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ENTRY: “Child, ar—“

“I am not your child,” the doe sneered at the Crane.

“You are all my children.” The Crane’s feathers ruffled as it changed into a kimeti.

“You killed my brother,” the doe’s voice shot harsh and the Motherfather stiffened. “You put these dreams in my head of the sea. You let my brother die,” her voice rose as tears shimmered down her cheeks.

It began with twins: a brother and a sister. It began with death.

“No, no! You can’t die!” the sister pleaded, eyes wide in fright. Tears pooled at the inside corners of her eyes, streaked down her face, as her brother laid collapsed.

They were alone here. Just them; lost in the wilderness’s teeth.

“Please, brother, you can’t leave me. You can’t. I’ll be all alone…,” her voice wavered, dropped into a whisper, as she dissolved into tears. She pressed her face into the matted fur of her brother. He was so thin. Starvation had settled into his bones; thirst had grasped at his flesh. He was dying, nearly dead. (”All my fault. I never should have made you come.”) If only he hadn’t put her first…

The heavy rasp of breath declined. And then stopped. The sister could only sob.

“It was a tra—“

“It was murder!”

As the scream left her mouth, she launched herself at the Motherfather. Alarmed but unafraid, the spirit stood. And then the unthinkable. The doe snapped her jaws around the spirit’s neck and drew blood.

The Motherfather did not die, in fact, except for the sudden flutter of black feathers the spirit seemed unharmed. The doe, however, felt a great pain as the blood stained her tongue. It was not the blood of mere mortal and she was sure she would join her brother. She watched the pitying gaze of the Crane, then collapsed into the dirt. And she warred with herself. More importantly, she wished.

“I wish you were alive.” “I wish it had been me instead of you.” “I wish I wasn’t alone, please don’t leave me alone without you.” “I wish—“

But the Crane watched and the doe’s remembrance was marred by the memories. She had begged the Motherfather for helped; it had not come.

“I wish no twin the happiness you denied us.”

Wishes are very simple in theory; wishes are never what they seem.

The doe did not die. Instead, after a time of nightmares (”Don’t do this, my sister. Please…”) she rose. The confrontation with the Crane had only angered her further, fed the flames of her grief. It may have well subsided in time but then there would be no story. For mere hours after waking, the doe heard voices. And came face to face with twins. Alive. Whole. Together. But much worse, happy.

It was rage and anguish that greeted them all. It was sharp teeth, harsh hooves. But strength was not hers; perhaps if it had been, she would have merely killed them both. Whatever may have been, she was merely exhausted. The twins called her mad and fled. And in her failure, she began to think. To fume. And she began to change.

She began to stalk and plot. She became a fox, first in mind, then in body. No one feared a lone, small fox as it followed. No one quite thought her a predator until the gleam of her fangs was bearing down on them. A pressure on their back, sharpness pierced into their throat. It was almost easy to kill the unsuspecting as a fox. And easiness did not quell the fury.

It was the sister-twin she killed first. The sister-twin she ate and thought, “he’d never suspect his sister…” and the blood of the Motherfather responded. There is much the Crane can do that mere kin cannot. But the same blood that had allowed her to become a fox at will, now, too, allowed her to become and, more importantly, to know the kin she killed. Foxes were clever after all.

And so it was, changed into the sister-twin, she went to the brother-twin. It could have been a simple game. But vengeance is a fire never satisfied and she played. For days she embodied the sister-twin, wore her skin and spoke her voice and knew her memories. Until she led him, hopeless and clueless, to the decay of his real sister.

It was a gruesome sight as it had been for her when her own twin died. And she was glad to see this twin’s pain.

“You could have saved her if only you hadn’t lived,” she, still presenting herself as the dead sister-twin, said. Twins should always be together. Never apart.

The brother-twin beset with grief was, to say the least, confused. “Who are you? What did she ever do to you?”

“She lived; she was happy!” she growled, fur twitching into shocks of orange and teeth growing into sharp fangs. She shifted into a fox and it was only when the brother-twin’s blood coated her tongue that she became her first form. Herself.

“You can call me Shifter, the Twin Killer,” she told the dying buck. And she laughed. For a moment, ever so brief, the grief of her loneliness ebbed and she was appeased. But there were more twins in the swamp. Happier twins. Twins still together where she was alone. And with the blood of the Crane within her, with the blood of these twins on her pelt, bitterness swelled. They could not be allowed to have that which she had been denied. They had to die as her brother had.

