When What's Left Is Faith - 1. Chapter 1

When What’s Left Is Faith

A La Tombola Vignette

You ask that the location of this planet become available to those who would mindlessly extract the scant resources for the benefit of a few to the detriment of lifeforms we barely understand. That is your decision the quest for profit becomes paramount. What is being proposed is nothing less than a violent, mindful rape; a willful, uncalled-for action without care or concern for those or what might be harmed. That while life exists, not as we know it, the facts remain the same. Until we fully understand the lessons and the knowledge this new planet presents, the location will remain a closely guarded secret.

Buck Rogers in response to the Galactic Consortium from somewhere in the vast voids of space, in The Mystery of The Sentient Planet circa 2134 AD.

~~~

It was a morning Marat dreaded; the Council of Elders would render their judgment. They would hand down a decision bereft of all the facts. If the decision were to go against him, he would have to make the climb to the peak of his ancestors. The holiest place in their lands, they would have him make his first flight of ascension to see if he were worthy to stand as an adult, redeem himself, and join their clan’s Kettle.

There were, at minimum, a dozen silver suns of the night sky before his body would be ready to even conceive the possibility that he would be able to make this flight, to pass this test and return to his nesting spot.

The judgment of the Council of Elders had sealed his fate. If only he had listened to Grimla, who had warned him that Norgin, one cycle of the sun older and Grimla’s clutch mate, was up to something. After all, this morning was to be Grimla and Norgin’s morning to be tested. Norgin was too ashamed to admit he carelessly had injured himself. He had injured himself when he stole a scroll of learning from the aviary and secreted it close to Marat’s nest. Norgin was forever perturbed, incensed that Grimla would never accept his advances, creating a lifelong enmity towards Marat.

Climbing the mountain, Marat’s frustrations and fears were compounded as the intensity of the storm blanketed the sacred peak. It was not fit weather to launch oneself, a raw novice, into the winds. The storm had raged for the better part of two cycles of the sun. The torrent of water saw everything in its way washed out into the sea. Nothing in its path was spared; entire hillsides were gone, trees, boulders, and a good part of the terraced farmland their crops grew on.

The Council of Elders had discounted Grimla’s statement. Norgin’s sire, Clatin, used his considerable powers of persuasion, and Marat would make the leap once the others, whose day it was, flew off into their future. That he would die this day was likely. He was shamed, horrified that of all who would watch, Grimla, his intended mate, would watch him tumble from the windswept peak and see his body smashed beyond recognition where the base of the sacred peak met the angry, foaming sea.

That Marat was born to fly was not in doubt, and that he could fly short distances was not an issue. It was knowing that in all probability he would never live to fly again after this punishment. The hike up to the sacred peak was arduous even in the best of conditions. Three-quarters of the way up, he would leave the shelter of the tree canopy and be exposed to the worst of the storm.

As he neared the final turn under the shelter of the canopy, Grimla was waiting for him. They had but a moment, and admonishing Marat to hold still, Grimla applied what waterproofing lotion he could to Marat’s wings. The Council of Elders had denied Marat even this consideration. Having done as much as possible, Grimla produced a spare cloak and threw it over Marat’s shoulders.

“Look down at the sea. See that ancient tree floating? The tide has yet to turn and will not till early morning. When you launch, make for that tree. I will meet you there when all have gone. My brother Belop has placed supplies sufficient for half a cycle of the moon. Any other of our needs the sea will provide.”

Stunned, Marat could only nod his head and wrap his arms around his lover, letting him go after a chaste kiss. He watched as his lover, the last of the clutch to be tested, ascended the peak. Much to his surprise, as he made his way, battling the elements, he saw Norgin standing with the other members of his clutch, all of whom were studiously avoiding any interaction with Norgin. They all knew what he had done.

One by one, all prepared for the weather; they flew off the ledge, flew down to the sea, and back up to their Arie. When it was Norgin’s turn, he shamelessly demonstrated his injury, claiming a boulder hit him on his way up. Excused, he stood off to the side as Grimla flew flawlessly. Later, unseen by others, Grimla grabbed the last pack of supplies and waited for Marat to make the attempt.

Standing at the edge of the ledge, Marat tossed off his cloak, flexing his wings, praying against all hope he would have the strength and focus to find the will to survive. The cold, howling, late autumnal winds gave strength to the sheets of rain that fell copiously from the leaden skies. Already ice pellets were collecting on the ledges.

It was as if there was no shelter from the storm. No sooner was he turning one way to clear his field of vision, than he had to reverse direction. Bolts of lightning incessantly struck the peak, the ledge barely withstanding the deadly blows. It had to be at least past feeding time. The sun, while hidden behind the enraged clouds, had long gone to sleep.

The wind, he gauged, was about to lessen; the movement of the treetops below had slackened, and for a moment the angry sea looked calm.

It was time; there was not any further reason to procrastinate. Marat took a deep breath, flexed his wings, and as he stepped forward into the maelstrom, he saw a bolt of lightning strike where Norgin was standing. More a wry grimace than a sense of satisfaction at what had to be Norgin’s demise, he took cold comfort that at least he would have company if he failed to make a landing on the bobbing tree.

He had not planned for the fury around him to abate in the slightest and overcompensated. He was coming in too fast. The tree’s broken branches loomed like deadly spears. His wings were laden with ice pellets. Sodden with rain, they were becoming too heavy for the fine adjustments he needed to make to break his descent. With a herculean effort, he just managed to avoid the row of deadly spikes and crashed into a cluster of unbroken boughs.

Much later, when he came to, stunned and dimly aware of his surroundings, he felt his breath come back to him. Using one hand to shield his eyes from the storm, he was astonished to see the angry clouds breaking up, revealing the night sky. When he looked back up at the sacred peak, it was obvious it was much farther away from when he took flight.

He needed to stand, to shake his wings out, to take stock of his surroundings and himself. To find the pack of supplies Grimla’s brother, Belop, had sequestered there. The effort to move sent oscillations of pain throughout his body, eliciting a whimper. The next effort generated an unbidden exhalation, and nausea coursed, roiling what remained in his stomach. The bile demanded expulsion as he lost whatever remained in his gut.

He heard a movement from behind, a shushing sound as a hand cupped his cheek. A water skin appeared from nowhere, Grimla’s voice telling him to drink, to drink slowly, despite his faint complaints…wanting more…grumbling when it was taken away. His parched throat relaxed, and before he could give voice to his protests, dreams of Grimla overtook him.

