[SOLO] A Whole New World (ane's kin)

[anemosagkelos]

It gnawed at her subconscious as she began to slip into sleep. She had become a Legendary in search of knowledge and knowledge she had found. Shadows and owlcat had been mastered; blessings could be given in her sleep at this point. And yet, she had not sought beyond that. Instead she had lost focus on her own studies – she had put her children’s (especially Spiderlily’s) education at the forefront then become entwined with Doom (who had vanished), even become reluctant mentor to a cowardly buck – in favor of… nothing. She murmured as the fear of regression, of stagnation rose to the forefront of her mind.

She sunk down, a tingle of sensation showering her limbs, into the owlcat. Ithertheir spine arched into a curve as the sunlit branch’s warmth was doused. The time for rest was over; day was sweeping down as night’s cold shadows crept upward. It was time to – a hiss curled in her throat, vibrated into a blossoming growl as the threat of danger pierced her mind. Something was coming; something wanted her.

She stiffened, indignant and haughty, as she tried to grow, tried to change into the mare. Instead the body of the owlcat remained and panic pricked into her understanding. She growled; how dare the Motherfather think it could determine her body, her spirit. A harsh yowl ripped from her lungs in admonishment and then the howls – onetwothree fourfivesix seven – came. Hounds.

She jumped, fur rising along her hackles, as three more longer and higher pitched bays joined the mob. The wolves had joined the hunt. She took one brief look behind her – the tree was too low to provide suitable protection – and wondered if her own dear companion was among the war party. Yellow, red, white orbs began to appear in the brush and she flattened in her body in a slow movement then pounced away.

Her paws smacked into the ground roughly and she darted forward. She ran, ran as her mind scrambled to come up with a strategy. An owlcat could not outrun seven hounds and three wolves. She wasn’t sure an owlcat could outrun even one; it may outsmart, outmaneuver, outclimb one mutt but even those… She cursed, a click of her beak, as she dashed beneath a bush riddled with brambles. She needed to be more than owlcat; she needed to change. And she could not simply melt into the shadows. Against kin and the small minded, it suited her well, but not against these dogs.

To her left a wide rampant stream rushed – she’d drown if the damn things didn’t sink their teeth into her neck – and she swerved left, claws digging into the rough bark of a mangrove. It was slow work to scale it’s trunk but once she was into the branches she had an easier time of it. She went up, up as close to the sky as she could manage before daring to look back. The frantic heartbeat in her chest froze as she was met with the stone cold bloodthirsty gaze of a wolf. It eyed her, merely a strong leap away, and she felt herself quaver – she hadn’t heard it. Nor any of the others that paced the ground. Faintness assaulted her head as blood resumed to throb in her ears. No. No. She was not going to be taken down by a mutt – a goddamn dog would not be her end.

She turned and ran along the branch. She breathed in strength and sheer determination. Then leaped – her paws stretched and her tail balanced – off and out. For a moment, she was weightless and then gravity wrapped her in its grasp and she plummeted. She screamed – the mare within her fought – out, cried for the Motherfather to not yet forsake her. She was not done; not yet ready to lie down dead. Please, Motherfather, please.

The ground was harsh reality and she groaned. The bones within her body shattered. Darkness pooled in her eyes, fog descended on her pain laden mind. And then there was only white noise.

It grew into whispers, into crickets chirping, into the growl of hounds and wolves. The pain eased as confusion remained. She felt the mending of bones, the growth of body and limbs. She felt renewed, refreshed, alive.

She gave a shake of her head, opened her eyes to find the mutts around her smaller than before. She clicked her beak then stood – felt the talons on her feet scratch into the dirt as the wings on her back snapped outward – to narrow her eyes in pure glee. She shrieked in warning as she began to flap her wings and rise into the air. Then in the blink of an eye she shot forward towards the wolf, the one who had stared her in the face and dared her to jump to her death. It was its time to die now.

She flew straight as a sparrow, threw her weight into the wolf and felt them tumble as one until she stood upon it the victor. She snapped her beak, watched the fear rise in blue eyes, then dug her talons through the thick coat of gray. The whimper and whine sung through her blood and she struck, let her beak slice into the wolf’s throat. The leader was dead and the rest would scatter. She would go after them later – for now, it was time to fly.