“So, if you are a twin, you must always be careful. For the Shifter will hunt you and—“

“But there must be a way to know it’s the Shifter, right?” the voice of a colt wavered, brow creased.

“They say the Motherfather roused her brother’s soul into that of a bear in the hopes he would stop her. And sometimes, survivors tell of a bear’s growl that spared them the fox’s teeth. But that is not my tale to tell, little one,” the gray speckled kiokote smiled.

A grumbled groan caught the colt’s attention and he turned from his great aunt. He heard the crunch of leaves and, for a moment, the terror of the Shifter coiled tight.

“Who are you talking to?” a filly’s voice cut in.

A cough of nervous laughter; it was only his sister.

“Just Great Aunt,” the colt smiled. A shudder quavered down the length of his spine at the look of confusion on her face.

“Great Aunt died this morning…” she breathed.

Eyes blinked. Then who? The colt turned, stomach twisting, to where his Great Aunt had been only moments before. She was gone; in her place was a fox. Pelt dusted the color of dried blood.

Its eyes twinkled and its maw twitched. A flash of gleaming white teeth captivated the twins as the animal pounced and—

ENTRY:




There was a buck once, long before the MotherFather woke from their slumber. In that time the kimeti had no one to turn to. They lived in the swamp, but were not of the swamp. Without the guidance of the MotherFather they turned to the creatures for lessons. In those days, it was normal for a young colt or filly to be mentored by the creatures of the swamp for the creatures were much like kin then and could talk and think and dream.

From the crane the kimeti might learn grace. They learned to stand still in the water until even dragonflies would approach.

From the owlcat the kimeti might learn cunning and cleverness. They knew how to hide in broad daylight, how to watch others in plain sight.

From the eaglehound the kimeti might learn fortitude. They were always the most stalwart and loyal souls in the swamp.

From the songbird the kimeti learned to sing. Those who were taught by songbirds could speak clearly and their voice could carry through the trees.

There were others, caiman and moths and spiders and snakes, and the few kin who wandered far to the far edges of the swamp found other teachers - creatures that none had ever seen before. Dogs who ran swifter than the wind, great birds of prey who flew high in the sky, the sleek wild cats that lived in the grasses.

But there was one creature that the kin did not learn from, and that was the wolf.

And it was not because the wolf was lacking or hated. For a wolf was the greatest of predators. It too knew how to track and stalk and hunt. It too held loyalty and fortitude close. It too could sing to the moon.

But the wolf-blood ran too hot.

Too hot for any kimeti.

Kimeti learned from their mentors, but those that were taught by the wolves became wolves; and as any kimeti could tell you - it is a dangerous thing to lose a part of yourself. It is a dangerous thing to become something different, something more, than what you were.

*

One day, in the spring of the buck's youth, he met a doe who wore a wolf's skin. She was not young, but she seemed stronger than anything or anyone the buck had ever seen before. Her flank was marred with scars, and though she survived much, she wore no trinkets of her hunts save the pelt on her back.

She found him when he was young, at the age where he was looking for a mentor. The buck had met a crane who offered to mentor him, and an eaglehound, and even a tortoise, but he had turned each down. They were very kind and had much to offer, he knew, but he also knew what he wanted was not exactly what they could give.

The doe found him in the mud flats. He saw the pelt first, thought himself surrounded by wolves. But he did not move and he did not run. Perhaps he could not, or perhaps he was very brave, or perhaps he was very foolish - it has been a long time and the stories change, but what is important does not: The young buck did not move.

The doe liked that about him, and so she came to him.

She asked: "Do you wish to become strong?"

"Yes," said the buck, "but I want to become strong for a reason. I do not want to only be strong. I must be strong for something."

This was the right answer, and it pleased the doe. She smiled a smile that was not entirely kimeti.

She said: "If you have a family to protect, you will become stronger than any other kin. Your family will give you strength."

The buck did not understand, and so he turned his head up at her. Family? What was a family? He had a mother and a father, yes, for all living things did. But he did not know his mother and he did not know his father. He was but an sac left in a safe place for them - a child that was born.

