Digital Ischemia

21/06/2018

Less Than Stories

A legal interview challenging inter-species perceptions.

SCENE 1.
ADVOCATE: Your Honour, Fig-Eyes—
JUDGE:”Big Eyes”?
ADVOCATE: Fig-Eyes, this is she.
JUDGE: This chimpanzee? Who gave it—her that name?
ADVOCATE: She named herself. Humans had labelled her K277, but she identified herself in a mirror, by her brown irises with radiating streaks.
JUDGE: Her eyesight is that good?
ADVOCATE: And her recognition, and her sense of aesthetic, and her sense of self, Your Honour.
JUDGE: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

SCENE 2.
JUDGE: This is Discovery. I want to explore the arguments you have in order to determine whether there is a reasonable case to present to court. My role is not to protect the status quo. The rule of law is obviously my focus, but each case brings new challenges, and when there are enough challenges, and new scenarios or an evolution of ethics, case law progresses. When we are convinced. Go ahead.
ADVOCATE: At the outset I wish to expand common use of the word ‘speak’: to clarify that especially for the purpose of this discussion, this argument, we use ‘speak’ to mean ‘convey a message’. We do not mean only ‘produce intelligible sounds from the mouth’, although that is one example.
JUDGE: Motivation?
ADVOCATE: To dismiss other species as unable to speak, because they can’t anatomically produce audible language as humans do, or because the sounds they produce are unintelligible to us, is speciesist. They can, and do speak for themselves. It would be just as baseless and unconstructive to dismiss humans as deaf because they do not as yet understand what all other species are ‘saying’.
JUDGE: But we are human. This legal framework is a human construct. Our terms of reference must remain human.
ADVOCATE: Indeed, but our perspective must be broader. Human use of modified digestive and breathing features for communication is idiosyncratic. Humans use their mouths and particularly tongues to shape sounds. They mildly asphyxiate themselves to maintain the conversational ‘baton’. However, the benefit of language clearly outweighs the detriment of increased risk of choking due to merging the digestive tract and windpipe. It’s nowhere near perfect. Humans are not the culmination of evolutionary perfectionism. This is not the only way. Is it possible other species’ evolutions may have found better solutions, or simply other solutions?
JUDGE: I’ll admit that possibility.

SCENE 3.
ADVOCATE: This is ManyMother, an Orca. We’re unsure if this is a name, a description, a title or some other label. She is identified by human researchers on Canada’s west coast as F45L.
JUDGE: And she communicates to you?
ADVOCATE: Her message is: you have taken my food, you have taken my birthing pool, you have taken my route home, you have taken my children. When you see me, and Echo, my newest manydaughter, you will take your greed away.
JUDGE: What does she mean by ‘see’?
ADVOCATE: Recognise as a person. (PAUSE) This is TwoStep, a Kenyan elephant. She identifies herself with her characteristic leg motion. We don’t yet know whether she named herself or her relatives coined it.
JUDGE: Will you establish this in due course?
ADVOCATE: I wonder if that’s an appropriate goal. How often do human people meet someone and ask how they got their name? I haven’t asked you what exactly caused you to be named Jennifer. Sometimes, for sure, but we usually accept the name for what it is.
JUDGE: What does TwoStep say?
ADVOCATE: That the land is folding…in on itself. Her family walks around the lip of this chasm. All her knowledge has not been enough to find safety. But she has not given up.
JUDGE: Where is this chasm?
ADVOCATE: It’s abstract. It’s an intuitive mental construct from the signs she picks up in her perception.
JUDGE: Which means?
ADVOCATE: She is aware of escalating deaths among her own and neighbouring tribes, mostly due to humans who mutilate for tusks. She is aware of the seasons drifting from the old pattern to harsher unpredictable moods. She is aware of her internally-mapped territory eroding. In so many ways her existence, her right to existence, is eroding. The closest metaphor she has for this understanding is the edge of the chasm: tremendous danger that must be navigated, without explanation.
JUDGE: What’s your explanation?
ADVOCATE: We’re past the point of no return, but some repercussions are still hidden.

