On a warm spring evening, I trot along the invisible barrier between reality and dreams. A darkling fox with green glowing eyes sniffs the air, then whips right, away from me and deeper into the nightmare realm. Though I’ve cloaked myself in shadow, the creatures still sense my presence.
As I near a creek, the chorus of frogs grows silent. I dip my head for a drink and watch them balance upon the dancing reeds. Their tiny black eyes look but do not see.
With my belly sated with fluids, I whinny loudly, delighting in the splashes that follow.
Mine is a solitary existence. It has been this way for centuries and must remain so, so I make time to find joy in the little things.
The frogs resume their chorus long after I’m gone.
I don’t know why I come here every night to pace the border. If I were somehow to be seen by human eyes, my life would be forfeit. Not only would the humans try to dissect me, but my own kind would hunt me down and trample me to death me for exposing us.
But I am restless.
Tending the dreams of the living makes me feel dead inside. We were meant for more than this—though no one will tell me what it is we used to do. It must have been important for us to have so much magic. Though apparently, it was not so important we’d risk our extinction. But centuries of repressed instinct have done nothing to curb my need to find something… more. Continue reading