Our Truth
“Joyous calls echo from tree to tree, a [combination?/culmination?] of [adoration?/admiration?] and [chosen purpose], mutually shared. [A conversation of emotion] with no purpose other than [contented enjoyment of another’s company]. Beyond the grasp of feral reason, but no less [primal?/irrational?]. We embrace each other and [the tragedy of our differences] without trepidation. Talon and paw grasp the same [future?/fate?/eventuality?], heeding reality but willing to [compensate?/repay debts?/face consequences?] regardless.
With Keen-Ear, I [discovered?/created?] true [beauty?/serenity?].”
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The “poems” were real, or at least they managed to convey real emotion when reading them. The meanings were deliberate and exact, conceptualized in ways that did not cleanly fit into words, but intended to evoke such specific concepts and feelings that her own Understanding often created amalgams of familiar terms that the meanings lay somewhere between. Maggie did not enjoy reading them. The one she read was… a love poem. It felt like someone else’s innermost emotions were being superimposed on her own as she read, simultaneously unsettling her and making her feel like she was violating the writer’s privacy.
But still, she had been proven wrong. Whatever these animals were, they were conscious, thinking, and feeling. As much a part of this absurd reality as she was. She didn’t have to trust them, but she knew she was going to lose sleep if she kept treating them the way she had been. So she decided to try and restart on a better foot with the one nearby.
“Excuse me, Transporter?” She peeped, avoiding using her own voice, instead settling on mimicking familiar birdsong. Steady-Step was grazing a short distance away from the pond, and removed from the wagon’s harness she finally got a better look at just what kind of horse it was. It was a fair bit stockier than most horse breeds she was familiar with, with a sandy brown coat and a short, coarse-looking mane. She vaguely recalled seeing a photo of this kind somewhere, attached to an article about domestication, which mentioned how there was only one species of horse left on Earth that never had been. It certainly tracked, she certainly hadn’t seen any other species of domesticated animal among the dozens she’d come across so far, and humans didn’t seem to exist to do any domesticating.
“Is there a problem, Pearl?” Steady-Step snorted, lifting its head a little to stare at her. The sheer difference in size between them almost caused her to lock up when it moved. It was like talking to a living skyscraper. A kaiju. But her nerves eased up when she focused on the lack of hostility in its expressions. She was more likely to startle the horse than it was to deliberately harm her.
“There’s a problem, but it’s not one I need your help with. It’s the problem I’ve been for you so far.” Maggie shuffled awkwardly, unused to this type of conversation. “I wanted to apologize for being a terrible passenger, and to promise that I will do my best to stop being one.”
“That is… appreciated.” The horse stamped at the ground awkwardly before continuing. “To be honest, though, I have appreciated your energy.”
“Really?”
“You have been aggravating, but your companions have been… depressing. Deservedly so, given your affliction, but your positivity in the face of it makes your group’s company far more tolerable. Limiting yourself for my sake will only make the next few days completely miserable, I fear.”
“Thanks…?” Maggie didn’t really know what to do with this information. She wanted to help the others, but she couldn’t. And honestly, if she’d been taking everything as grimly serious as they had been from the jump, she’d be cracking under the pressure by now, too. Playfulness was her only weapon, it seemed. She’d have to keep it sharp. “So, you don’t mind if I go back to using my speaking voice most of the time? I’ll stop arguing with you if you ask me to tone it down or clarify, of course, but I’m most comfortable communicating that way.”
“If you truly must. I appreciate your consideration regardless,” Stead-Step nickered. After a few moments, it continued. “Pearl, may I ask you an odd question?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Why do you label yourself with that name? Your plumage is not even remotely approaching pearlescent, and you haven’t indicated any abstract concepts it could be describing. Do you not find it dishonest?”
Maggie just burst out laughing.
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Trepidation
”Chosen names hold true, as Keen-Ear listens. Not to the [noise?/distractions?] of the world, but to my [heart?/consciousness?/soul?/being?]. Before a single expression leaves my beak, my [hesitation?/fear?/uncertainty?] is already known to it: Am I imposing upon it? Have I forced [romance?/companionship?] upon a dear friend who is [better suited to and desiring of] solitude? A squirrel is not a crow, and squirrels do not flock.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
And still, Keen-Ear knew the answer before the questions were asked:
The [inclinations?/natures?/origins?] of our [species?/upbringings?] are not binding. For what is the purpose of Understanding if not to be able to [choose?/deviate?/become?]?”
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“Hey, I brought you something.” Ink-Talon, gave a muffled croak as he landed back on the wagon, a sizable branch clutched in his beak, laden with sweet-smelling red berries. “Found these in some nearby brush and figured you could use something fresh. I double checked with our guide to make sure these were edible, too.”
“Oh! Thanks!” the squirrel chirped as the gift was set down in front of him. “I don’t think I’ve had anything fresh since…” He trailed off for a moment. Since I became a squirrel? Since I was human? Am I actually squirrel now? Was I ever human to begin with? He gave a quick glance to the pair of kits curled up in the blankets to his left. There were no good answers. “Since way too long ago, let’s be real.”