~~~

Three cycles of the sun had passed before Marat felt as if he was getting back to his old self. He had magnificently messed up his landing, Grimla told him. Rather than continue to use his wings to slow and break his fall, he had tucked them tight. Had he not hit the unbroken boughs of the ancient needle tree or the rows of broken branches, he could have been much worse off. Other than some bruises that would fade away in time, the most damage appeared to be from the sap of the tree. Fortunately, his wings were spared for the most part, but from his knees to his neck was another story. Once an oil fish was caught, the worst of it would clean up, and a soapstone would rid the smell of the oil fish.

Chapter 1

“Well, that certainly puts a crimp in our plans, does it not?” To say he was exasperated would have been an understatement, and what was frustrating Ned was this was the second shipment of fine grain sands from New Johannesburg that came in underweight.

There was not much either Tom Harrison or Billy Dunbar could do about the issue. The three of them had undertaken a community project to finally replace the cracked, broken windows in the community hall. His son James, down at the glassworks, had agreed to produce the badly needed replacement windowpanes on the condition that Ned, Tom, and Billy provided the labor. The new window frames had already been made and were waiting in a dusty corner. Preparations for the upcoming fall harvests were due to begin with the onset of the next full moon. Ned needed to talk to James to see what could be done; they needed his thoughts and options.

“Thaddeus, stop whatever you and Evan are up to. I need the two of you to run an errand,” Ned bellowed to the back of the cavernous warehouse from Tom’s office.

“Anyone want to bet a lunch the boys come back a tad disheveled? Billy snorted.

“I’d be a fool to take that bet,” mused Tom, knowing the boys had more than enough time to take care of their needs.

“I thought Thad was gonna burst into flames when Peter took him aside after a night of some very energetic ‘fun’. It was nice they were set on loving each other, but we did not need to hear the activity. ‘Course neither Peter nor I were slackers in that department, but it has spiced up and added some interesting places to sneak off to,” Ned replied, laughing at the memory.