She stepped away from her kill, her fallen enemy, then jumped into the wind’s embrace. She felt laughter, joy, flood her chest as she flew through the tree line of the swamp. The journey was far from over; this was a new form to learn, to master. She let loose a shrill squawk of acceptance. The challenge would be met. She was a gryphon now.

[anemosagkelos]

Water rains from his body in rivulets as he becomes himself once more. The surface of this pond nearly touches his stomach as he stands, content and unafraid. He has grown; that which he had once feared—murky depths hiding the reptile which had plagued him since he dreamt safe within his sac—is now home. There is comfort and acceptance as he spies his caiman brethren and crocodile cousins. Between them there is respect, now, as he sees in them what he knows is within himself: hot pulses of instinct, sharp protective teeth, tough scaled leather skin. Peace reigns between them.

“You’re so far… Where have you gone… Why have you left me…”

As Wolf Parade’s voice fills his ears, the water begins to feel heavy. Pin pricks of pain lance into his limbs with a sting that makes him grit his teeth to keep from screaming out. Beneath him, the firm bottom disappears and he feels a foreign grip begin to pull on his hooves. He forces himself to move, struggling to get to the solid ground that sings from under a tree that seems to shoot clear up to the sun.

“Are you coming soon… We miss you… Please, it’s important…”

Bitter Heartbeat fights through the mud that clings to his fur until he collapses in the shade. Behind him the lakebed dries up as the instinct of danger wells within. It is like being struck by lightning and he knows, a clench deep within his heart, that it is not he who is in trouble. Wolf Parade, their children, their children’s children—his lineage, his family, needs him. And yet he knows not where they are, though, he hears his heart’s voice calling, pleading, for him.

“It’s too late… I hope you can live without a heart… Good-bye…”

A guttural cry of rage erupts as the strength of her voice diminishes. He forces himself to his feet and throws himself towards the sound of weeping that falls like rain. There is nothing but the ragged breathing of his exhausted body as he runs, runs as if the very existence of the swamp depends on his speed. The world around him blurs and he holds onto the timber of his love’s voice. He cannot live without a heart, his heart, Wolf Parade. He refuses a life that can continue without her, without their children who have populated the world with children that do not wilt for having him in their blood. He will not let them be harmed.

The stag crashes through a wall of underbrush, adrenaline pumping his system into overdrive. As he skids to a stop, the heart within his chest pounds and he struggles to breathe. He expects there to be an enemy, some dangerous animal that has chosen his love for its meal. Or a creature that has sunk its fangs into them and demands to follow the blood trail to his relations. Except there is no such thing that stands before him. Instead there is his family, all of them—some he knows by name, others he has yet to meet—together in a pile of slumber. He doesn’t know whether to laugh—they’re okay, they’re safe—or sobscreamsleep—they’re okay, they’re safe. Confusion falls down upon him like a cobweb and strangles his senses until he feels that he can barely stand.

He crawls towards his family but his energy is low and he has to settle for just being able to see them. It’s as he lies there that he starts to put a word to the feeling that had so consumed him earlier. It’s not a fear of their deaths. It isn’t even a fear so much as a wriggling curiosity. Independence and confidence has widened his world. And there are moments when he looks at them and wonders if he has grown apart.

There are times when he has been tangled up in their sleeping pile but only as a stag. He is a caiman and while he is welcome, the form puts a distance between them. It is not exclusion, it is more subtle. In water, his caiman body is fluid and quick where his family is more languid; on land, they flourish in a way that hinders him. It’s slight, a timid heaviness upon his limbs that makes walking on land a bit more tedious. And he feels that piece of his soul, inharmonious, ring sharp. He lets himself believe.

He is small, still, as his body morphs. No hooves, no webbed toes, but there are slight individual digits. Claws rake into the ground as a dense coat of fur springs from his flesh. He shakes himself, feels the weight of his body shift. A rumbling growl escapes his maw and he rears up, excited, before rushing towards his family. He burrows into the pile, a soft ball of fur, and finally feels at home.