“Tell me about it,” Ink-Talon clicked as he awkwardly fluttered over to the pile of bundled scrolls, the small basket of the ones he took earlier clutched in his talons. He’d apparently been carrying both that and the branch clipping in flight, which was honestly pretty impressive. He deposited them off to the side, separate from the rest, and picked another scroll out of the pile at random, swiftly unfastening it.
“I take it those ones were a captivating read?”
“A strange read, actually. I just need to make sure they’re not all like this.” He briefly scanned the document in front of him and shook his head. “Nope, this is just a log of the weather day-to-day. Way closer to what I was expecting. Apparently I managed to grab the scholar’s personal writings out of this whole pile by sheer happenstance.” Now unburdened, the crow hopped back over and sat down to the squirrel’s right, opposite the kits. “Hey, can we talk?”
“We’re already talking,” the squirrel chittered, plucking a berry with his forepaws and taking a nibble. It was simultaneously the sweetest thing he had ever tasted and somehow just tart enough to not be overwhelming. There was little he could do to keep the juices from making a mess of the fur on his paws and muzzle, but that would be a problem for later.
“I mean talk seriously.” Ink-Talon tilted his head to look him right in the eye. “I need you to be honest with me. How are you feeling?”
The question hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine.
“I’m fine, just tired.” He lied almost reflexively. For once, he was thankful for his inhuman face. If he were in his old body, he’d have burst into tears, unable to keep his composure. But he couldn’t cry, so he could hold it together like this. All of the tension in this horrid little body wasn’t something Ink-Talon could pick up on. The kits certainly would have, but they were asleep.
“Stop this, please,” Ink-Talon croaked, his gaze falling to the floor. “I know I’m kinda blind to these things, but the others aren’t. Just because you can keep your struggles to yourself doesn’t mean you should. You shouldn't have to hide things, or pretend, or bottle anything up. But I want to hear it from you and not just make assumptions. Are you okay?”
“No,” the squirrel squeaked almost inaudibly. The guillotine had dropped. “How the hell could I possibly be okay?” There was a venomous edge to his tone that even Ink-Talon could pick up on. “But I’m alive. I’m going to stay alive, and I’ll make sure these two stay alive as well. You don’t need to worry about me, and tell Maggie to mind her own damn business. I refuse to drag everyone else down with me.” He took a second berry and bit into it with a lot more force, uncaring for the mess it made. “Go enjoy being a bird.”
“You think I enjoy being like this?” Ink-Talon asked. “That I wouldn’t change back at the first opportunity?”
“No, I don’t think you would,” the squirrel growled. “You’ve been thriving, ‘Ink-Talon.’ You’re curious, you’re proactive, you’re a problem solver, perfectly willing to embrace the situation without a second thought. You might as well adopt that Scholar title with the rest of their name and stop kidding yourself.”
The crow opened his beak, but didn’t make a sound. He was obviously trying to come up with a rebuttal, but couldn’t.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be lashing out at you like this. None of this is your fault.” The squirrel’s demeanor softened a little. “I’m actually happy for you, you know? All my anger and resentment is aimed at… this.” He reared up precariously on his hind legs and gestured at himself. “But this body isn’t a person I can air grievances with. It’s just… a prison.”
“Okay, then air them with me,” Ink-Talon cawed, standing up. “Lash out at me. Get angry with me. Vent every last frustration at me. Project all you want. I can take it.”
“But… why?“
“If you don’t let loose and grasp at whatever catharsis you can, if you don’t give a voice to your pain, you’re going to burn out, or snap, or worse.” The crow extended a wing and gently placed it on the squirrel’s shoulder. “Believe me, I’ve been there. You can only push yourself beyond your means for so long before something gives and you break. So let me know how you’re hurting so I can help you. Just let it all out, and we’ll figure out what to do from there.”
“Okay…” The squirrel took a deep breath. He was right, of course. But this wouldn't be pleasant for either of them. “Apologies in advance…”
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A Calling
“I stood among my peers as we scrutinized the world, and the world became [known?/discovered?]. I stood among the trees as I scrutinized the forest, and the forest became [detailed?/complex?]. But I stand among the blades of grass as I scrutinize the soil, and the soil becomes only [endless?/empty?/beyond comprehension?]. The [more specific and granular] the examination becomes, the less [worthwhile and usable knowledge] I find.
Why do we [live?/think?/Understand?/exist?]? The Beacons are the means? Our Gifts are the means? Our [wills?/minds?] are the means? [All of them?/some of them?/none of them?] are the means? The deeper I delve, the less the [conclusion?/reality?/truth?] emerges. But that is why I learn. I must [broaden?/extend?] the small, expose it to a [macroscopic?/loose?/wide?] view.
But I do not know how.”