It wasn’t that Thad and Evan were idlers, quite to the contrary, they had worked out all on their own a system for keeping inventory of stock coming in and out of the warehouse. By combining chores and working together on their lessons, they were able to find plenty of time for mischief and exploring, although not always exploring each other’s bodies. No one begrudged them this ‘free’ time, so long as what they were required to accomplish was taken care of in good order. The only complaint, and it was a minor one at that, was keeping their indiscriminate couplings out of sight and hearing.

All items were assigned spaces, and a system of colored pegs was assigned to each trader. The pegs would be used to show goods in and those leaving as they were placed in the pegboard assigned to each trader. Everyone knew it was a system best left to the boys, for the nuances could get a might complicated.

If anything, Grandfather Ned’s call was fortuitous, a smiling Thad thought to himself. Had Grandfather called a bit earlier Ned would not have been able to stop his ‘Progress’. After giving Evan some relief after a day apart, Evan had just finished returning the favor. Satiated, they were sharing tender kisses, enjoying some skin-to-skin contact when Grandfather’s call came.

Taking but a moment to hastily pull their clothing back up, shirts went partially tucked in, and not all the dust was brushed off their backs. Neither boy could quite figure out what the grandfathers found so funny when they arrived at the glassworks.

~~~

All the hatchlings learned from an early age the nature of their island. They knew what small rodents were best to hunt, and how to work the currents of the waters surrounding them. Also, what fish were caught today, but might not be there tomorrow or for several full cycles of the silver nighttime sun. What was provided then was a plethora of the sea’s bounty, ever-changing and reappearing.

From one of the packs, Grimla pulled out one of his teaching scrolls he used when he was assigned to a class of fledglings. Every child of a Kettle was assigned a teacher in the ways of their world. Each scroll was a history of the Clans of the Kettle. From the creation story to understanding the environment they lived in, going back to the times they walked without wings. The scrolls explained how they adapted to the harsh, unforgiving plains surrounding the many mountains that comprised their island.

Scrolls told of the times when they were prey and in constant danger from those who would hunt them to feed their own. As they moved into ever higher elevations those dangers receded, but woe to the unfortunate one who fell into the lowlands, where the beasts still roamed. The stronger dominated the weaker, and it did not matter whether the danger came from those on two legs or four; all would make quick work from what fell from the skies.

Food was found for the Kettle from many sources, and water was plentiful from the storms that lashed the peaks. Rodents and small animals of differing sizes were plentiful in the highlands, along with grains, fruits, and vegetables harvested from the terraces, laboriously carved from the size of the mountain. From the forests came a bounty of nuts, so carefully harvested, with an eye on the ever-present dangers. The sea provided swimmers in multitudes, always varying and safer to obtain. Along with the advent of wings, a different adaptation allowed the ingestion of the briny waters of the sea. What salts that were not consumed were excreted.

The oldest legends of the origin story spoke of a time when they were one with many others before the lands broke apart. Those were always referred to as the time before. In the fullness of time, as the Kettles expanded, each took a mountain peak and thrived. Intermingling was not uncommon, and all Kettles could claim relations amongst the various peaks.

~~~

As discussions went, it was not a long one. They needed some fine-grained sand, and the closest was but a journey of a half-moon cycle, down to the sea. While from the records information was scant, it was noted that any glass produced from such a source could have varying colors. Care needed to be taken so that any sand taken was from the same place and kept separate from any other sand collected.

Tom Harrison would provide one of the warehouse wagons, and Billy Dunbar would provide the muselos to pull the wagon. Ned would drive the wagon; his husband Peter would provide backup. Thad and Evan would be the muscle to fill the various bags. Mike Reynolds asked to follow along, asking to bring his former science/medical officer, Betty Sykes, for the chance to explore their surroundings a bit more. The one wagon quickly became two. They would leave in two cycles of the sun.

After a short delay due to a severe storm, they finally set out on the adventure. For Thad and Evan, time away from their lessons passed much too quickly. What they did not realize were the lessons they were learning as new things were discovered each day. What was familiar landscape of farms and fields was giving way to wooded hillocks. After packing up on the third morning of their journey, the land changed once again. As they came to the crest of the final rise, they were stunned at what was before them. Off in the distance the land had changed to an unfathomable grassland that filled the eye in each direction and out to the horizon.