A warmth flashes through his body, the pieces of his soul melding into something complete, as he lies there; included. There are familiar instincts that twitch in his gums and tingle at the base of his claws, the desire to protect rings fierce as ever as does the solid loyalty to Wolf Parade. He doesn’t believe in life mates exactly but she is a part of him, he will always return to her and love her. There is enough love and kindness in his life for many but there is only ever one heart. He revels, content, until the urge to explore, expand takes over.

He wriggles out of the pile of kin and makes his way towards a copse of trees. As he stands beneath them he notices a trail—the dry dirt has given way to dense damp sand—of paw prints that lead forward. With a lightness and precision that belies his bulky frame, he follows the tracks and finds that his own paws melt into the marks left behind. They are the same now and he begins to pull in quick breaths through his nose. A scent—vague in the way it scratches at his memory—fills his nostrils. It’s woodsy and warm, safe yet powerful. And it is high, he thinks, as he comes to the base of a thick tree that goes upupup until he sees only clouds and sky. He cannot see the leaves, not really, just shadow shapes that hint at leaves somewhere in the heavens. But he is a bear now, and he does what all bears can; he climbs.

Claws pierce into the trunk, left then right. He scales the tree, higher and upward, until there is nothing below him but the thin wisp of clouds. Around him there are leaves and berries—a beehive full of honey tempts him but he leaves it untouched—as he sees a majestic shade awaiting him near the tree’s top. The trunk flattens out into a high risen platform and he pulls himself up, eyes squinted as the sun blinds him. It is like this that he realizes the smell; the Motherfather.

There may be a conversation when the sunlight fades into the red-orange-pink of dusk. Or perhaps only a mother with her cub. He remembers a growl, a chuff of air, as they cradle him beneath big burly paws. And then there is only a tubby little minibear—him—sitting against the tree’s trunk with the abandoned beehive between his forepaws. Around him his family partakes in the meal he has procured and his heart, his soul, are harmonious. Stag, caiman, bear. He is all; he is complete.

[anemosagkelos]

She is heavy, too heavy to sail atop the wind's embrace, as the last of her feathers harden. Where once she was a glittering white onyx, full of hope and light, she is now a foreboding black onyx. Every good deed she has done, every time she has used her gift, has pulled in the negative and the darkness that could not touch her before. And she feels the hollow bones splinter.

Giveforward hovers as the onyx bird shatters against the ground. She is without a body and she feels halved.

A songbird had, did, make sense. Kindness had been breathed into her soul long before she was even born. The lightness within her heart had changed her, hollowing her bones and pulling fur into feather, until a songbird had taken flight. And now, now she is nothing and it feels wrong.

She drifts, aimless, after a time, until she falls back into old habits. Family has always been important and their line stretches forward: children, grandchildren, great grandchildren; it also stretches back: parents, grandparents, great grandparents. She has always been an anomaly, much like Breach had before, except she had always known it and treasured it and done what she felt was right. In another's mind, it might be cruel, but the truth is, she had always been more. These painted wings upon her hide, she'd always been meant to flight and soar but there were things even wings could not do.
It isn't thought that finds her small; it is simply her nature.

She lets her small paws touch the fresh fallen snow and the lightest tracks trail out behind her as she hops. She twitches the soft velvety nose and a familiar scent captures her attention. It is need, a tang that tugs on her heart and rallies her body into motion. She cannot leave things alone. She never even thinks to refuse; there's no other answer than to help, not when it comes to her.

The crane is white as the snow with wings that easily dwarf even a full grown kimeti and Giveforward has no fear to approach it. She has met it before and, without pretense, she presses her furry cheek against the bird's feathered one. She is careful with her horns as she burrows herself down and against the great bird's chest. She is large enough that she does not break but still small enough that her love radiates bright and warm. The ice upon the crane's body begins to melt and beneath it, it is gold.

Here, providing warmth and care, she is at her purest. The black onyx shell cracks and she emerges reborn; a white gemstone ready to take on any pain or heartache that she might mend.

She is soft as she is kind. She is small as she is humble. She is an anomaly, a rabbit with horns, in a sea of sameness.

Giveforward glitters in the crane's golden light, content. This is home to her. And she feels whole again.

