yet found himself at the bottom of it."

At this the seal barked and a chorus of irksome chattering erupted from hundreds of tiny beaks. The reptiles hissed in unison from the grasses, adamant that no creature should deliver a bite like theirs; the rodents quarrelled, tormented that the creature could climb and dig so well; the horses and deer stamped their hooves in disgust that Nem could outrun them; and the monkeys cheered and hooted at the commotion, only there to cause a stir.

Of all the animals present, only one did not raise her voice. It was the great brown she-bear who too lived in solitude in a cave like Nem. She stood on her hind legs, towering above the rest, and addressed them in her booming, aged voice. "There is no doubt about it," she said, and the other shape shifters fell silent. "Your feelings are all deeply wounded by this strange being in our midst. What sets our shapes apart is what gives us our freedom and advantage over another, though this creature has combined them all into a single form, so that he may never need change his skin again. What truly upsets you is realising the forms that are familiar to us are inferior to his. Perhaps, instead, we should learn from this creature."

"We will not!" barked the wolves.

"Not in a thousand lifetimes!"

"Rid us of him!"

"He has to go!"

The she-bear covered her ears at the fury directed her way. The other shape shifters were too stubborn, too proud, to let themselves admit Nem was a cut above them. Still the barking and hissing and screaming came, and the rapid barrage of twittering frayed her nerves.

"Stop!" she roared, and again the shape shifters quieted. Her outcry rumbled the earth beneath their feet and even the wind seemed to hold its breath. "Listen to yourselves!"

All around them stood the shape shifters who had given themselves up to be at one with the planet, staying blissfully far from the politics of hunts and territories. They were the trees – ancient, silent entities rooted forever in place – and they had heard everything. In a tone so low it lingered on the periphery of hearing, the trees spoke in unison.

"Unlike thee," they said, their voices permeating from everywhere at once, "we too no longer change skins. It is the sacrifice we made to harvest the sunlight, so that we need not travel, hunt or make homes." Some of the shape shifters had already scattered at the sound, others burrowed away into the soil in fear. Many took flight. But those left behind crouched low and guarded as the trees spoke. "We condone not your wishes to oust this new creature," they continued. "Until he is a threat to your lives, he does not deserve death."

The cat and the wolf met gazes, brown eyes to amber, and silently agreed that, however inconvenient the creature was to have around, the trees spoke the truth. The seal and the songbird did the same, and finally the she-bear adjourned the meeting.

"Return to your homes," she advised, ushering them away with her paws. "And speak not of another's death ever again."