As they stood there, trying to comprehend the vastness that lay ahead of them, they were startled out of their reverie when an immense herd of Gruntlings appeared out of the grasslands. If the ones they had seen previously were large, bigger than anything else, these were enormous. Nearly as tall as three men standing on their shoulders, the tusks on the males were colossal as well. The herd, led by the largest female, was unconcerned with the strangers in their midst as the caravan rumbled along, passing by the herd. Several juveniles darted about in a playful manner, only mildly curious, and after the briefest of glances continued their play elsewhere.

It had been a long day’s travel. They had made good time, resulting in sleep coming quickly after the camp was set up, and they hastily ate a cold meager meal. A day and a half later brought them to the beginning of the dunes. They could hear the pummeling of the waves crashing against the seashore. The smell of salt air saturated with moisture seemed to cling to their skin and then permeate their bodies.

As the path they traveled came up over the last dune, the enormity of what they were looking at put the vast prairie to shame. The multitude of shorebirds, the foreverness of the body of water in front of them. To either side of the traveling party were dune hillocks that were higher than the peak of Tom Harrison’s warehouse. They had followed the course of a freshwater brook until it meandered away from the path they had traveled. Camp for the night and possibly the night following would need to be set up somewhere near the terminus of the brook.

~~~

Concerns, not worries, had Grimla pondering their path as the ancient tree simply followed the currents below it. For the most part, the weather had been fine. The few storms that crossed their path were over quickly. The tree, due to its massive size, was a bit shaky but reasonably stable. He reckoned they had been traveling the better part of a cycle of the silver sun of the skies. Back near the giant root ball, they were able to take one of the large tarps and fashion a crude shelter out of the sun and the worst of the rain and occasional angry wave.

Food was plentiful thanks to the swimmers who were following the same currents. Occasionally, they would spot hard shellbacks, wider than their arms were long. With considerable effort they were able to land one that had been injured in some sort of struggle. Probably a swimmer much larger than the shellback had taken a bite. The bite was easily two hands, fingers spread wide. They would have to be careful if there were swimmers like that when they were in the waters.

Marat had recovered, not from being falsely accused; however, his wounds, scrapes, and bruises were all but gone. For a while everything seemed to stick to his front side. The sticky sap of the ancient needle tree took quite the effort to clean up, often leading to other matters needing attention, dealing with a different sort of sticky situation.

Each morning they would practice flying. Marat proved to be a quick learner. His landings had smoothed out, and he was flying further each day. Fishing for swimmers near the surface, at first was a challenge. The first couple of times were comical as he would misjudge the angle needed and tumble over the tops of the waves.

Each day Grimla took it upon himself to fly further out to see what lay in front of them, only to see a never-ending expanse of water. Occasionally he would see unfamiliar shorebirds resting in the water, deducing that some sort of land was close, but not close enough to see. One morning, a flock of these shorebirds were flying excitedly. Leaping up from the waters and coming back down quickly. It looked as if the water was boiling; something was driving smaller swimmers up to the surface. It wasn’t until Marat nudged him to look towards the end of the ancient tree that he understood. The surface of the waters lifted up as a swimmer beyond comprehension lifted towards the surface, expelling a column of water. Its mouth agape served as a scoop for swimmers in numbers neither boy had ever seen! As many as the creature would eat with each mouthful, just as many fell out the sides of its maw. As quickly as it rose, it dove again, its giant tail slapping the water as it sank below the surface. Singly, sometimes or in pairs, they would attempt to launch themselves clear out of the water. For the longest while Grimla and Marat watched as a number of these creatures fed, and by nightfall they were gone. The next morning, as Marat practiced his flying, Grimla noticed a considerable storm bank forming off in the distance, and it looked as if it was heading towards them.

~~~

Evan was up at first light, crawling out from under the blankets he shared with Thad, and walked over to the top of the dune they decided to camp out behind. It provided ample cover from the incessant winds and a perfect spot to think. It was a stunning realization to find out just how large his world had become. Some things would never look the same again; the world he left seemed so insular. It was easy to see now just how small a corner they occupied, yet till a few cycles of the sun ago, it was the total sum of his and Thad’s existence.

It was a busy life, not that labor or efforts were wasted, where everything seemed to occur in a well-choreographed dance of survival. There was little time for idleness, and things could not be put off till the morrow, for the morrow brought more chores demanding fulfillment. If they were to survive this world that they lived in, these chores could not be ignored.