[anemosagkelos]

It's hard to dream, proper, when one has few reasons to do so at all. He dreams of timeless moments that spawn centuries but every once in awhile . . .

He is without the cat to guide him and there is no fear or wondering of where he is, Guide, the cheetah. He knows instinctively that cat is away and enjoying some time for himself and so he does not worry. He never truly worries. It'll all work out in the end. It'll all work out in the moment, even. The world is vast and he needs only let the wind guide his win—he has no wings. And there is the briefest moment of thought. Any other kin might be confused but he has nothing to be confused about, for this is a dream and he could be anything. He could be anyone. In this realm, he is unbound.

Around him is a world he does not know of, not yet. It is barren of trees and the dirt is replaced by fine white sand. Beneath him waves of turquoise are blown by the wind and crash onto the shore. Within the waves, within the clouds, all around him for miles, he sees himself.

Bulbous gelatinous heads flex and compress, bob, while miles of tendrils sway within the breeze. It takes him minutes and years to realize that he is the same as his pet, Follows, and he would trill but this creature makes no sound. Internally, he bellows out a laugh. Oh the fun he can have if he is made to be silent!

It's not terribly different from being a moth. A little less work. A little more danger. He wonders how anyone will know that he is not a mere jellyfish. He has no visible eyes to glow but he has eyes all the same. As he takes in the north and south, east and west, top and bottom. On any one kin, it might be a predator's traits. On him, he is still and distracted. He sees a shine within the water that has taken his attention.

Eventually the shine (the mere reflection of the sun off a polished stone) because of less interest. He stretches himself long and then releases as he bobs within the air. It's a well known place, the air. And he is not one given often to well known. He plummets without warning into the warm sea and watches as the world around him hazes and darkens the deeper he goes. He could be afraid; he isn't.

It feels like home. The darkness but firm embrace reminds him of his mother; the friends to be made remind him of Aimless and Guide. He lets the sea take him.

Travels moves with the current. He sees sharks and whales and seals and fish. He sees grotesque and he see beauty. The world is endless and he is able to stretch to reach more of it.

Yes, this is also him. Or now him. It's hard to tell the exact way to say it. But it has never mattered how to say anything. The Motherfather knows and now, so too, does he.

[anemosagkelos]

Hatred was a longstanding dream. It usually starred herself, at some stage of her life. Embittered, with variable degrees of insanity. It had taken ages to learn, to accept, that it was normal to dream of the selfish thoughts she kept quiet in the back of her head. She could have been better, could have been different, could have been happy, if . . . And that seemed to be the theme: if. A terrible word that infected someone until it a new world and a new life had been built. It would never come true, the past was immutable. That didn't stop the dreams, not before and not now.

She knew it would not work, it never did, but still she pretended to be unaware. She left her eyes closed; she ignored the coldness that made a heavy mist fall all around and down upon her. Tonight, she wanted dreamless sleep. She wanted a lot of things, but life had other plans. So, too, did dreams.

The laughter was derisive and while she, herself, had a haughty attitude . . . This was different, worse. It held no joy nor warmth. Not that she could be surprised by that now. No, it had taken far too long and far too much to realize the truth. Any warmth, any love in that body had died long before she was even born. Atone scowled, there would be no rescue from this dream.  Nightmare. She opened her eyes and, it was as she expected. Mother, draped in sparkling jewels and the finest feathers and spider-silk of the darkest colors.

"Tut tut, dear," the shade reprimanded, "it's not befitting of your stature to scowl like a common bumblebee." As if her mother had ever looked at a bumblebee long enough to tell what expressions they might have. But then her mother had never needed facts or truths to be upset. Or to correct her only child. Or anything. There was an entirely different existence in that wicked and angry head; it had taken her too long to realize that and now that she had—

"It has been a long day in the real world. Much as I know you would never listen or concede to requests, I have no desire to engage in conversation with you," the mare bit out in the most pleasant tone she could manage. If poison ivy had a voice that conveyed the horror of its wrath that would have been nicer still than she sounded.

"All the more reason to visit with you," the shade grinned and it wasn't the first time Atone thought her mother resembled a feline. The one that caught the canary and then helped others try to find it while knowing all along it was long gone. A wolf hiding under a lamb's corpse might have been more accurate. Even a caiman or a crocodile had more redeeming qualities.

