I returned to the meadow the next day, around midday, like the day before, regardless of the strong summer heat. I had hunted for my nourishment during the morning, as usual, and stopped at the cliffside clearing in hopes of seeing Lillie again. She was strolling around the grass, humming a song as she was filling her satchel with plants. I landed nearby, and her face lit up with excitement upon discovering my return.
“Sable!” she shouted and ran towards me. “Look what I found!” She widened the opening of her satchel, revealing heaps of pink and yellow colors.
“Flowers?” I asked as I peered into her satchel.
“I will bring them back home,” she said. “Maybe my mother can do something nice with them. I hope she likes them. Do you like flowers? Anyway, would you like something to eat?” Lillie, like once before, did not wait for me to answer any of her questions. She pulled a cloth out of her green skirt pocket and unfolded it, revealing a single slice of bread. I took it and munched happily. With her other hand, she pulled out berries from her another pocket.
“Try these,” she said. I recognized the little black berries and happily ate them, enjoying the mixture of berries with the yeasty flavors of bread. “I just found a ginormous bush with lots of these!”
“I’ve eaten them before,” I replied as I licked the remnants of the berry juices from the palm of my hand.
“Ah, that’s why you trusted me,” she said with a changed tone of voice. As I looked at her with confusion, she grinned, her rosy cheeks rounding and her long, pointed ears perking up.
“What do you mean?”
“I could have given you poisonous berries!” Lillie suddenly laughed menacingly, pointing a finger at me. I felt my lips curl with amusement at her interesting behavior, thinking she was silly for saying such a thing. Yet the idea of her feeding me poisonous food suddenly overcame my mind. I was trusting of Lillie; I ate her food and answered her questions. Perhaps too trusting?
The forest dwellers live primitive lives in the valleys, I remembered my mother telling me while we stumbled upon a hunting camp during my early days of training. We do not interfere with their lives, they not with us. We live separately to keep peace and balance.
Why? Was interacting with Lillie a threat to myself? Her demeanor felt safe and friendly, she was by no means a vicious hunter or territorial bear protecting her cubs. She really had no reason to poison or cause me harm. I saw no logical reason for her to feed me indigestible food, and, if she were, why would she eat the same food if she was attempting to hurt me? Perhaps her remark was purely motivated by amusement; her change of tone enamored me, and a new feeling of audaciousness rose within my chest.
“I think if you wanted to poison me, you would have given me bread made from rat-flour,” I finally said, sensing my cheeks turning warm.
“Hey!” Lillie bantered back, her pointed ears perking up. “That’s a good idea. I’ll remember that next time I want to poison someone!” I laughed, feeling presumptuous. Lillie’s humor was entertaining, something unfamiliar to me, yet I thoroughly enjoyed partaking in such a sarcastic form of communication, relishing the playful sensation within my heart.
“How old are you, anyway?” she blurted out while wiping her stained, but smooth hands on her green skirt.
“I am in my twelfth year,” I answered, still feeling the warmth in my face. I looked down at my hands, observing the dark stains also on my skin.
“So, you’re twelve? Cool! So am I! That’s why we are the same height.” Lillie stood close to me, placing her hand near her forehead, and extended it to mine. She moved her stained hand from her head to mine in repetition, scrunching her nose as she measured our heights.
“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” I said, and took a step back from her close proximity.
“I’m taller than the other kids my age. Nice to see another kid my size.” I examined Lillie. She was, in fact, my height. However, she was quite different from me in her other features. Her deep gray skin revealed cool undertones, similar to a sky before a storm. Her green eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and her cheeks, nose, and the tips of her pointed ears were rose-colored. My ears were pointed, but hers were slightly thinner and longer than mine. She wore a cream-colored blouse and an earthy green skirt that went just below her knees. Her brown leather shoes, tossed somewhere in the grass, were similar in color to her chestnut-brown hair. Lillie resembled earthy, neutral tones, while I with my black wings and dark clothes felt the opposite. She was like a blossoming tree of nature while I cast a shadow behind with my dark figure.
“Are kids in your neighborhood the same height as you?” she asked while still observing the top of my head and our similar height.
“What is a neighborhood?” I questioned.
“Other people’s houses, of course. People who live near you and stuff like that. You know? It doesn’t have to be right next to you. I have a big neighborhood. Lots of kids live near me, although I don’t think of all of them as my neighbors.”
“Oh, okay.”
“So! Are kids in your neighborhood as tall as you?”
“Yes.”