Behind him the camp was still sleeping, from the sounds he could hear. Thad stirred. Mornings were never quiet with him as his body fought wakefulness. If he wasn’t groaning, the other end of him was protesting noisily. Evan knew enough to leave him be till he took care of his ablutions at the necessary, only this morning it would mean squatting over a pit. Given a few minutes to wash up and clean his teeth with a toothstick, and the promise of some food that would make all right in his world.

Looking over towards his right, the direction he was sure they would find where the brook emptied into the sea, he noticed a large flock of shore birds seemed to be gathering in a scrum. If they were anything like the scavenger birds back home, they were quarreling over an easy meal.

The soft sound of Thad’s footfalls had him turn around. As it never failed, the first sight of Thad, whether a day apart or waking in the morning, had his heart speeding up. That boy was his life and had him hooked. Thad completed the other half of his soul.

“I brought some food,” he said, pointing to a pack in his hand. “A waterskin is inside. I told Peter we would be off to see if we could find the brook. We could all use some fresh water to clean up in.”

“Thanks, I’ll wash your back if you return the favor. There are other parts of you we’ll need to check out as well.”

“I woke and wondered where you had gotten off to. I missed holding you,” Thad whispered as he edged closer to Evan’s lips. “We’ve got some exploring to do…let’s go!”

~~~

Grimla was right to be concerned; the storm was fast approaching. It would be upon them late in the day, and they would be riding this one out overnight. Already the swell in the sea was noticeably picking up. The ancient tree was feeling the effects as well. With no way to direct the path they would take; they were at the mercy of whatever the storm threw at them. It was time to secure what was left of the supplies they had brought with them. A pair of pants were sacrificed, torn into strips to tie everything down, including themselves. Already the wind was picking up, making it too dangerous to fly.

The least exposed spot from the storm would be at the base of the ancient tree, where several large branches had broken off. They would use these to create a rude cage as added insurance, preventing the waves from sweeping them out to sea. It was best they ate now, since there was no telling what the next cycle of the sun would bring.

As a prelude, the rains hit as if it were just an afternoon shower, slowed and stopped, then the winds began howling, seeking anything they could carry off. Standing proved next to impossible. The unbroken boughs began to shriek as smaller branches were torn off. The ancient tree’s root ball, caught in the wind, began to act as a sail, driving the massive length following the direction of the wind. What was the topmost part of the tree was spearing, piercing the gigantic waves as they crashed over the length of the ancient tree.

It seemed as if the storm would never end. For a short time everything calmed down, only to begin again with ever increasing fury, far worse than what they had just gone through. Drenched, all Grimla and Marat could do was to hold on for dear life. They could sense not only the rise and fall of the storm’s huge waves, but also a sense of movement. They were no longer drifting with the currents but driving through them. Little did they expect the storm to abate anytime soon and soon fell asleep from exhaustion, desperately clinging on to each other.

How long they were asleep was unknown, but what woke them was the sun shining on their soaked bodies. Confused at first as to why they weren’t moving, they quickly came to realize that at some point the storm had driven and lifted the ancient tree partway onto a wide sandy beach.

~~~

With some of what little firewood they had, Mike Reynolds began a cooking fire, while Betty Sykes scouted and investigated the local flora and fauna. Amazed at the various plants, and how some of them resembled plants back on Earth. Having spent time with the Gno medicine man who was an experienced herbalist, she was interested in finding and collecting as many samples as possible to further her understanding of their use and medicinal values.

The morning meal ready, Mike Reynolds unfolded a printout he had made before they had to abandon their spacecraft. It was a map showing the various settlements, the spot of the first landing, and the area they had traveled to collect the sand. It was interesting to see the land masses off the coast they were standing on. Their distances were prohibitive, to say the least.

The morning meal over, it was time to find the boys and gather what they had come for. There wasn’t an easy way to bring the wagon down to where the sand would be collected. The bags would have to be brought up, and that was where Thad and Evan came in. Finding them wouldn’t be difficult, there were their footprints to follow, and hopefully, the brook they needed to find would not be far off.

~~~

It was Marat who first spotted the large herd of water canines, as they had come around the point to the far side of the freshwater outlet. They were good eating, the oil from their fat had many uses, and from their skins, cloaks could be made. Generally, the water canines were considered to be a nuisance by those fishing, because the damned hounds devoured the swimmers indiscriminately. Too much time was spent driving them away from their fishing grounds, making the fishing folk miserable.

The hounds brought with them along their travels, larger swimmers who feasted on their numbers. These predatory swimmers did not discriminante; however, and stories were told at night around the evening meal about many an unsuspecting member of the Kettle becoming a snack, never to be seen again. It was one of the many lessons that were taught early on.