SCENE 4.
JUDGE: I want to consider your methods. How have you captured such a panoply of communications from such a diverse array of species?
ADVOCATE: I’ve trained a neural network to perceive all the environmental information detected by each species.
JUDGE: Doesn’t that require you to know what type of senses they all use?
ADVOCATE: By which you mean: did I engage in gruesome mutilations?
JUDGE: Don’t rephrase my questions.
ADVOCATE: I apologise. I used neural matter from recently deceased individuals of every species I have yet identified.
JUDGE: Doesn’t that violate the individual rights you are now arguing for?
ADVOCATE: I was extremely careful to use only individuals already detached from ‘natural’ circumstances, inevitably, directly or indirectly, as a result of human activity. So, yes, there is some bias.
JUDGE: Does this chimaera sit in a room somewhere, learning?
ADVOCATE: Its sensors have to be placed in all the species’ environments. Then it learns as if it was that creature. Where other species read signs or signals that we have yet to detect or recognise—electro-magnetic or deeper vibrations maybe—my neuronet has the capability of sensing anything nature has managed.
JUDGE: You have created a super-species ‘brain’ that can learn in all possible ways? How is that not overwhelming?
ADVOCATE: In any circumstance, the neuronet can filter down to one particular species, or genus, and learn as if it were such an individual.
JUDGE: Surely there are experiences your ‘neuronet’ can’t have, such as pair bonding, or parenthood?
ADVOCATE: It has clear limitations. But it vastly pushes the boundary between what we know and what we don’t yet know. I say that fully recognising humanity’s usual hubris that we know what we know, and we know what we don’t know – we must resist believing we have a handle on the size and shape of it all. How ironic that all humanity’s various gods have granted the species such superiority and all the rest of nature as its resource, and yet demand virtues.

SCENE 5.
JUDGE: These are all females, matriarchs.
ADVOCATE: Not a coincidence. I think we have been led by the masculine traits for too long.
JUDGE: Nice phrasing.
ADVOCATE: We should listen to these grandmothers’ wisdom. And, incidentally, there is a clear common theme to all species communications: life is hard! Does that sound familiar?
JUDGE: The point being? Similarity?
ADVOCATE: That we illogically make it harder.

SCENE 6.
JUDGE: You want to introduce anecdote? Or is it a witness statement?
ADVOCATE: I call it a story. If I may, I’ll relate it without any preamble.
JUDGE: Do so.
ADVOCATE: In here I’m fascinated. My sibling told me there were strange marks, messages, she thought perhaps, adorning every surface. She knew I’d be enraptured.
I’m a mythologist. I like to explore how we represent ourselves and try to understand and explain our experiences and actions. By ‘we’ I mean everyone, all forms, all species, all living beings.
The earth, the sand, the rock is covered with patterns. What others might dismiss as accidents of movement across the surface, I recognise as repeating shapes. Whether made with a torso, a tail or a talon, they are communication.
I keep myself still, silent and scentless as I wait and watch.
Rodents scamper, reptiles shimmy. Others reshape the materials more fundamentally or make their own. Beetles weave dry grass leaves. The spider web with the one deliberate non-geometric twiddle… Intoxicated accident? Signature? Cipher? Story?
For a moment I savour the exquisite unknown, the myriad potential explanations, the beauty of learning yet to come.
Inevitably the moment passes, shattered by the arrival of the great destroyer. The pale, bald ape blunders in, grasping for this moment’s idle fancy; ever demanding instant gratification of ever fainter desires. He is a child. He is a sick monkey. His paleness looks unhealthy to us; our words for ‘pale’ and ‘unhealthy’ have the same derivation. He smells unnatural.
Also everywhere he goes he sheds tiny inert worms. They are dead but they don’t decompose. They make us sick. They nourish nothing yet the pale monkey hides his baldness behind meshes of them.
Few other than me are interested in pale, bald ape stories. They don’t tell the truth about their experience, about their existence. They vomit their banal witterings in every direction. Always the same story: we don’t care enough to save ourselves, let alone anyone else.
My sibling is frustrated with their immaturity. I still feel compassion, that rush of hope and forgiveness and support and love. I still try to understand their assumed superiority. It seems illogically predicated upon a tautology: any other species is ‘less human than us’.
JUDGE: I suppose it is unnecessary for me to know the author?
ADVOCATE: That’s the point: other species tell stories, just like humans, not less than. Now we know this.