“Cool! I’m the same height as the Teragane kids!” Lillie ran off laughing, doing cartwheels in the open grassy area. I smiled while shaking my head. I thought she was childish yet entertaining. Her easily amused attitude was enjoyable to observe. Her answers to my questions were intriguing, causing me to think more about the world around me. I jumped onto the boulder nearby and lowered myself into a crouched position. I watched Lillie continue to cartwheel around the meadow, grabbing little yellow flowers in between her movements. She hummed a song, and twirled her green skirt, smiling as she occasionally glanced at me. I thought about my clever banter with her sarcastic comments, thoroughly relishing my witty participation. We may had been different in personality and physical features, yet I admired our differences. Then, I wondered about the concept of a neighborhood, thinking about the other Teragane kids who lived near me on the mountain. I questioned if neighborhood was the right word to describe my colony.
***
As a creature of habit, I started to make my stop at the cliffside meadow a midday ritual. After making my morning hunting trip down to the rivers, I would then fly to the meadow and wait for Lillie. Sometimes she was already there, singing to herself while walking around barefoot, and always overly expressive when she saw me. The other times when she had not arrived, I waited while the sun moved above in the sky. But, always, even if inconsistent in her timing, she would come with a beaming smile whenever she saw me. Lillie also brought something to eat every day. Sometimes it was delicious; other times it was a strange experience. Her life was unpredictable but curious for me to observe. Often, she would explain the creative process of her food, sometimes with humorous details, but other times it was rather depressing. I did not always understand everything she talked about, particularly how her culture functioned. Her life seemed advanced in comparison to mine, mysterious at times. But, for my younger self, it was an interesting experience every time Lillie spoke. I always looked forward to listening to her stories, anticipating the new concepts to think about, and impetuously awaited the opportunity to banter with her sarcastic remarks.
“I had to fight for the stalks of corn today,” she said one afternoon while we sat together.
“Why?” I asked while munching on the cornbread she had given me. I enjoyed the mix of grainy texture and honey, regardless if Lillie said it was incomplete without butter, which apparently was difficult to obtain.
“There was a shortage, apparently, and that darn Thabias stole my share. Mother told me to do what is absolutely necessary to retrieve our share of stalks. Don’t let that dirty, stupid Thabias take our food!”
“Why would he take your food?”
“Because he is stupid.” Lillie crossed her arms and pouted her lips. She seemed quite furious as she sighed deeply and then took a vicious bite of the cornbread, causing bits of crumbs to linger in the corners of her mouth. Her thin brows were furrowed, and I noticed her rosy nose and cheeks deepen into a red crimson color, and her usual sparkling green eyes dimmed with frustration. It was my first time seeing Lillie angry, unlike her usual happy self. I did not know who Thabias was, nor did I really care, especially after hearing Lillie’s opinion on his intelligence.
“Did you fight him?” I asked as I adjusted to my side in a laying position. I felt the wind rustle my black hair and slightly brushed my fingers through while my wings twitched as I folded them.
“Of course I did!” she shouted. I laughed, imagining Lillie attacking a child for taking her corn. As a Teragane, I learned how to defend myself and was encouraged to play-fight with the others in my colony while we were young. Perhaps Lillie also learned how to fight with the children in her neighborhood. Were our cultures really that different? Were my teachers wrong about the forest dwellers?
My laughter started deep within—my first deep belly laugh, and I placed my hand on my side.
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“What?” Lillie retorted, and rose to a standing position, anger still obvious upon her cheeks. “He deserved it! He thinks he is so much stronger than me—and better. I had to prove him wrong!”
“He is stupid, thinking he can steal food from you.” I continued to chuckle. Lillie’s smile returned, and she began laughing while placing her hands proudly upon her hips and puffing out her chest.
“Yes! Exactly! An actual tree stump!”
“Sounds like he deserved every bit of your wrath.” I hoped to only continue riling her up, for, I rather liked this side of Lillie. Her green eyes widened, and her cheeks further reddened with intensity. Often her face would redden with excitement, but this red was much stronger, like a fire turning into a blaze beneath her gray skin. I thought her skin to be enchanting, like a glorious cloudy sky before an intense storm with hues of purple and blue. I liked seeing her full of fury and defensive. I was accustomed to the others in my colony having similar defensive reactions to situations of survival, yet, mostly, it was animalistic, baring similarities to eagles fighting over a fresh kill or wolves snapping their jaws to keep their pack in order. Lillie, on the other hand, seemed more advanced, witty, and I enjoyed her behavior as one to challenge another's intelligence. Perhaps I could also do the same, at least, next time someone attempted to steal my food—if that even were to happen.