The doe, who was a wolf but also a kimeti, knew this and she smiled again. This smile was gentler, almost like a mother's - if a kimeti knew what a mother was.

She said: "We will teach you."

And then the buck noticed there were wolves. There were a few kimeti too, but only the doe wore a pelt. They were looking at him. He looked back.

She said: "But first, you must pledge yourself to this pack. This pack is your family and you must trust us. You must become one with us."

The buck said he would, but then the doe pulled her neck back, exposing it the buck.

She said: "Bite."

He trusted her, and so he did. At first it was a gentle bite, but the doe growled at him and he knew that a gentle bite was not good enough. So the young buck bit down until he drew blood. The doe's blood filled his mouth - a coppery sticky taste he did not really know if he liked.

The wolves were watching. No one made a sound. He let go and stepped back with the doe's blood still on his teeth.

The doe said: "Good. Now turn you neck."

And because he trusted her, he did.

The doe was much harsher than he was, and she did not spare him any pain. Her teeth pierced his skin easily, and he felt the blood well out. He could smell it as it filled the doe's mouth. When she stepped away, the others came forward and they licked at his blood on her muzzle. Some came to him and licked the wound the doe had left. He did not understand, but he did. They were bound in blood now. One by one, the wolves and the kimeti turned their heads to the sky and howled. When they were done, the ran back into the woods.

The doe was the last to leave, she turned back to him.

She said: "Brotherson, come."

And he did.

*

The years passed, and the buck grew stronger. He ran with his brothers and sisters. He raised the pups and took care of the few kimeti that joined them. At night he slept with his family under the moon and during the day, he ran through the forests as quiet and fast and unseen as any other wolf.

He was a hunter, and so he hunted. He brought back food and watched with pride as the young and the old ate the best cuts. He was a hunter, he provided for the pack. Sometimes he met other kimeti on the hunts and they thought it was very odd for him to take his killings back. They thought the hunter deserved the best cuts. He did not really understand them, and he spoke little to them - these creatures who wore the same form as him.

One day he saw a doe as beautiful and as pale as the moon. He stared at her, for he could not move, and his brothers laughed. "Moonstruck! Like a pup!" He shoved back, because he was a wolf and wolves did not like to be laughed at.

He dreamed about her for three days. And each day he tried to ask her about herself - her name, her family, what season she liked. But each and every day she turned her head to the side, and she spoke back in words he did not understand.

The next time he saw her, he walked up to her. He only wanted to talk, but she froze up and when he took another step, she bolted. She ran from him like a deer from a hunting party and so he followed. He ran after her through the forests and through the bogs.

"Wait," he yelled, "I only want to talk. I only want to know your name."

But she did not stop. She ran faster and faster. She ran the entirety of the swamp, and he chased her through it all. They ran for three moons until finally, they came to a great lake that he had never seen before. The doe lifted her head and said something to something that he could not see. She stepped forward into the lake.

He followed, but before he could reach her, two great cranes came down to stop him. They blocked his path. He tried twice to go around them, but they would not let him. Finally, he said to them, "Please, I only wish to speak to her. Please let me pass."

The cranes looked at each other and one dipped its head. This one spoke to him.

It asked: "Is that why you have chased her for three moons."

"Yes," said the buck. He was a little impatient for he could sense the doe drawing farther and farther away. "I do not know why she runs, but I only wish to speak to her."

The crane said: "She runs because she is afraid."

"What?" Asked the buck. "She has no reason to be afraid. I will not hurt her. I do not have a reason to hurt her, we are both kimeti."

The crane said: "Are you?"

This was an odd question. The buck wanted to say that he was most certainly a kimeti, for what else could he be? He was born from a sac and he did not know his mother or his father or his siblings. But the cranes were very wise, and this one even spoke in a way he could understand, so the buck did not ask the crane a question. The buck looked down at his own reflection in the lake.

What looked back up at him was not a kimeti.

*

He had become a wolf. He had lived with the wolves and they were his family. He slept with them every night. He liked being a wolf, and the wolves loved him as one of their own. He lived like a wolf until he became a wolf.

For that was the way it was when the MotherFather slept. Surely some who had been mentored by the cranes became cranes, and some who were mentored by the eaglehounds became eaglehounds. But all that were mentored, by the wolves became wolves. Too hot, the wolf blood burned too hot.

And when the MotherFather woke, they could not change back.