~~~

It couldn’t be missed, neither Thad nor Evan had ever seen a tree as big as this one. Easily four times the length of the warehouse, it would take at least ten men to put their arms around the base where it lay in the sand. The broken branches closest to the root ball were bigger than the boys when they were hugging. What it did offer was a place where the boys could dive off as they played in the water.

~~~

It was Grimla who insisted they leave their temporary home for a spot up on the highest dune; staying down at the water’s edge wasn’t safe. The cut on his leg was worse than he thought. What was left of their derisory supplies were flown up to the top of the bluff. A combination of the sun and wind soon had their clothing and what was left of their tarps dried out. A search for the medicinal root of the whisper plant took most of the morning.

When he returned, Marat was animated, for when he looked down at the freshwater brook, he could see two beings who appeared to be playing. After a few moments, it was clear to both that these two beings, judging by their anatomy, appeared to be of the same sex and lovers like them!

Little escaped Marat and Grimla’s keen eyesight, and the pleasure that sight gave each other inspired similar reactions. Grimla had Marat stand and spread his wings into the warm, gentle breeze softly flowing up the hillock they were perched on. Watching the two beings pleasure themselves stirred deeply held feelings both Marat and Grimla had for each other.

Just the thought of Marat standing there as his lover engendered the deepest feelings Grimla held towards the boy he loved above all others. His fingers gently combing through the feathers on his wings, Marat would sit for hours if the time would allow, back in the Arie when groomed by Grimla. It wasn’t just the tawny colors, inter-speckled, hues ranging from a dusky tannish brown to the colors of the summer wheat of Marat’s feathers that attracted Grimla.

There was the boy himself, his body indicating the potential of the man he would become. His chest was showing the beginnings of the definition that would be the envy of any of the fliers in their Kettle. The narrowing down to the trim waist and the musculature of his thighs and legs.

Already Marat had shown others he wasn’t to be trifled with. While his feet looked to be of average size, the talons, when extended, would hold him in place till the flesh fell away from his bones. They spoke of a strength so few had ever mastered.

Then there was his face, eyes of the deepest green, offset by the flame of his hair. Marat’s aquiline profile gave pause to many, and the word regal nearly always came to mind when Grimla contemplated the profile. While he knew he was besotted, Grimla saw the same feelings in others when he had a moment to quietly observe many a social situation. Everyone was drawn to the easy grace and charm that was Marat.

Marat’s situation puzzled Grimla, and he knew something was off. Everyone knew Norgin was a dunce. Most people joke that the fish Norgin’s father brought when he was a hatchling seemed to have missed the nest. Norgin’s father, Clatin, rubbed so many the wrong way by always insisting he knew what was best and never admitting he was wrong, even when it was obvious. Then it was the fault of others. So filled with self-importance, that hardly anyone could bear to fly with him.

Shuddering at the memory, Grimla focused back on the present, dropping his hands from combing Marat’s wings to the sides of his chest. Softly planting tender kisses as he traveled towards his waist. Spinning him around, those gentle kisses tasted the flesh upwards till they found the lips they were seeking.

His hands, exploring the firmness of Marat’s thighs, found his pouch and the treasure that lay within. Like any younger fledgling, it did not take much to excite Marat and reveal the treasure his pouch held. Like those beings down at the beach, whose sex, it seemed, was always out in the open, Marat had nothing to be ashamed of. Though those two beings would never be able to fly well with those dangling bits.

Marat was so easy to excite; the fullness of his sac and the firmness of his organ was a never-ending source of constant delight. If anything, the only disagreement between them was who would be first. Marat was determined to have their first fledgling sired by Grimla. Knowing that if push came to shove, he would acquiesce.

Marat was close now; his seed was rising. They had practiced this so many times in anticipation of the day they would both father offspring, that it never failed to bring exquisite pleasure to them both. These were the moments that Grimla thrived on, to hold his lover’s satiated body. To listen as his head lay upon Marat’s chest and listen to the slowing of his heartbeat as Marat melded into his arms.

A cacophony of barking from the water canines disturbed the quiet interlude that had entranced, lulled both into a deep sense of contentment. Curious as to what was causing such a ruckus, they looked over the sandy hillock and were stunned at what they saw.

