It

Looking up at the dark sky that was littered in small glowing dots of white, its ears flickered when it noticed the change of direction the breeze took. Soft star-like orange and yellow eyes glazed over the decorated abyss above. It closed its eyes, inhaling deeply, taking in the bitterly cold air that felt heavy in its lungs. With a harsh exhale, it would open its eyes once again, now looking ahead.

The land was vast and lonely. Dry and tall grass moved like water with the breeze, waves of the grass dancing in a rhythmic pattern. The field acted as an ocean, vast as one as it never seemed to end. As far as it could see it was grassfields, fog only barely rolling over parts of the fields. It left a beautiful sight but yet a very lonely one. A very cold one.

It moved its paws, they felt heavy. The bitter breeze gently ran its claws through its fur, stroking its sides and back, petting with claws across its face. As much as the cold made its eyes prick with annoyance, it was soothing and helped ground its thoughts.

Pause. Ear flick. Move.

Thought. Thoughts that moved like mud, loud and full of nothing good and yet they would shove themselves into its head. Each pebble, each rock, each boulder, each clump of suffocating mud sang a story in its head. Each song loud and each song deafening in the silence of the dark.

Its eyes looked down at its paws as it walked. Each careful step it watched as its paw rose and then descended, crushing parts of tall and short grass. Each step felt heavier and yet it couldn’t stop walking… not like it really wanted to. It still walked and walked, looking down as its paws would step to the beat of the deafening songs that howled in its head.

Pause. It looked back, exhaling barely to notice the vapor from its breath fade into nothing. It looked back ahead. Move.

Want. What is there to want for a lowly creature? Of course, everything wants. A want is only instinct and only natural. Want was amongst the branches that moved with the singing mudslide within itself. Yet, despite there was so much it thought it wanted, it could never settle on one idea. What did it want?

… it picked up its head, looking out into the never ending field. It wanted out. It exhaled with content at the thought. That sounded right. It felt right. Its paws picked up a little higher, just barely a little higher. The breeze brushed through its coat a little deeper. Though, it didn’t pay much mind. It didn’t feel the need to.

It didn’t take a moment to stop, just kept walking.

Feel. This felt like a mess of rhythm. It sounded like noise and far too much of it. It somehow made the mudslide sound more like mud. So much mud. It made its ears flicker uncomfortably with the bitter cold. The noise only it could witness seemed to understand that the only one in the entire concept of existence who could hear it was the host of it. So it sang louder.

What did feeling mean to it? To feel is to feel the cold, to feel the grass whipping at its fur, to feel the vastness of the environment… to feel the imprisonment of the vastness, to feel its heart pick up in its chest, to feel the ever so subtle beats of it in its head, the beat to the noise. What was there to know? To feel the sense of entrapment and yet still get to freely run?

Run?

It looked down at its paws now, they no longer carried careful steps from minutes before, instead they now barely touched the dirt and moved in rapid motion. They lifted, they stretched out, they came down, and they slammed themselves into the dirt before shoving its body across the land. It was running. Why was it running? It attempted to question itself but it didn’t understand, it didn’t know.

It never thought to pause, it never thought to slow down.

To know. Knowing. Why did it know? What did it know? What did it want to know? It knew why its heart loudly beat in its chest, it knew why it would hunt, it knew why it would sleep, and yet now it did not know why it would run, why it couldn’t stop.

It knew it needed to find a new place, it knew it needed to escape, and yet it still did not know why it would run. It was late, dark, this would only hurt it and it still ran.

Thundering paws slammed the ground, the breeze suffocating its lungs, its heart beating deeply in its ears, the mudslide that sang now carried a song of desperation. Each beat became louder and louder. The songs louder before, it too only got louder and louder. It sang many songs. Each story within it sang one story, either with a lovely tune or a horrid noise, mixing together in chaos. Yet, within the rocks and stones of it all, the trees that were dragged along with it sang a choir.

The choir hosted leaves and branches, animals and food, lives and tales. Each design and recognizable feature were impossible to understand and yet it knew. Recognition of fear, the desperation of freedom and desperation to escape. It sang a demand of each thought to quiet, it sang for its wanting, it sang for its trembling thoughts, it sang for its feelings of chaos to settle, it sang for it knew.

It knew

The air is still, the song ended. It stood in place, no longer running. Its heartbeat was slow, the cold didn’t hold it by its heavy claws. It still looked down at its still paws, breathing heavily, the only thing that gave any indication it ran at all. Its eyes looked at its paws with a locked stare, watching, waiting, as if something were bound to happen if it looked away.

Just barely, by the corner of its eye, it noticed a movement. Its eyes snapped to the side to lock with it, but then found itself in a sense of wonder. It was a small bug, a little beetle. It watched it scurry around, awe glittered in its eyes. It watched it as it ran across the dirt floors until it reached the base of a tree.

Its eyes flickered up the tree then back at the beetle. It paused. It looked up at the tree with wide eyes. Then it looked back behind it, then around. It was in a forest. Surrounded by large pines, maples, firs, vegetation of life. Its ears flickered to listen.

It no longer heard the sounds of the harsh breeze, it no longer heard the deafening choir of song, it only heard the steady movement of a stream a short distance away.

Its eyes followed the noise, the creek focusing in. It didn’t understand why or how, it didn’t know how it felt, what it wanted to do in this moment, what to think. Though, it knew.

With a light push, it moved, carefully walking towards the source of the sound. It watched as the water came into better focus. It was a decent sized creek, but not a river. It moved slowly but it moved, creating a soothing rhythm without lyrics. Just a tune.

It watched the stream bed move in a dancing manner, the water moved, riffles then the run of the creek. It decided to rest here, so it laid down, looking out. Then it looked down, knowing eyes locking with the reflective water of the creek’s pool.

It was staring back at me.