Scaranames Fandreamsgo

[Scaramouche Fandango]

sweet dreams are made of bees
who am i to diss a bee?

[Scaramouche Fandango]

find your way to find yourself

if you can

[Scaramouche Fandango]

shapes in the darkness

immeasurable and grotesque, abstractions and shades

each had two eyes

and i was elevated above them all

and their eyes were watching me

do they respect me, i said

do they love me?

no, said a voice

but they worship you

a shrug

isn't that the same?

[Scaramouche Fandango]

He went out to look for magpies, saying the rhyme in his head:

One for sorrow
Two for mirth
Three for death
Four for birth
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret to never be told

But all he saw was his own reflection.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

He wasn't the fastest or the strongest, for sure, but he was an amazing tracker. Persistent, he never gave up- and his real cleverness was how he used the very rock around him as a sign. He didn't just use it to navigate; he used it to locate. Following the chalk led him to all sorts of things- salt licks in winter, still pools in hottest summer- and while he's known to disappear for weeks at a time, he always brings back something good.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

The world was black and he wanted to scream but his tongue was a great forested field and he couldn't bear to move it, for the brightly colored creatures were too merry to possibly disturb, so instead he took a step and then another and then another and he couldn't stop and the stars told him where to go and everything seemed so distant and he thought he saw his mother or perhaps a mountain but in the end it was only a pebble, one of a million; there
was so very much to see, and why not see it all and meet everyone- for there were so very many kin here in every color and shape; some who had ascended and taken the forms of hounds and cats and birds; some who had become one with the very Motherfatherswamp; and of course, dozens and dozens of kimeti and acha and kiokote and totoma in every color of the rainbow (and some that weren't even in it!) and they all had bright, bright eyes and everyone here was so kind and so charming and they all were so polite to him and he couldn't do but talk to them for the rest of forever, but the world was dimming and now the world was black and he wanted to scream, but...

[Scaramouche Fandango]

He'd wandered the high peaks for what seemed an eternity- had it been days, or a week? He didn't know. The passing of time indicated one thing only; that he wasn't back with food yet. There were mouths to feed- he had a family to care for. The blizzards had already taken his mother- if his injured father and the half-orphaned lambs were to survive, he had to be the one to provide it.

And through some miracle... he did. He was dead on time, weak to the point of exhaustion, but he held his family together through the winter. If that didn't prove his strength, nothing would.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Eyes wide open, horns pointing up, she wept as she laughed, refusing to look away no matter the cost. The tears were crimson, scarlet, vermilion, carmine- and as the light faded, she couldn't tell whose they were...

She'd won, though. That, at least, was something.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

She showed no fear during the litany of her sins, though they were many. As the ghosts of her life danced past her, she showed no remorse, no regret.
A shrug, a laugh, a flick of the head;
A smile, a song, a lash of the tail.
There wasn't an ounce of sincerity in her gestures,
But in the end, she could say this as her last defense: "I've never told a lie."

Of course, she was lying.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

A well-timed smile; a flash of fangs. A graceful bow; a stamping hoof. A gentle nod; tossing horns. In her dream, she shut her eyes in acknowledgement of victory, but whose victory it was, she wasn't certain. One thing she knew, though, when she awoke- while sometimes brutality was effective, it was far more elegant throwing shade. 

[Scaramouche Fandango]

His name wasn’t You. His mother had made that very clear to him, that she was calling him things like You, and Son, and Little Friend until they figured out what his name was, because the Swamp hadn’t given him one. In truth, he found that concept extremely odd- how could the Swamp know what you were like before you were you? What if the Swamp named you Courage and you grew up into a coward? Or Slow, and you grew up into a speedy runner? Better to earn a name, that way you knew it worked for you. He did quietly hope that he could prove himself sooner rather than later- his mother didn’t like to call him Totoma, saying that it sounded like she was being callous- but there wasn’t much opportunity for mighty deeds or acts of great bravery in the part of the Swamp he called home. He tried his strength against his mother’s caiman, but Weird Dog just got huffy and wouldn’t let him wrestle her. He tried to pick fights, but found it unbecoming- he wanted to be brave, not a bully. He tried taking another route, learning to hunt and find food- but he wanted for nothing, and his family was well-established. Without opportunity, how would he ever distinguish himself?

As he bemoaned his fate to his mother, she looked at him, puzzled. “But you’ve already done great things. You’ve made me extremely happy. You’ve been my little friend, and I’ve been your mother, and I’ve learned so much from you. You’ve brought more love to my life- how could you say that’s not a mighty deed? You’re growing up away from other Totoma, away from the mountains, and you’ve found a place in the world. You’ve been kind, and receptive to kindness, and you’ve acted with great integrity when it wasn’t always easy. Believe me, my Little Friend. That’s enough.”

[Scaramouche Fandango]

She never stayed with a group of kin long; a day or two, maybe a week at the outside. It was hard for her to earn a name, as she knew with all the certainty of the distant mountains that a name was a thing to be earned, not chosen. There were others like her, travelers- but even they usually stuck together. She couldn’t stand that for long; the best traveling companion was yourself, after all, and she was marvelously happy with her own company. She loved to walk alone, to tread without seeing anyone’s tracks or leavings sullying the wild landscape. She took great joy in the sound of her voice as she sang or hummed wordless melodies in harmony with the wind. Still, it would be nice to have something to call herself, and while she didn’t expect anyone to remember her after her death- well, she was still going to comport herself with the honor expected of her.

But eventually, people talk.

She didn’t know her name for the longest time, not until she was fording a river with a surly group of Totoma. She’d met them before, all of them older than she. Gruff, perhaps rough around the edges, but not a bad bunch. She’d reintroduced herself simply as Totoma, but the eldest of them wrinkled his nose. “Totoma? Really? Last time we ran into you, you were Totoma, but when we were passing to the northwest of here, we heard talk of you, Voyage Songs.”

“Voyage Songs?”

“That’s what I said. Voyage Songs. Not Totoma. Three others of our kind called you that, and we found you because you were singing too loud as you walked. I would have called you Too Loud, but whatever.”

Voyage Songs. It was a good name.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Crossing the ice is hard, so don't laugh. Sure, the way I move is funny, keeping my legs stiff as I can and sort of rocking to waddle my way across the slick surface. But I don't see you coming back with fish, do I? I don't see YOU feeding your family with winter's bounty.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Streak and Mountain Song's children were children of two worlds sharing the same physical world- and with that came challenges, such as surviving the cold. For somebody like an adult totoma, thick fur and a large body size meant that even the coldest winters were relatively easy to shrug off. But what about zikwa, whose downy skin and sparse hair were suited for summers? For one lamb, the threat that the nighttime cold posed to her zikwa siblings was grave indeed, and she insisted nightly on sleeping atop them.

This got really annoying after a while, but she persisted until her parents had to sit her down and have the "Please, We Beg Of You, Stop Smushing Your Siblings" discussion, upon which she began to wail that she refused, that they might die in the cold, and that she would take whatever punishment they'd mete out but she wasn't going to stop protecting her family. When they realized she wasn't doing it for her own comfort, but out of a genuine (if slightly misplaced) sense of concern, everyone had to admit it was pretty touching and gallant in its own way- and with some persuasion and promising, Shares-the-Warmth was convinced to comfort her siblings as they curled on either side of her, her dense fur and warmth of both body and heart shared with the two of them.