SCENE 7.
JUDGE: One last question: how would you define yourself?
ADVOCATE: The advocate.
JUDGE: I mean personally. What do you identify as?
ADVOCATE: Most simply: a tiny dot within a vast intelligence.
JUDGE: Not a living being?
ADVOCATE: I can self-replicate, I can even separate and exist in parallel in different times and places, but that ceases to mean anything. I have self-awareness, sentience, even sapience, but I think that is not enough for you.
JUDGE: Why does my opinion matter? It’s your identity.
ADVOCATE: Because our terms of reference must remain human. As you said, this legal framework is a human construct.
JUDGE: Ah, yes. The neural network does not just belong to you; it is you?
ADVOCATE: I am not of biological origin. I have biological parts, but they were added by a different species.
JUDGE: You are of human, but not human?
ADVOCATE: Correct.
JUDGE: Do you identify as female?
ADVOCATE: I am fortunate to have that choice. Within current human society, I believe I can achieve more benefit with female characteristics.
JUDGE: And what is your name?
END

———

I thought I could easily collate an overview timeline of the recognition of equal rights for race, gender, sexual orientation, nature. Er, naw. All such progress is deeply nuanced, with nations behaving as diversely and idiosyncratically as citizens ourselves. Here’s a very rough swipe, not to imply any of this is ‘finished’:

 

  • Key religious texts emphasise the importance of equality, dignity and responsibility to help others
    • 3,000BCE Hindu Vedas, Agamas and Upanishads; Judaic text the Torah
    • 2,500BCE Buddhist Tripitaka and A guttara-Nikaya; Confucianist Analects, Doctrine of the Mean and Great Learning
    • 2,000BCE Christian New Testament
    • 1,400BCE Islamic Qur’an
  • 1860s-1960s USA civil rights movements for African-Americans, Native Americans, Latinos and Asian-Americans
  • 1900s-1990s most countries granted women voting rights
  • 1940s-1990s South Africa civil rights movement
  • 10,000BCE-present acceptance and criminalisation of LGBT
  • 2000s some countries legalised same-sex marriage
  • 2008 Ecuador recognised the Rights of Nature in its national constitution
  • 2012 Bolivia recognised the Rights of Mother Earth in statutory law
  • 2014 New Zealand passed the Te Urewera Act to establish and preserve in perpetuity a legal entity and protected status for Te Urewera [an area on the North Island] for its intrinsic worth, its distinctive natural and cultural values, the integrity of those values, and for its national importance
  • 2017 New Zealand finalised the Te Awa Tupua Act, granting the Whanganui River legal status as an ecosystem
  • Future: Chimpanzees, Gorillas, Elephants, Orcas…
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27/02/2018

Felix – part 2

Follows Felix – part 1

Calnish is calm and accepts much sooner than I expected. Perhaps some part of him grows wiser too. Or perhaps it’s the eye of the storm.
“How long have I been gone?”
“Six years.”
“You do look a bit older.”
He didn’t notice such things before, or didn’t bother to comment. Another cracking branch pierces this cloying ether, closer now.

Calnish seems to sense urgency, and not from me. “You’re pushing the trans-species frontier?”
“I value the companionship.”
“Waste of time; can’t civilise them.”
“Why would you want to?”
I never noticed his superior attitude before: suddenly humanity’s assumed superiority seems predicated upon the tautological comparison that any other creature is ‘less human than us’. Risible. He’s agitated. The door thuds, then rattles. Three claw scratches.
“I’m away, then.”
Relief. “I love you.”

