Eye Between Lampposts

The path had been dark and tangled for long enough that I was beginning to question whether I was on a path at all. My legs were sore and scratched and flecked with dirt up my ankles from the squelch, squelch, of plodding through what seemed like a lifetime of late autumn night. My fur bristled, as if the anger I felt at my own ineptitude could somehow cow lady Nature herself, so just this once she, not I, would press her ears back and show me mercy. The scent of rain, warm and summery by nature, had been a lure drawing me forward step by step, and I found the trees thinning, the darkness no less complete but somehow lighter, no longer a world on my haunches but a canopy, shielding me from the full force of the sky. My mouth threatened to salivate, mind running at a pace my shivering form had long grown too tired for, and in the world behind my eyes a watering hole with rolling warmth and an air current pouring from it washing over me, my ears flickering under it, a torrent of scents rolling in, sinking into the darkness and finding a form in the fog that my nose had felt like a physical force.

I let out a physical huff and shook my head, turning around, grabbing a branch, feeling rocks slide beneath my feet as the gentle slope turned cliff. 

Logic said to go back. 

Hunger struck her down without a thought. I reached down, clawing in numbingly cold dirt for a handhold, for purchase, and rammed nub-clawed fingers into hard dirt or stone, which I couldn’t be brought to care. I dug my hand into that dirt and let go of my sure purchase on the branch, and my entire form tensed as I stretched out a muddy leg and crept off the lip of the path. 

Falling rock shattered the quiet, and I froze, one hand up, splayed toes burning in the wet dirt. Nothing moved. Least of all myself. 

Breath in, breath out. 

My heart was a bird under cat’s claw as hunger reared back up and growled to keep moving, feeble hand a servant shaking as I pawed, fear a rolling energy boost keeping my touch light, skittering over stones until I found another handhold, another root. 

That became my thought, my one law in the wide eyed, unseeing dark. We like roots. 

When did we become we?

The thought was a fleeting flick in the storm of rock rock rock dirt loose rock safe stone root! and surge of up as hand got sent out, foot ordered back into the dirt, back down, lower onto haunches, keep going, pat pat pat pat dirt dirt pebbles branch, branch, root. 

Dirt became flat stone. My hands could return to behaving like paws. 

We hesitated, in a crouch, just breathing, the bird just out of reach of the predator, perhaps once again bird instead of prey. Hunger growled. We lurched forward, drawing in a breath tinged with the taste of our own blood, and we sank back onto all fours, that slimmest band of extra energy from the cliff poured into speed, the edge of light a new fear in my throat, a coil down into my chest, constricting on my breath. And then an odd tint tangled with the warm rain smell, the watering hole lure- it smelled familiar, but wrong

It smelled like watering holes without prey, it smelled like the color white, it smelled like chill and coughing and sun slapping on too-square beige stones. I slowed, but we kept going, unrelenting, no fear enough to slow us down at this point.

Dawn reared a fiery head over the distant horizon, broken into a softest haze by a ragged wall of sharp edges, flinty sides stained in the aftermath. We were close, the smell and warmth rolled over our upturned nose and was inviting enough that it was a trial and trial failed to not whimper.

We leapt, taking the flat terrain in great bounds, moving in the shadows, picking behind trees to avoid the sun’s furious touch. Then there was- there was a web, a tall web of cold that tasted of blood, sharp edged and a head higher than my own. 

The web leaned on an oak, and my nubby nails were enough, enough, and we dragged my wearied form up the trunk, out onto an arm, stretched over the cold cold web, and where fear held me to the branch, hunger swept me off. Hunger dragged my aching form to a-

What is it. It is the source, it stands at the waist of me, it-

Hunger screams. She falls to her knees, she shatters, surrender threatens, there is no direction to be had here, no bottomless drive if there is no promise, but hollow hope shattered. We are broken. I look at the end. 

It is no watering hole. There is no fog. There is no prey. Paw, claw, remembers to be hand, flips back covering. Roll of summery death scented fog flows off of water hot, but I know in my soul I should not drink it. 

I do anyway. It is hot, hot, drips down my muzzle, soaks down the fur of my chest, I am hot but frozen, my muddy hands alight as I plunge them into the water, I pull them out but somehow that’s worse, so I stand, two hands up to muddy elbows in this water that reeks of death, chin, chest, throat wet down. I know when I am sated I will not be, but right now I am warm. 

Then I hear it. A loud thud, a bark, a creature that didn’t know true hunger, its cry of curiosity. I withdrew, a black swirl lingering in the pale blue of the death water, and I darted under the ledge, behind a web of dead trees, long grey and bowed in an unfelt breeze. I was right. The cold was unbearable after the warmth, my fingers, fingers again, balled into fists, and I coiled into myself, as the creature came bounding out from over my head, looping around to face me, crying questions I did not understand but knew not to try to answer. 

The creature was pulled away. 

I remained. 

A pat pat pat approached my hiding place. Small, chubby, covered in bright colors and making a sound that matched it. My mouth watered, but the creature was scooped up with a screech, a larger creature of it’s kind, lifting it up and around. I crept forward, waiting, perhaps there would be scraps? but it’s screams seemed up, seemed- thing I had no words. Screams for not scream. 

I crept after them, clinging to the shadows, and the large creature continued with the young around, to a great roaring thing that had a breath that stank Wrong, wrong like nothing I’d known and nothing I’d eat, and loaded the up-screeching small thing into it. Trapped it in. I blinked, and then the large creature climbed itself into the shining thing. And through it, I saw them, the little creature’s eyes fastening on mine as I leapt, clinging to the side of the dead tree, the deep grooves enough for my nub nails, and it gained velocity, taking my creatures within it. I couldn’t help myself- I leapt, following. The small one didn’t screech any more. I wondered if the block subdued it. 

Hunger wondered if there would be scraps. 

I followed. 

Callie's eyes were growing heavy, head resting against the side of the toddler car seat. The radio nattered on, and Daddy's voice occasionally chimed in, but it had been long enough that she just let the words glaze over. The sky was turning pinkish, and the monster stuck to the telephone pole, big and pale, dark eyes watching the car. For a moment, Callie wondered if Daddy could see the monster. And what it would do when they got to Nana and Grampa's house. And if it could actually see her. She opened her mouth to ask, but a yawn came out instead.

"You can take a nap, sweetheart," Daddy said from the driver's seat. "I'll wake you up when we get there." Callie made a sound like 'okay' and wormed to peer more comfortably out the window. She reached a finger to point at the monster as it loped after the car. It reached the next telephone pole, tilted it's head, and pointed back. A little huff escaped her as she sank into sleep.