I have lorded over these woods through enough snows for my faith in the future to be shaken. I’m stepping towards a place from which I will not return, and so I allow myself to be carried away by frivolous thoughts. I know our Furs will survive whatever the winds of future bring forth, for without the order that we maintain with our teeth, this forest cannot exist. The prey would roll across the hill without limits until it exterminated all the saplings, thereby exterminating the trees and itself. Our dance is shared.
When it saw me, it was already clear that there was no way out and that this was the end of its short life. Eyes frozen, heart beating muffled… only its nostrils move. This is the sweetest moment of the woods, when all illusions disperse and when there are no doubts as to who is what.
Fly away little twig, let the wind carry you! This Fur no longer participates in the dance of the forest. The young Antler quickly gains speed with its tiny hooves and disappears behind the curving water.
The air carries the stench of my future hosts. Those low beings are not aware of the information they send through space and time with their presence. I can feel that this one is alone, his breath heavy with liquid of the rotten fruit. Twolegs drink that abomination to dull their senses. Our sages say that the liquid gives them the power to wield the Thunderbranch. I do not know. It does not matter. I was not wise, but I always knew how to act. Without hesitation.
The only unanswered question I carry in my dead heart is the Twoleg old woman who lives with the owls, cut off from her tribe. I never accepted her food, and I disciplined the youths who would accept it. I have always disciplined. It is not our place to receive food from lower creatures. To enter into dog slavery. Never.
The songs say that this Twoleg used to dance by the fire with every discovery of the great Moon. The songs also say that our Furs participated in that dance. During my lifetime, this Moonwoman showed no signs of dance. But her reclusive life was unclear to me and that ambiguity will remain. I gladly bear the suspicion that all Twolegs are beyond the reach of the deep forest.
On the roots of the old Acorn, a Twoleg dreams deeply. Next to his body lies a Thunderbranch on one side, and the liquid of the dead fruit on the other. My teeth are growing.
The shreds of mercy we once held for them evaporated after they destroyed the Great Dark Fur from these forests. This mighty Fur, which once went into a deep sleep below the ice, has long ceased to dream here. The last among them was a mother with two cubs. They skinned them all. They took their furs away, and left the bones and meat in front of the den. Everyone born under the forest wakes up with the memory of that event. The dreams that once buzzed under the heavy snows brought prosperity to the blood of all the creatures of these forests, even the Twolegs that lived on its edges. For the disappearance of our ancient friend, there is no forgiveness.
This Twoleg sleeps on his side, with a part of the neck visible and naked as it summons my tooth. My mouth is watering at the very thought. I could finish him without him knowing. In an instant, he would go from a deep sleep to the deepest sleep. Eternal end.
His bones crack in my jaw.
I tear the skin like wet leaves.
I open the stomach so the whole forest can feel it. Let his intestines shine in the sun.
I soak my fur in his greasy blood.
I eat his face to absorb the knowledge they hides from us.
I imagined enough. I clench my eyes and teeth. A dance awaits me, into which I enter clean, and adult Twolegs are polluted.
I leave him to dream and let him finish himself. The strength of his heart says that it will soon be extinguished. The blood no longer wants to endure the poisons that the host pours into it. A good outcome, but one less changes nothing. I move on.
Will the Twolegs destroy themselves before they destroy the forest? With each new ice, the forests are getting thinner and shorter, and each new brood of Twolegs that steps into it is more incompetent. Less able to create, and sometimes less able to destroy. A dead race. Like bulky pieces of meat, they stagger on their sluggish legs. It is miserable to watch them perish, it is miserable to watch them lead others along to their ruin.
Their slaves announce my presence. It is time for decisive movements – the essence of my existence. I catch the faint scent of Antlerblood coming from the distance. They killed the mother of the young Antler that I allowed to live on, and now they are using her dead body as bait for me. Pathetic creatures. They would be very happy to direct me out in the open, to their towers above the ground, on which they can squat for hours.
Hear my final verses! I send forth a roar that shakes the trunks and destroys doubts about who is the eternal power here. Listen, and follow me. I’m taking you to the other side. Through thorn bushes and bitter berries. Over coves and cliffs. Through the deep places where the mighty Tusks roll, all the way to the old place where the ancient Twolegs dragged stones out of the hill. Far from my tribe.
The speed of my movement is beyond their comprehension. Branches crumble beneath my paws. Through nostrils I melt frost from dead leaves. Pieces of earth fly around me as I run, and my body flies up the cliffs. Power is my name.
I land without a sound in the center of the plane, filling my lungs with air. My last verse stops the winds in an instant and peels the stone from the walls.
The call has been made.
I have no fear.
I am ready to move on to the eternal hunting grounds, but I will not wait motionless for the end. Every muscle of mine will play until the very end.
Welcome Twolegs! Welcome slaves! You now walk in my kingdom. Do accept a modest gift… an invitation to the last dance, with a God of these woods.