Late to the party- fashionably so, some might say, though not Fish. She’d been busy with the summer weirs, getting her traps set- and then safely taken down when she heard about the excursion. It irked her to be late, but she wasn’t going to be hasty, not with her fish traps- and besides, she’d been chilled to the bone when she heard it. The mountains.
As soon as she heard, her heart seized up. No. It froze. It froze into a block of ice, thawing and melting as it pulsed. All these years, she’d known she’d never see it again. But things changed, and not always predictably like the tides. When she heard, she quietly packed her things, notified a few key individuals, and left her pets in the care of her son.
All but one.
Her eagle had never been to the mountains, but like her, the great hunting bird was a scion of those distant stones. She deserved to see them at least once in her lifetime. It was something only the Totoma and her constant companion could really understand- it was intrinsic to them, who they were. The mountains called to both of them, a challenge to be conquered. Eagles knew it. Totoma did, too.
Fish knew she’d climb up, and then again she would climb down. The swamp was her home now, but it would be so nice to see them again. They were her beloved childhood companion, her teacher, her adversary. She’d been oh-so-intentional when she left, for her place was not there. Oh, there was
a place there, one she could have if she wanted it, but... she didn’t. It didn’t fit her, not really; it would be like a caiman trying to wriggle into a tortoise’s burrow. Doable, but uncomfortable. She’d be squeezed into a role she hadn’t carved out for herself. It wasn’t what anybody who loved her- herself included- would have wanted. They all understood why she left.
If she saw any of them again, her family- would they understand why she returned?
She saw them, others like her. They were being directed with the droning hum of a kimeti... or a wasp... or both? Both in one, perhaps. Quietly, her eagle drifting above her, she joined the rear guard. Wrapped parcels of dried fish bounced against her armor as she fell into a marching rhythm. How many were there? More kin than she’d ever seen united in one purpose. It was a festival on legs, except they moved with an urgency no mere party would ever hold. She strode up beside a Totoma doe, one she’d glimpsed talking to another. “A good day for a hike, isn’t it? Need some food for the journey? I brought fish.”
Of course she did.
She always brought fish.
@Mima