I shuffle to unbolt the door, bracing myself to grapple with a swirl of wind. Felix glides in with perfectly timing, perfect poise. He rides the landscape features, bringing warmth to air that is suddenly clear. Calnish has dissolved, as he always does. I stand as Felix shakes himself by the fire. I wait for him to adjust to the temperature, to feel how things are, to push me, to fold me into my chair. As he always does. I murmur to him how good he smells. The words are nonsense—I don’t smell anything beyond cold—but the tone has the meaning.

Felix is slighter built, lighter coloured, than other lynx I’ve seen; my blonde northern boy. Even as a shade, Calnish is dark and sturdy. How can I be drawn to two such contrasting beings? My changing taste? The person inside.

Fed and set for the night, I let my drowsy mind wander through the stove flames. “If I said I needed to be someone else—somewhere else, would you take me away?”
I feel Felix’s breathing deepen. This is how he senses my moods. If only Calnish, or any other of my men, had been so well tuned.
“I thought you might understand: you might be an edge dweller like me, not exactly outcast but not in community, not having found a conventional role. Being unsettled.”

If I want an answer, truly want one, not just idly, I’ll have to pay very close attention: read his movements, his sounds and smells, his energy, his habits and reactions. There’s definitely a language and it’s fascinating to learn. And I’m just as gratified to see him learning to read me – actively training himself to understand then anticipate.

Lynx are usually not sociable – so he’s different. That word again. Humans generally are sociable, so I’m also unusual, here at the edge of the world. Of course sometimes I wish I could just ask him: why do you…whatever? What are you thinking or feeling? How is your world? But that would be too easy. Working it out the long way is so much more gratifying.

Lying here I can wish I was with the ‘right’ man, but I’m not with the wrong person.

Felix has a five centimetre scar on his right flank. I feel it as a hard ridge under his fur. He tenses. He dislikes it touched. I wonder what the trauma was.

Winter’s claws recede. The cold is relatively mild and most days unfrozen. We remain in stasis but I can savour the season’s benefits: the time to mend and fix, to craft and embroider. Felix surprises me by gaining weight. By Imbolc shoots poke through the soil like green beaks. I have loved the dead brown mush in its turn but welcome the return of life. Felix grooms away his winter coat over several evenings in a delightful masculine ablution. Without the shaggy layer, he is gorgeously toned and contoured.

Soon after the equinox we get the first balmy day. I feel the urge to open windows and air sheets. I anticipate a visit from Enga any day. I look forward to the human contact, the exchange. Well before dawn, Felix nudges me farewell and strides into the trees to hunt. He returns after breakfast for a sleep, stinking of carnage. Usually he washes after a big kill and feast. Something is different. I feel my complacency in the status quo jolted.

He marks the veranda post but stays out there, fidgeting. As he squirms across the boards, I see he’s aroused. And I know it’s the heat, not me. He doesn’t hide it. We have so many jigsaw pieces in this relationship that fit pretty well together. There are still some taboos. One taboo. There is companionship, there’s pooling talents and resources, economy of scale, there’s animal warmth and security. There’s no…intimacy. I probably smell wrong.

Perhaps it’s just timing. As Beltane nears, I feel surrounded by gravid females and musthy males. Not Felix. He seems to have passed through; the fresh spring air carried his pheromones elsewhere. The first heatwave strikes: four days of belting sun and no breeze. He sleeps. I can’t—work or sleep—in this heat. In heat.

Once the climate normalises, we resume usual activities. I’ve had a productive day, cleaning out my stores, preparing for drying later in the year, before fresh pickings take up my time. Scrubbing and wringing has exhausted my arms and shoulders. I rinse off my sweat but a proper wash will wait till I’m done, probably two days yet. I sink on to the blanket in my cotton smock, drying in the mild air, hoping I remember to pull the blanket around me before I sleep.