Suddenly, Lillie began punching the air where she stood, then cartwheeled around me, displaying her full wrath. As a rather thin 12-year-old, it wasn’t much, but for me, as a young boy swirling with thoughts and new ideas, it was exciting. I stood up and began cheering her on.
“A punch here,” she jabbed, then wheeled away, then stood up and extended her bare foot rather high. “A kick here.”
“A true defender of the corn stalks! No one shall steal from you ever again!”
She punched, and I cheered; she cartwheeled, and I clapped. After several more cartwheels, punches, and dramatic kicks, she grew tired and plopped onto the ground. I followed suit, and we laughed until our bellies ached and tears of joy ran down our faces. As her anger subsided, her cheeks and nose returned to their rosy complexions, but her eyes stayed glimmering with brilliant energy, and my stomach felt queasy with excitement.
***
I did not often think too much of Lillie’s life inside the forest, other than imagining how she lived in parallel concepts of my own life. Her stories were entertaining, but rarely did I fully comprehend everything that happened within its components. I could only use my own personal experiences in relation, otherwise, I just enjoyed her narratives as something intriguing. I thought of her as a friend, someone to spend my afternoons with, entertaining my curiosities and humoring me with playful teasing. She had her culture, I had mine, and being with her—being friends with her—was already against what I had been taught. Perhaps I didn't want to risk exploring my curiosities past the tree-line of the cedars, feeling content with what I had, for, it was very enjoyable. Why risk my rebellion further?
Looking back, I think Lillie was quite curious about my life on the mountain. Naturally, she was intrigued about many things, an attribute we shared, although I kept my thoughts mostly to myself. I never thought of it being interesting; her life seemed much more amusing, yet I rarely asked questions, perhaps to conserve my status. I was unaccustomed to partake in inquisitive interviews with others in general, for, the Teragane did not reveal information to others—not unless necessary.
“Why do you hunt by yourself?” Lillie asked me once.
“Because everyone hunts by themselves,” I replied. I was lying against a boulder where we often settled, chewing on a stalk of something that Lillie had brought me. It was sweet, yet stringy, unlike the bones I had chewed on during my early developing years. I found it rather relaxing to chew on, causing my eyes to slowly close as I drifted into a sleepy daze with my arms behind my head, and my feet bounced as I crossed my outstretched legs. The weather was turning cold as winter approached, but the meadow was still a relaxing spot for both of us. My woolen clothes were adequate for warmth, my leather, pliable boots suitable, but Lillie eventually brought a blanket for us to sit on, soon followed by her bringing a blanket to cover ourselves when the breeze turned colder. It was cozy, as she had described, and I enjoyed the advanced idea of covering with a blanket designated for the act of staying warm. Typically, I wore a cloak during the colder seasons, but, if needed, my wings could cover me adequately as a blanket.
“Why does everyone hunt by themselves?” Lillie asked. The sound of clinking wood resounded as her hands systematically maneuvered two wooden needles wrapped in material. Knitting, she called it, and she could make all kinds of other objects to wear.
“Because that is how we are taught,” I replied sleepily.
“Who teaches you?”
“Our parents.”
“Why don’t you continue to hunt with your parents?”
“Because our parents stop hunting with us as children. They teach us to hunt by ourselves for our own survival.”
“Your parents don’t cook for you?” I stopped chewing for a moment, and my eyes widened from my sleepy haze. It was the first time I realized how contrasting our worlds were. Obviously, Lillie and I lived in very different environments; however, the conversation made me fully conceptualize the blatant contrast of those worlds.
I turned and faced her. She sat cross-legged, her bare feet wiggling underneath her. She was working with some type of material, making a scarf or hat—whatever it was. She was always working on something with her hands. I often listened to the sound of the clinking wooden needles, or the subtle rustling of her weaving dried grass. It was relaxing to listen to, as was her voice.
“No. No one cooks,” I stated firmly.
“You eat fish raw? Is that why you like the food I bring?” she asked. As she tilted her head, her braided brown hair swayed to the side.
“Probably.” I returned to my relaxed position, placing my hands above my head, and I continued chewing the sweet plant stalk.
It was true. I did love her food; even the strange food was enough of a captivating experience to satisfy me. Looking back, the weird food was not bad in taste; it was only an unfamiliar experience that created new sensations throughout my mouth. The worst was when it was painful—spicy, as she called it. Spicy felt horrendous, yet exciting.
