Echoes in the Dusk Page #4

• Science fiction

								


My body is remade, my legs reformed into taut muscle and thick skin. The surface of it flares. Tiny, semi-translucent scales shifting in position from my ankles to my thighs. 
My arm, once a bundle of shredded muscles and tendons, now covered in similar prismatic scales which taper to skin just above my wrist. Its shifting motions as I turn my hand back and forth reveal the layers of chorded muscles just below the surface.

For a moment, I’m lost in the sight of myself. The experience of sensing is more than enough to distract me from any other thought.

*Elara*

I snap to, sharp and attentive. The Strider that was. The huntress that is. The two mixing into a new form.

My body twists, the motion of it feels the first stretch after waking from a deep slumber. All pleasure and delicious strain. 

Reaching down, I retrieve my bag and the contents within. The antivenom survived the ordeal, a lucky break. 

The rest of the bag is packed with provisions. The things anyone would need to have a chance at survival out in the wilds of End of Eden. 

I stash the antivenom into a side pouch on my belt and drop the rest of the bag, letting it sink into the mud. 

Then, I’m in motion. The clawing mud ignored as my legs press me forward with unnatural speed. Each leap is a display of mastery over the physical world. I can sense the scales around my legs adjusting with each stride to account for air pressure and velocity. The muscles beneath shifting in subtle ways to compensate for the uneven terrain, the angle and weight of my body.

Each breath is nectar in my lungs. 

Lurkers nest in partially submerged caverns. This I know from before. 

The slight traces of its scent, mixed with nearly imperceptible grooves in the wood of trees and the tell-tale marks of Elara’s hair shampoo. These I can only perceive now. 
They are my guide. 

I leap into the air, the rush of it feels like coming home for the first time. I am flying, frozen in an instant as the arch of my jump reaches its zenith. There, a blur of motion cast across my vision. My body tenses in a new way as all thought and feeling falls by the wayside. 

*Prey*

The landing is a fraction of time. A period at the end of a short sentence, quickly overtaken by the next. I am no longer Anya. I am not mother or huntress. I am motion. I am hunting. 

The blur comes into focus. Splendid feathers of deep violet and emerald shaped into a body in flight. It soars in the high perches of the bog’s twisted canopy, safe from any that would potentially desire it. 

It never knew I was there. I appear by its side faster than it took the desire for its capture to form. I am up, fifty feet off the ground, holding onto a gnarled branch of pale wood. The bird in my hands, dead from the impact of my strike.

My mind casts back to the Mud Tyrant. I feared it, hated it for what it did to me. Now, I see that it had no ill intent. No malice in its heart. It was so simple for it to strike me down. What else was it meant to do?

I look at the bird, my mind grasping at new truths. This is the way of things here. This is what it means to be part of the system. 

*What am I doing? Elara needs me.* 

A sharp pain cuts through my left eye, piercing into my skull. My hand comes up, pressing against the spot. The bird is discarded. My fingers are met with a rough texture, hair matted with blood. But there is something more, the even lines of scales forming just below my hair line and down the right side of my jaw. 

*I guess more than just my arm and legs changed.* 

*We need to move, we’re wasting time.* 

An intake of air points the way forward once more. We follow it, leaping with ease between branch and trunk. 
**

In mere moments, we find the entrance to the nest. The sounds of breathing echo from within. One is muffled and shallow. The other steady. 

We feel hope rise, tempered by caution. 

There is no need to give ourselves away. A quick strike will end this. 

We move towards the entrance, our steps are whispers. The darkness within betrays shape and detail to our eyes. The Lurker is there, bundled in sleep.

*It took our daughter.* 

Entering its home is child’s play. So defenseless, ready to be taken. 

We stand before it, our scent masked by pheromones of our own making. 

We can see the shape of our child inside its sack, floating in digestive fluids that eat away at her form. 

*This is the cycle. It is a part of it, just like us.* 

*It was not prepared for one such as us, and so it pays the price.* 

Our hand tightens into a fist, scales flaring into razor sharp points at the ends of our knuckles. 

Looking down at this creature, there is no hatred for it. The thought of how it must have felt, coming into another’s home and taking from them briefly crosses our mind. 

*The cycle continues.* 

The crunching of bones reverberates through the cavern as the Lurker’s head is crushed under our first. 

Its body convulses a few times, throwing the sloshing the contents of its feeding sack back and forth. 

As we step towards it, a clutch of large eggs grabs our attention. Neatly huddled inside a nest in the driest part of the cave. 

*It is only just that we partake.* 

Each egg slides down easily. A welcomed meal after a just hunt. 

A deep part of our mind screams at our actions, urges us towards the discarded sack and its contents. It will have to wait. 

With the meal finished, we move to our task. The layers of cartilage are easily cut, the contents removed. She smells familiar, pleasant. 

Her body is so light, as if she has reverted to a baby. We cradle her in our arms, a gesture imbedded into our core. This cannot be removed from us. 

Her heart beats, she is alive. 
She is ours. She is safe. But there is no relief. Only understanding. 

The bog is left behind. We travel to the place where humans make their home. They do not see us, they are blind to the truths of this place. 

We watch as they take her inside. She does not wake.

Days pass and we observe. She is mended. Questions are asked, no answers can be given. Only guesses. 

She will be taken in by others. We know this is their nature. 

From high above, we watch. Unseen. 

She will grow strong, she will venture out just as her mother did. 

When she does, we will be there and we will meet once more.
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