Meniscus: One Point Five - Forty Missing Days

13.

Odymn does not pause

to register

the whiteness of teeth,

the length of drool,

the rising of neck-hair,

or the angle of ears

with respect to head.

She turns.

Clears a fallen tree

behind her.

Hears a forepaw

hit the dry duff

of the forest floor.

Two steps

and a vault.

Reckless in the placement

of hand and fingers.

Feet already reaching

for the next parnel of earth.

Odymn's mind

gallops ahead

to find any barrier,

any cubbyhole.

Her memory catches

on the web,

the dangle trap,

glittering in moonlight.

The razor edge

of spiral barbs,

dripping poison.

As Odymn runs

she takes her bearings.

Angle of shadow,

height of suns

in the mid-day sky.

Strength of The Churn wind,

fluttering of leaves.

The kotildi snaps at the tie-ends

of her running shoes,

one claw on the curve of her calf.

Snort of breath,

dripping nostrils.

She leaps for a low-lying branch

and swings to gain ground.

Forward roll and a hand spring.

The kotildi confused

but determined.

Odymn glimpses

a gleam between two grammid,

the dangle web slung low.

Scant centimetres between

dangle strands and ground.

Odymn judges the clearance,

the depth of her hips,

her skill at limbo.

Those glistening barbs

in the lower web

are going to sting.

She sprints,

a paw-length

ahead of the kotildi.

Feels the spit of hot saliva

forced between his jaws.

Odymn leaps the last two metres.

Twists and slides,

low to the ground.

Sharp rocks and broken branches

rake her back.

She slips beneath the dangle,

a letter delivered

through the mail slot

in the front door at home.

Behind her, she hears

the meeting of kotildi and web,

a croak lengthened by agony,

a scream injected

into the silence

of the Sintha Wood.

The kotildi reaches the limits

of sticky web

and rebounds.

Feet lift from ground,

body in twisting flight.

Odymn rolls to running,

plucks at her arm

with desperate fingers.

Three dangle barbs embedded,

her muscle already numb

with poison.

Behind her, the clack and yelp

of the kotildi.

His muzzle buried

in the fur of his shoulder.

Odymn forgotten.

Odymn pauses.

Leans against

the shingled bark of grammid.

Rips a lace from her sneaker.

Encircles her arm.

Pulls the lace tourniquet-tight.

Twists a dangle barb

from the back of her wrist.

Flexes her broken hand

and curses the perils

of this angry planet.

In the web,

the kotildi gyrates,

diminishing dance.

Embedded barbs flash

from the shadows.

Odymn turns her back.

Staggers in the direction

of home.