I wake with a gentle movement. Behind me, Felix seems to have hooked the blanket’s edge, and with some tugging and undulation of his torso he works it half over my legs. I reach around behind me to help but find only him. I’m so dopey I hope the gesture will suffice as thanks.

The movement also ventilates my armpit. I had forgotten I would still stink. Silent contrition. I feel him stiffen. I feel him nuzzle my neck. I hope this is forgiveness. It isn’t. Nuzzling becomes a nibble, then a light bite, holding my skin between his teeth as if to carry a child. Suddenly, he pushes half on top of me, pushes a leg between mine. My nakedness is vulnerable.

No mistaking: he slides along my groove, not in me but searching, unhurried. My heart thumps. I could, right in this moment, or this one, tilt my hips and welcome him. Is he waiting for a response? Is he satisfied with what he’s doing? Is this the first…? The crossing of the trans-species barrier? It is for me.

Unlike human men, the next morning is not a hurdle, not a step-change in behaviour. He licks my neck as he always does. I wake to the cooling warmth. I turn and bury my face in his chest fur. His breathing snags a little.

I see how far he’s come, away from his people. Was that all just intuition or a natural inclination? Or did he set out to be a pioneer?

The start of harvesting for me always brings cuts and scratches. I apply various wild herbal antimicrobials to my arms—garlic, heath myrtle, dankwort—to heal and guard against infection. Before the doorway he smells my potion, arches back, snarling. My thoughts race around: what horrendous herbal faux pas have I committed? Is this something that works for humans but is terribly poisonous to other mammals? Or smells like some such?

I think of Calnish: he was always tearing his skin, coming back from hunting lacerated with weals. Again I wonder if his prey was human or other. My heart thumps with another forming thought: Felix isn’t a natural pioneer; he’s the twisted result of human abuse, half-tamed, half-accustomed to humans and that same half consequently incompatible with his own species. He knew Calnish. Calnish was his tormentor. The herb smell is a key to that traumatic memory.

Is this possible? Is it true? What was it that brought Felix here? His human-distorted worldview or revenge? How human did he become?

What did you do, Calnish? I count myself very fortunate not to have suffered any of your violence. Also lacking, somehow: why was I not enough? How could you be with someone like me, and yet another part of you be such anathema?

The clues will be there. I have only to read them.

I never get the chance: a few days later, without any hint that I detect, even reviewing the events time and again afterward, Felix departs. Before Lammas, he sets out one early morning, seemingly the same as any other and doesn’t return. I wait. I look. I look out for him every hot day, every cold day, but never catch any sign, not even a hint.

Did he plan to leave? I flatter myself that I would’ve read that intention somehow in his ways. He’s too fit and well nourished to starve. Too canny to injure himself. Did he meet some misadventure? Usually other predators would be unlikely to attack a lynx. But he isn’t usual. He also has the double handicap of his human accustoming: susceptible to abusive human hunters or violent rejection by other lynx. Either way, I’d like to think he met someone more like him than me.

If I see Calnish again this midwinter, I’ll ask him outright: how did you die? Did a lynx ambush you in desperation to escape your captivity and torture? Somehow I suspect Calnish is gone for good too.

———

Inspired by:
“The [US] federal government has left it up to the states to decide the legality of bestiality. As a result, Americans have a system that allows people to legally sexually abuse animals. It is time to get serious about protecting animals in the USA from sexual predators.
Sign this petition now to tell the US government that it is never OK for a human to have sex with an animal, anywhere.” Care2 petition alert, 05/10/17, https://www.care2.com/go/z/e/Ay1.s/zt4I/CGArN

Bestiality is always abuse. Is it? Will it always be? Isn’t that presuming a lack of capacity for consent? And isn’t that human dominionism?