"You could have had the world at your feet," Mother sighed, an act of care that so easily fooled the kind and the trusting. It was hard to believe she had ever been that young or naive to believe her mother. She had, though, and for far too long at that. All she'd ever wanted was love and it rankled that there had never been any to be given. Life could be a cruel and humorless beast.

"I have never had a desire for that," Atone sighed, annoyed and aggrieved that it was still this argument. "You can make the world bow to you, if you so wish it, but I have other interests."

"Other interests," the shade shook its head, "is no excuse for such failure. You had such potential and you wasted it all."

"Perhaps I did," she agreed, "but then once upon a time you had love to give and you let that rot away."

The shade glowered, "Love is nothing but weakness and misery. It has no use for those born of power, like we."

Atone felt her patience running thin, felt the need to leave and take flight. It was hardly a conscious decision when the swan formed instead, wings raised as if to fly.

"A swa—" laughter spilled out from the shade's maw and she could not help but rankle at the reaction. "Of all the creatures in this land, you chose a swan?" It sneered, mockingly, "What a vain and docile creature you turned out to be."

It circled, once, "What ever would you do, dear, if you had to defend yourself? You don't even have teeth."

Unfortunately, it was true. She'd felt it recently, that loss of fear that she could use to her advantage. She closed her eyes and then opened them again. The glow waned as she narrowed her eyes into slits.

"If its teeth you want, then teeth you shall have, Mother," she growled out and watched as her mother rolled her eyes, discounted her once more. It wouldn't last.

She rolled her necked, thought of the creature, and felt herself elongate. She was pulled tall and taut as feathers on her body turned to glistening scales. The wings that had once been at her sides shifted onto her back and she flared them out in threat. But it was the mouth that would inflict true terror. No longer a beak but a snout and as she opened her mouth, sharp fangs dripped with saliva. She let out a hiss, not unlike that of her swan form, but this one shivered and crept through the air like a warning.

Mother no longer looked so dismissive but that was not enough. Atone coiled herself tight and stared, intent. She didn't move, she didn't speak. She waited. And waited. Until a shiver shook down her mother's spine and then she struck.

Teeth sunk into the phantom's neck as the feathered serpent twisted its body around the panicked creature. It fought, shook, convulsed but it was no match for this form. Perhaps it was morbid to eat her mother but then did her mother really deserve any less? No one deserved to have that rot in their mouth or stomach but better it be dead than alive.

Atone would be long satiated, she thought to herself, as she collected the feathers and gems. And she'd scare the daylights out of so many. She grinned, teeth flashing. Come test me now, Mother.

[anemosagkelos]

She's exhausted as she sinks down into the dry, coarse sand. Every inch of her is soaked with salted water and every muscle is a numb twitch of overuse. It is only noon with the sun at its peak height but slumber is already heavily entwined with her mind. There's a smile against her muzzle as she trips and sinks into sleep before drowning, willingly, into the land of dreams.

---

It's yesterday. A storm on the horizon rages in beautiful hues of darkness. Blues, purples, and grays swirl over top a churning sea but here there is sun and soft breezes. It'll move off and then dissipate until it is only a memory. Unlikely one of her own as she has her own mission. The same as it has been since she found these new creatures. She has seen them on land and while their ability to float is a boon, it is not what interests her most. They are ocean dwellers and she longs to visit home where her soul was born and her naming took place.

She has curled her water snake form tight around each of this new species and been granted a new view of the world beneath. A world that always comes to an end because she cannot breathe underwater and her lungs only hold so much air. She can go deeper as a water snake than she can as a mare, though it leaves her vulnerable. She needs more though she is lost at how to get there.

But it's yesterday. The sun is low and the water is turning dark. It is prime time to fish; it is prime time for predators. She stands at the edge of the tossing waves and watched the orange sky light the sea on fire. The whale sharks are keening again and she begins to walk into the danger of a dusk ocean. She will walk for a time, swim, then turn into a snake to twine herself around these new friends. She doesn't walk.

One moment there is land beneath her hooves and air within her lungs; the next . . .