“Do you share meals with others?” Lillie asked. I could sense she would only continue to bombard me with ongoing questions, so I decided to explain more of my culture, ignoring the pang of guilt rising from the reminders of my teachers.
“No. I do not share meals with others,” I started, and I adjusted up from my relaxed position, leaning forward and taking the sweet grass out of my mouth. “Children are taught to be independent of their parents and others, hence why we do not share meals together. There’s really no reason to do so. We are cared for as younglings, but only with the dedication of teaching us how to survive on our own. By age eight, sometimes later, we are nearly independent of our parents. Most of the time, the younglings are completely independent by age ten. Then our parents leave us. And we live on our own.”
"Ten? You've been living alone since you were ten years old?"
"Yes."
“Do you at least live near others? Like, a neighborhood?” The clinking wooden needles stopped as she paused her working hands. Her green eyes glistened as she stared at me, and his thin lips slightly parted.
“Yes, there is a colony. Our parents find homes for us younglings before we are born, usually with other parents nearby and their children. Then, when the time is right, they leave and return to their original homes. So, yes, I live near others—some type of neighborhood—but, we call it a colony.”
“Do your parents visit you?”
“No. There are some Elder-Rituals, but not very often. I have only attended one gathering before. Maybe some other gatherings are required after certain years, but I often forget. There are Sages who keep track of that sort of stuff. They would inform me if there was a call for a gathering.”
“Do you live with the others?”
“No, I live alone.”
“Oh.” Lillie grew quiet, and her facial expression appeared saddened, and an uncomfortable feeling rose within my chest. Not one of guilt of speaking about my culture, but rather causing Lillie to feel sad about my life.
“It’s okay,” I quickly said. “I like living alone. It is normal for me.”
“It sounds terribly lonely to me,” she said while blinking rapidly. “I could never imagine living alone.”
“Well, that’s not how your world works.” Silence fell between us, and I leaned back against the boulder while Lillie continued to knit with the wooden needles. I did not think much of the matter until I later realized it was the first time I shared about my life on the mountain. She often talked about her family, neighbors, and the people she interacted with every day, yet I never had stories to tell. Her whole world revolved around other people in her life. My life probably seemed so desolate compared to hers.
As the sun made its way behind the mountains, Lillie began packing her items. The blanket, the small materials for her project, and the napkins that held only food crumbs. She gently placed the items in her basket then hauled the wicker onto her back, fastening the leather straps around her shoulders.
“Unfortunately, I can’t come every day anymore,” Lillie said while looking at the ground.
“Okay,” I replied as I stood near her.
“I can come every other day.”
“Okay.” She quickly approached me and swung her arms around me to give me a hug. Her warm embrace caused me to stiffen into an awkward position. I simply patted her back, feeling strange about the sudden burst of affection. She let me go, smiled at me, and then walked towards the forest, disappearing within the trees. I took off into the sky, flying towards my home near the mountain peak. I thought about her hug. I thought about being near her. I thoroughly enjoyed her friendship and how our contrasting worlds collided, yet my mind began to ponder how things would evolve.
Was our friendship sustainable? Was it practical for my survival? Did it create an imbalance in my life?
No—at least, I didn't think as the seasons went by and Lillie and I grew older, living our separate lives in the environments we were born into. Her freedom to visit the meadow lessened as her obligations grew. During the winter months, due to the freezing temperatures, I did not leave my mountain residence. Lillie also resided only within the comfort of her home during the colder season. By our teen years, we agreed to visit every two weeks, specifically during the days of a half-moon and the full-moon, and I was grateful for our blossoming friendship and continuous meetings through the years.
I spent my adolescence abiding by the rules and survivalist methods of my people, and Lillie followed the livelihood of her own people within the forest. She told me about her reading and writing lessons, learning about plants, various people she interacted with, filling her time with endless interactions of finding her way through her elaborate and far from anything considered primitive. I began to question the teachings of the Sage and my parents, specifically about their understandings of people like Lillie. Yet, I wasn't quite ready to challenge it and kept my meetings a secret from the others of the colony. Well, our natural isolation allowed me to never run into problems of my rebellion being exposed during those years.
As Lillie continued to pursue varying interests and survival with her own people, my life stayed constant and simple. I appreciated our time together in the meadow, but as her interactions with others increased, I began to feel a new sensation whenever I left after visiting Lillie in the meadow. My mind would ponder friendship and life within the mountain as an isolated Teragane every time I left the meadow.
I entered my room. A solitary residence. A cave carved into the mountainside.
When such sensations overwhelmed my mind and plagued my heart, I would acknowledge the word to describe my emotions: lonely.