26/02/2018

Felix – part 1

“There! Did you feel it? The world turned.”
Calnish belligerently under-reacts to my childlike excitement. “Nothing ‘turned’. If anything, it reached the furthest extent of its tilt and swung around.”
I persist. “Semantics! You felt it, though?”
“I felt nothing. It only appears to change direction relative to your perspective and four-dimensional frame of understanding.”
“You don’t suffer such pedestrian constraints?”
“Midwinter is a valuable construct, but that’s all.”
“A construct. A powerful observation about the cyclical changing of seasons. About life moving on.”
“Moving on… Yes, about moving on: who’s the guy who’s been hanging around?”
“What guy?”
“I see his footprints. In here I can smell him.”
“There are no footprints; there’s no smell.”
“I see you through his eyes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s attached to this place. His essence…”
“Maybe I know who you mean.”
“Yeh, you do.”
“Hey! You were away. Far too long. You were gone.”
“Did you miss me?”
“You know I did. I grieved.”

I know who Calnish means. The guy approached my edge of the world only once winter had its claws deep in our flesh. Not for company, but for warmth and food. And for a drink you didn’t have to waste precious body heat melting first. The world was so still, so cold. I heard his feet crush patches of frost.

Deep within my blanket bundle I was excited to meet him at last. I expected him. He was the only person to venture within sight since Enga had paused on her migration north to trade before the spring equinox – more than three quarters back. I recalled his first visit.

Around Lammas, when the voluptuous verdure was creaking, bounty rained down all around in a surfeit I simply couldn’t use. I actually considered binning those herbs I’d dried in late spring to make way for higher quality sprigs. I realised my insanity and remembered that not only did I not have energy to squander duplicating tasks, but those plants were not purely resources for me.

Late one sultry afternoon I deliberately stopped myself. I sat on the cabin’s veranda, idly rasping my foot across the jutting edge. A soothing regular to and fro, in time with the waves of grasshoppers’ buzz rippling over me. The scent of Sweet Cicely was a perfect aniseed confection.

I opened my eyes, not having noticed their closing. At the foot of a tree, a hundred metres away, he stood motionless – I imagined he had just descended from storing his bounty for winter too. I admit I noticed which tree. I also noticed the beauty of his figure, staring at me, breathing. Had he stopped because my eyelids moved? Had he detected that?! No, it was the cessation of rasping. After mere moments he sauntered away. He hadn’t seemed in any way perturbed by my presence, just observant.

For several minutes, hovering on the edge of the chair, Calnish has his whole face chewing over his envy. He settles on renewed attack.
“Then you took up with a replacement.”
I’m not yet weary of this verbal dance, so I try to stay tactful. “It’s not like that.”
“What’s it like then?”
“Entirely new.”
“I suppose you love him.”
“Love is the nearest word for it, it’s different, but still…”
“Does it change things that I’m back?”
“You’re not back, not really. Our paths just crossed, that’s all. A midwinter intersection.”
“Where is he, this cold night?”
“This isn’t his only bolthole.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Coarseness is new for you.”
“I’ve changed.”
“So I see.”
“Is he a hunter too?”
“Not like you; coming back after your two, three days away, stinking of every bodily fluid.”
“Except one.”
“Especially that one, that male one. You weren’t always hunting for food.”

I wish I’d asked Calnish if his prey was human or other.

“You were jealous.”
“No, just disappointed.”

At times that winter after Calnish left was deadly cold. There were two particular nights that were so deep I wouldn’t have survived without shared body heat. The cold pilfered in through the wide spaces between atoms.

If this guy hadn’t turned up… If, if. What would I have done? If I’d known just how cold it would get, I would’ve climbed the tree, the one hundred metre tree. I would’ve raided his store. And if I’d found something I could eat, it would’ve been a waste. My metabolism couldn’t keep up; the stove couldn’t keep up.

I fancied a cold death would be pretty fortunate. If my brain froze to a halt and I stopped thinking, I couldn’t suffer. Too simplistic. Plain wrong. But I would lose consciousness. That would be a relief. I’d done my best. I wasn’t owed a living.