The water is red and murky as she tries to make sense of the world around her. She has no leg where once she did and the blood pulsates through the water. She has never swam with three legs and she is sinking down into the depths. She knows what has grabbed her but she does not see it. Despite this, she knows that it is not gone and there is bitter irony in being born with a name that jumps out of the ocean only to drown to her death.

Its white and black, death. It wails through the water into her bones and she feels peace. She feels—bubbles erupt from a gaping mouth in a soundless scream, utter terror as Breach stares into one gigantic eye that is larger than even her entire body. She expects death and teeth; it opens its mouth to reveal neither. And then she is gone, the mare.

She is this gigantic creature's descendant. Tiny, minuscule in comparison but free. She blurts out a loud yip and then she dives. The ancestor twists gracefully and shoots downward under her belly as though it does not trust her to survive. She clicks, accepting the challenge and the two race down into the darkness. They surpass the sharks of her naming; she sees fish that glow. And then she is one, of many. Gigantic, tiny, they are like the breeze brought to life and she folds herself into the world.

Toothless, she is not a predator, and yet she fears nothing down here. She is peace instead. A new home awaits her discoveries. She need not have one or two; she makes her home wherever she wishes. Unbound, Breach ignites the chains that tried to hold her back.

[anemosagkelos]

She doesn't understand the sense of longing that has begun to well up within. It pushes and it pulls until her steps begin to sway; it tears into muscle until aches fill her mind. The time to understand it, however, is eaten daily by wails and new clutches and too many whale sharks that are in need of attention that she cannot give. What started out as a hobby has become her entire life and she's beginning to drown. Ironic, all things considered, that she would die by the very creature she found.

---

Clicks and shrieks and wails flood into pinhole ears, as beady eyes pop open to find not the salty ocean hues beneath the surface she is used to, has come to expect in all her dreams but snow. Vast whiteness and shades of icy grays. The water below is locked away under a deep, impenetrable layer of ice and she feels a panic rise. The thud of her body as it hits the chilled snow barely pushed clear of the ice elicits a deep rooted moan. And then she is surrounded, embraced by fins and skin and a pod of toothed whales that seem to share her same pain.

It should, on some level, revolt her. She has so rarely craved touch and affection, so content to be a wanderer. Occasionally, she'd succumb to a need for physicality, or the need for her mothers or family. It was the exception, but now... She felt she wanted this to continue. It scared her, if she was honest. (She wasn't).

Breach struggled out from the pile and whirled around to stare at the group. She gaped, revealing sharp teeth lining her mouth, as she took in the many different colored whale sharks. None of them were creatures she recognized, oh no, but all of them remind her of kin—family, friends, lovers, enemies. They were all here, staring back at her. And why did she want to cry?

The ice and snow was not the place for her, she didn't think, not as she looked at these strange phantoms of kin she knew. She longed for the ocean that was home and yet, there was something about this place that left her... whole. Which only made her terrified because what could this place beyond the swamp have for her?

It was as if the others could sense the unrest within her for they began to throw themselves on the ice where she had earlier thumped. The ice began to splinter and she didn't know whether to rejoice—the ocean would soon be within reach—or wail, for surely that would mean this group would break apart . . .

One last slam and the ice broke. Without hesitation, Breach dove into the frigid waters and began to swim. To her surprise, she was soon surrounded and joined by the whale sharks from earlier and she let out a shrill question to which a series of sounds echoed back to her. They seemed to want to calm her, to join her. It was as if they had a bond that she was not yet quite familiar or aware of and they were determined to show her where it lies.

Otters and seals soon joined the group and there was something about this clan, this pod, that felt home and warm. And as the group and Breach, too, gave into play, she wondered if this was the feeling that she sought. Sharp-toothed whale sharks often formed solid bonds and ran in groups unlike the toothless variety. Was this what she was missing in her life? A pod?

---

Breach awakes with more questions than answers but she has a decision. She will consider and search out this pod. They can learn to tame the whale sharks and maybe the ocean waves, too. They can be friend and family and company. She has so little of it these days. And maybe there are kin she should seek out, revisit. She's changed so much in such a short time. Maybe they have, too.