~~~

There were times Thad thought that it was Evan's penis he was in love with, well…that and what it was attached to and all the many things that made Evan so friggin unique. He knew that it wasn’t the mind-bending sex, but a connection that went deeper. He knew that they were young, a bit young by community standards, to be married, but both felt it was an unarguable decision.

This morning, down at the cool waters of the brook they had been following for days, gave them a chance to wash off the dirt and grime of the trail. And well, that sort of led to all sorts of other things that the two horny boys got up to. While he loved Evan’s sex and the things he could do to it, it wasn’t that attribute that he was most in love with. What he was in love with was the sheer joy and pleasure he could bring to Evan’s body, and the release both needed and wanted. The quiet moments when they would simply be when the silence between them both spoke loving volumes.

If he had to be honest, it was in those quiet moments after they had sex, when the urgency had dissipated, that he found the roots of his love for the boy. Each time deepened the connection, strengthened the love he felt, and quieted his urgency.

A second dip in the cool waters of the freshwater spring had the boys eager to play and explore a bit more. Having erased the evidence of their lovemaking, and being a bit more presentable for the others who were soon to follow, there was a need to explore just a bit more.

They had watched, observing the water swimmers who looked like overgrown otters, just north of where they were rinsing off. Remarking what a noisy bunch they were, it was decided that they would go back and explore the massive tree they had found washed up on the beach.

There wasn’t anything they could compare it to when it came to length and girth. At least half its size was buried in the sands of the beach, and yet it was several steps along a course of broken branches they had to climb to be able to walk on its length. At its end, the massive root ball, still holding remnants from wherever it was torn from, was bigger than the house next to the community meeting hall.

It was just a scrape, certainly nothing to worry about, but Thad had caught his shin on one of the broken branches of the tree when the boys climbed back up on it. He paid no mind to the drops of blood that fell back into the water. Further up the beach, a few sometime later, they failed to notice that the din further up the beach had subsided.

~~~

It wasn’t an uncommon sight, living so close to the water’s edge, to understand that if the unsuspecting or the unintended dropped their guard even for the slightest moment, the consequences could and would most likely, be fatal. Considered a nuisance, the water swimmers were voracious eaters, so much so that considerable effort was expended to make living untenable on their shores. So much so, it was a dispassionate sense of feeling as they watched the unlucky few water canines get caught up in the games of their predators. Large ugly water swimmers that appeared to be all mouth and teeth. They would play with the ones they would catch unsuspectingly. Rather than go for the quick kill, they would have fun with their catch, often tossing them up and out of the water to exacerbate the hopeless struggle the doomed water canine found itself in.

Only when the intended prey was tired out would the voracious water swimmer move in for the kill. It was something a Kettle would never do; thanks were given for sustenance however it was harvested.

~~~

It was simply too much for even Thad or Evan to ignore the fun this massive tree presented. Without having to go back to the sandy beach, there were enough broken limbs that gave them plenty of footholds to climb right back up onto its massive girth. Scant attention was given to the minor scrape dripping blood back into the water the many times Thad had climbed back out of.

~~~

They both saw it at the same time; the play with the water canines was over, something else had caught the attention of the large water swimmers. No longer were they content with playing with the water canines. Two of the closest caught the scent of something fresh, new, and inescapable. Fueling a hunger for something new and delicious.

Both Grimla and Marat’s avian eyesight, being what it was, soon spotted the problem. One of the beings was leaving a blood trail in the water. Neither of the new beings realized or understood the danger they were in.

~~~

Evan was telling himself that they had to come back here sometime. The morning and carefree time was invigorating, addictive, if he was being honest. A time away from chores, not so much the drudgery or the mundane of their daily lives, but a chance to put all the worries and struggles behind them even if only for a little bit. Just for the moment, it was possible to simply let go for the least little bit of time and events that consumed their daily lives. They paid no attention to the diminishing noise up past the freshwater brook.

~~~

From where they stood, both Grimla and Marat knew the two beings were in trouble. Adding to their thoughts was the fact that they had shared themselves much like the other beings did. Both Grimla and Marat were frightened and conflicted by the danger of the situation.

