CW: depictions of blood, violence, and death.
(Dis)enchanting By Tharidi Walimunige| Graphics by Rosann Anthony
The sun isn’t right. Too pallid, too cold, too can the sun get sick? Its light cuts through the water without any of the usual finesse; serrated when it should be rich, glistening beeswax seeping from the sky. Why is it flashing? Her senses flinch and press close to her aching mind as the haze lifts. There is no sun, only a deathly beacon from above and winking stars to the side. She scrapes her shivering limbs against the sand, frowning at its strange colour as she lifts herself up. Wading closer to the flashing orbs feels like a mistake – a naïve prey who hasn’t yet learned the tricks predators play with light – but she blames it on the haziness that persists in her mind. Creeping closer … THUNK! Headfirst, she collides with an invisible barrier. It is a sturdy encasing. No amount of pounding, scratching, or pressing tears it away. Understanding the futility in I’ve never seen anything like you, she leaves it be and peers past it. The stars are bursting forth from black shapes, and they are held by … She scuttles away from the barrier and whips this way and that, searching for a hideaway. She finds it between a boulder and a leafy curtain. Curled up in obscurity, the threat is drowned out by no, please, where did they take me? Trying to coil even tighter around herself, her mind roars with an angry swarm of hornets. She is remembering hands, leashes, hurt, tumbling, cages, cloying croons, threat, threat, THREAT! Humans. * Spring is home. Wise trees gather around sparkling water, frothy waves cascade down limestone ledges, and winking sand beckons the forest’s creatures. She is revered here; powerful, but not as a predator. The animals sharing her home greet her with tickling twitches of muzzles, indulgent glides of fur, puffing rustles of feathers, and timid taps of scales. They bring offerings to her spring. Dead or dying are placed at the water’s edge, a wish for a gentle passing. Today it is a wolf cub, hours alive and hours dead, carried by the scruff in pack leader’s maw. It is not the first time this pack has visited her, but where there should be ease and familiarity, instead the elder canine is skittish, ears staunchly pricked up and muscles tensed. He hesitates, then places his cargo before her and whips his head to the side. He glares into the distance, softly growling. She looks too, but seeing nothing amiss, returns her attention to the gift. Drawing the pup into her embrace, she plunges underwater and descends to the spring’s earthy floor. Scooping out a bed in the sand, the corpse is laid to rest. Her fingers glide through its tawny fur, first in practicality to rub blood out of fur, and then in you deserved more, be at peace now. She leaves it in the company of the sparkling mounds scattered about. Soon the cub’s body will follow their lead, as crystallisation devours the death and decay. Wading to the water’s surface, she breaks for air. Though the wolf pack is gone, they left a festering curiosity within her. She dives back down, gliding through an underwater hole along the far edge of the spring. Much time is spent weaving through a maze of dim tunnels, before she reaches the connecting river located in the direction of the alpha wolf’s wariness. Slowly breaching the surface with the tip of her head, she stills. Too quiet. Something is here, and the forest doesn’t like it. The air is brittle. She can neither see nor hear any of the larger creatures. The intruder must be dangerous then, to have driven off the great predators. Swimming closer to the river’s edge, she notices an unusual shrub. From her throat, a questioning warble vibrates in you do not smell 70
