Dark fur ripples as the large feline reaches forward along the bark of a thick branch in a lazy stretch. A wide yawn reveals long white canines, quickly masked when the yawn retreats. As the panther awakens from slumber, the branch shivers beneath his shifting weight, leaves trembling at the ends of knotted twigs. Gathering himself in the lee where branch meets tree, the predator sighs, yellow gaze lifting to stare contemplatively at the canopy above him. Moments later, a small wren flutters from above, soft trill announcing its arrival.
Any observer might find it exceedingly odd to see a songbird nestling comfortably into the thick fur of a panther’s back, but to the pair, it is a familiar morning ritual. A purr rumbles deep from the panther’s chest, demonstrating his content.
For so long now, the wren has been his closest companion. His only companion, truth be told. He could have gone home. Returned to the dense, misty wood of his birth. But as grief had passed, so too had time. Time advancing, marching forward by the day even as he fails his final promise to his brother in each of them.
Promise me you will stop hiding and try living, he had said.
Tucked in the safety of this lee, with the dappled sunlight and Wren as his only companions, he had failed.
It’s easier not to think about. Not to imagine what might happen if he returned home. It’s easier to exist only in the moment, to nap and hunt in the trees.
It should be easier, at least. But the morning weighs heavy. Heavy enough to draw the dark feline from his perch. To send him leaping to the forest floor as Wren flutters nearby. For a moment, he simply breathes. Without conscious thought, he finds himself padding forward, drawn to the small pond nearby. He’d chosen this tree for it’s easy access to the water, but now, rather than drink, he simply stares at his reflection. The panther that stares back is familiar.
The transition begins, and a moment later, the panther is replaced by a tall blue roan stallion, a dark patch on one hip fading into dappled black and roan along his barrel and shoulder. But the face that peers back is not his own.
No, it is the face of the brother he had failed. The one he continues to fail. Though the grief and rage had softened over the years, he doubts the shame ever will.
ion
in the empty of the grave, only distant dreams remain
@[Cassi]