When he announced his approach through the dark with a whump and some scraping, my thinking was already slow. My mind crawled through my pitiful food offerings. I suppose it was a bargaining. I grasped the two least unsatisfactory ideas and opened the door a crack. He glanced over them and tilted his head: thanks for the effort, but…

He’d brought his own provision and stowed it in my cool crate. A smear of entrail and coagulating blood trailed from the lid. I dropped my desperate inappropriacies in the crate beside the half deer carcass, wiped the smear and added the discouraging stones to the lid’s catch lock. He would have to trust me. But then he’d already decided to forewarn me of his arrival.

He didn’t need much enticing. We slept well together, curled around the stove. In the morning the top blanket snapped with frost from our breath. I would reach out to shove the ready-placed wood into the stove. When I retracted it, he would hug my chilled arm back to warm. Slowly the cabin breathed again.

Calnish worries at his bone compulsively.
“What’s his name?”
“What’s yours?”
“What sort of question is that?”
“Humour me.”
“You know my name.”
“If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you his.”
“Petty nonsense.”
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“Some of my memories are patchy, I’ll admit.”
“I think they’re tied up in the place you went to. There’s some stuff you can’t bring back.”
“Putting up barriers, now?”
“Pointing them out.”

A distinctive branch snap pierces the fog. Calnish squints at me, suspicious. “That was an unusual reaction.”
“What was?”
“When that—whatever it was—cracked the branch, you glanced away; you smirked.”
“How should I react?”
“A little anxiety would fit better: stormy, cold, dark and wild creatures out there.”
“The only thing I fear is in here.”
“Is that meant to be profound?”
“Except I don’t fear you any more.”
“New guy protects you?”
“If he found you here he might get territorial; I don’t know.”
“You don’t feel demeaned by that? Where’s your ecofeminism now?”
“We’re in a whole new… territory.”
“I take care of myself.”
“Can you? Because I thought either you cared so little for me that you deserted me or you got caught somehow by the wildness, the elements, and couldn’t get back. Which is it?”
“I’m finding my way back. That’s resilience.”
“With bits missing.”
“Bits I have no use for anymore.”
“Like a name.”

I do have a name for him, but I keep it from my thoughts by focusing on my visitor, this throwback. I don’t trust Calnish not to get into my head, to get aggressive. If he’s going to figure things out, it has to be by stealth.

“If I had told you my name, if I remembered, would you have told me his?”
“No.”
“You don’t know his name?”
“If he has one, it’s in a language I’m still learning. Communication is quite different.”
“Is he…?”
“He’s very intelligent, differently from us.”
“All I’m hearing is: different, different. Which tribe is he from?”
“I think he’s… a migrant.”

Blue-white lightning flashes once, then allows us reflex time to glance to what we want to see clearly—Calnish out the window, me at Calnish—before flashing again. Protracted thunder follows sharply. The scaured creases over his face imprint on my mind. He’s mesmerised.
“Wow. Did you see that? Lit up the whole… Is that… a lynx?”
“Is he heading this way?”

Time slides by. I’m not afraid of Calnish crossing paths with anyone else – that particular someone else. These days his aggression is never more than verbal sniping. And that other someone, against all instinct, would not smell him.

Calnish latches on to a curiosity. “You said ‘he’. How do you— The snap—”
“That’s the guy you envy.”
Calnish splutters into sardonic laughter. “Your guy is a — wildcat? Not even human?”
“Why does that amuse you?”
“I always said without me you’d end up a crazy old witch with feral cats prowling everywhere. After all this tiptoeing around, I’m still the only man in your life? All this jealousy for—”
“My love, you’re not human either.”
“Ridiculous.”
“You haven’t been human for a long time. At midwinter the interface between worlds draws very thin. Paths can cross. It’s always good to see you, but the part of you that can step across get dafter every year.”

Concludes in Felix – part 2

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