~~~

Thad, it was always ever Thad, found a series of broken branches that made for an easy set of handholds and footholds that gave ease to climbing back up onto the giant tree. The morning had been nothing but carefree, a simple moment in time when providing simply for one’s existence melted away.

~~~

Marat knew, Grimla knew, these beings were in danger. They owed them nothing, knew nothing about them, and yet they saw kinship. An obligation, as it were. They were not dislike…there wasn’t any doubt, they shared, and there was a similarity. But did that make them kin? Could they stand by and do nothing? What could be lost, and what could they possibly gain?

They were alone, strangers in, for the lack of better words, a new world. Nothing was the same, yet they had seen a sameness. Could they walk away and turn their backs to the dangers they could possibly mitigate?

~~~

Play is recuperative, healing, and regenerative. It simply restores the soul, it’s not meant to last…it is transitory, yet its benefits far exceed the few moments at play. Neither Evan nor Thad saw the first swimmer circling the area they had been diving in.

~~~

The large swimmers had moved in; the blood scent in the water was a marker that voracious feeders simply could not ignore. This was fresh, a kill like nothing ever, a taste was not sufficient.

~~~

It was simply play at its best, with no care or concern about today or tomorrow, fun for the simple enjoyment. Little heed was given to any dangers, a time to be savored.

~~~

The first swimmer brushed Thad gently; the second pass was alarming. Pushing him away from the safety of the tree.

~~~

A glance was all it took; neither could stand by, while they owed these beings nothing, yet they saw something that could not be avoided.

~~~

Neither Thad nor Evan knew what it was, but they sensed the danger that was presented. Thad could hear Evan screaming to get out of the water as he swam back to the safety of the tree. Horrified and scared out of his mind, Evan saw the large fish break the surface of the water. He never could have imagined so many rows of teeth in a mouth that could easily bite Thad in half.

It wasn’t until the large fish tossed Thad up out of the water did he realize the danger he was in. He had been scared before, frightened out of his wits before playing childish games, but never had he felt the abject terror, the paralyzing fear that was now.

~~~

Marat would launch the first ball of dune roots; if he missed, Grimla would be close behind to let the second ball of grass roots fly. If the first hit, then Marat would fly back to get another while Grimla flew guard.

Grimla was inordinately proud of Marat. His aim was true, giving the boy time, time to scramble to safety. The boy was swimming with every bit of effort, knowing his life depended on it. Urgently needing to reach the safety of the broken branches so he could clamber back up onto the ancient tree. Quickly circling back around, he would have to fly low if he were to hit the second large swimmer. Tucking his wings to gain maximum speed, he dove right for the boy just as the large swimmer, its gaping mouth full of razor-sharp teeth ready to claim its prize when it leaped ….

~~~

Evan was suddenly surprised by the appearance of what appeared to be two boys with wings. He watched as one neatly dropped a ball of dirt into the gaping maw of the large fish that was after Thad. It gave just enough time for Thad to close the distance back to the tree and the safety of its handholds, when a second large fish, determined to satiate its voracious appetite, leapt clear out of the water as Thad furiously scrambled to gain purchase on the slippery, broken limbs. Evan screamed for Thad to jump higher up the sides of the tree.

Evan watched as the second flying boy closed in. It was a race that would be decided in a matter of seconds, and he had no idea who would win as he desperately held out his hands, to grab whatever part of Thad he could first reach.

Screaming for Thad to move faster as heated tears of futility ran down his face, the large swimmer was too close to miss, he saw the second flying boy drop his ball of dirt, just as he saw Thad’s hand reaching for a handhold that wasn’t there. With no time for thought to the danger it presented, Evan could not help himself as he leapt…

~~~

Thad was driven as he struggled to scramble up the side of the tree. A memory flashed into his mind, recalling the morning out by the barn when he watched a wirrel neatly escape certain death. Somehow it knew by making a sharp turn as it fled the predator, giving it the time needed to reach the safety of a hole under the barn.

Reacting instinctively, grabbing the broken stub of the branch above him, he saw a stub of a broken branch to his right, most likely out of reach, and leapt….