Seeker Grows

Seeker Grows:

Kacy Nielsen


The sun rises, beet-red in the sky over western North America. This October morning is cool and slow to wake. Lingering shadows stretch long across the tattered scrublands. Clouds hang low this day, as they had the last. They are bloated and gray like dead salmon in the river. Nature still refuses to free the rains from those heaving giants. The growing light reveals fog as it comes to rest in areas of low terrain. The foothills of the Rocky Mountains are blanketed for miles around. The sun grows tall, but all is gray and cold.
Beyond a stand of densely packed spruce and beside the bed of a winding creek, two fierce yellow eyes are peering down from a pine tree. The small creature sways slightly, readjusting his grip. Bald talons rake the pale bark and he is still. This young creature has been awake through the preceding days. Days like today. Maybe the clouds had been thinner then. The sky had been bluer. The world had seemed drier. The sun had not been red. His lithe body should be aching for lack of sleep, but he is prepared. Through tales told by both body language and song, he has prepared. He grips the spear that his mother made. He is sure to use only the chosen forepaw. His side. His side of strength. He is powerful. Not a sound emanates from the pine tree.

The pine’s boughs remain cold in spite of the burgeoning sun. It has grown golden by now. So cold, his body is quavering and his feathers stand on end. The soft skin around his nostrils buzz like bees at springtime. On the first day, steam would flutter from his nostrils almost constantly. Only on the first day. The rolls of conchae in his snout were hard at work during those long nights. They keep him warmer, but his nose still buzzes. It had almost bothered him. But that was before the meditation.
His nickname is ‘Raises Tail’. It is a slight that goes back to the first days of his learning. Even blood brothers hum of his femininity. Probably even more behind his back. Much to his dismay, the name stuck, even with the teachers. Because of this, he is called ‘Narrow-Seeker-Raising-Tail’ in all. His haunches twitch at this line of thought. He decides not to dwell on it. He feels better.
Rimmed pupils lift skyward.
Still the sun inches higher over the mountains and still he shivers. As he watches, and with somewhat of a flicker it vanishes beneath a mass of silent thunderheads. The creature’s mind begins to wander. Like the sun, he is hidden from the world.
Long ago, his people had journeyed from the north. They migrated out of the Mongolian highlands over many generations. Songs still tell of mountains not dissimilar from these in North America. But the old lands are green in the stories. The plains are rolling and plentiful and the sun was bright in the sky. Songs tell of the vast network of tributaries and their bounty of armored fish. The oldest of his kind are said to still roost in the bluffs around the Khentii Mountains. His people called their old home The Place of First Song. Some still carry on the fishing tradition. Narrow-Seeker is sure to scoff with the others at the skinny poles of the anglers, but is content inside. He likes salmon.

Water burbles in the creek far below. His laser-sharp ears rarely miss these little things. Narrow-Seeker turns his head fractionally to watch. What he finds surprises him. He had expected to see one of the tasty fishy morsels slipping upstream, perhaps snapping at craneflys as it coasted by.
Too bad.
A matte of brown fur sloshes momentarily into view. Narrow-Seeker blinks with eyes too close together. An aquatic mammal is hunting down there in the morning chill. It is shadowy across the creek, but his eyes are nearly as keen as his ears. An odd head and its wide whiskers poke up. A flipper appears to scratch an overly expressive face. Yawning fangs are beneath a pink nose. It burps and with a splash, is gone. Bubbles trail beneath the inky glass several meters away and nothing more.

Before Narrow-Seeker’s maturity, he spent much time in trees. Not so much in preparation. A smallish frame had cursed him at birth. To compensate, he was a natural climber. Thinking back, he never dreaded this moment, though tales elaborated many failures. Horrible things.
He used to spend long sunsets beside his aunts singing farewells to the day. This seemed his lot in life to most. What good was a squirt for anything else? Few expected the true paths he would later take.
Narrow-Seeker’s voice was higher than the norm and was considered beautiful. Such tales he could weave!
Nevertheless, these natural gifts rarely sat well within his family group. His kind are a strongly guild based society. Narrow-Seeker is akin to a large and prosperous tribe. His are noted for being highly exploratory. It is his tribe that has ventured so far south. They became prideful. As such, there is much rivalry between the families.
It wasn’t long before outsiders followed like shadows. Naturally, there was unrest. So when his kind vouched to merge with two smaller groups, greater cleavages formed between the families. The so-called ‘Great Walkers’ clan may have grown in size, but there is a new restlessness. Natural talent is a highly prized commodity. Because of this, most of his aunts pulled for the histories. His mother was stronger. She is powerful. Her gaze speaks like song. The spear she made is beautiful. Balanced and weighted perfectly to complement her son’s diminutive form.
She sees the truth. She is not to be swayed. She is strong and very cold. Like the Rocky Mountains.

The spear dips in his cradling paw. Though his eyes had been open, Narrow-Seeker did not see the little animal coming. A fidgeting bird is eying him, perched lightly on his weapon. It ducks constantly, twittering softly as it moves. Its beak is surprisingly robust and circular. This one probably preys on insects. Hard shelled insects it seems. Dark teardrop markings and strong bands across its back capture his eye. So similar it is. As he watches, the little cousin sweeps down on broad wings and speeds away. A snag stands not far off. It is likely that this is his little visitor’s home. Bright wings briefly flash and vanish into a rotting hollow in its side.
The sun! It has returned.
Reasonable midday warmth was banishing what remained of the fog. Along the dry flats of the valley, things are beginning to stir. Distant cousins take to the air. They are white flecks that honk softly in the sky. Forming a V pattern, the flock heads over the mountains toward some secluded lake. Heavyset clouds are relenting, allowing a blush of blue to enter above. Narrow-Seeker scans far beyond a line of trees. On a round field, distinct shapes are moving.
Four-legged hadrosaurines drift, rank and file beneath the sun. The duckbill’s elongated front legs have developed into hoof-like keratin pads. Led to full quadrupedalism, their tails shriveled in the process of evolution. Now relegated to stores of fat, the tails of the herbivores have yet to bloat for the coming winter. Colorful balloon flaps on their noses inflate as their eerie calls echo throughout the bluffs. The males have been properly invigorated by the sun’s resurgence it seems.
Narrow-Seeker feels reassured at the sight of them. They had made quite a racket when passing through the low shrubbery last night. He did not see them directly through the tight spruce trees. Nor the dark. They had been close enough to smell. Presently, half of the herd breaks to drink by a silvery riverside.
The creature sitting in the pine tree now hungers for what is to come.

One of Narrow-Seeker’s sharp senses has alerted him to something new. He isn’t sure which sense exactly, but now he’s searching around the base of his trunk. His chin falls to his chest and is hard to get back up for a moment.
There! A distinct snapping of twigs. It seems deliberate somehow. Narrow-Seeker’s feathery head bobs around the boughs but he makes no sound. He searches. Suddenly, another feathery head appears behind some sticker bushes. Soon shoulders follow. Very wide shoulders. Memories begin to float before him.
Narrow-Seeker knows who this is. He remembers and he isn’t happy. Newcomer. Soon he hears a voice in full song, rising into the trees. Its playful tone sickens him.
“Greetings to you, very large tree. I’m so glad (‘I’m unhappy’) to find you on my way.” The call echoes crisply during an inviting pause. Narrow-Seeker stirs on his perch, but remains as silent as the pine.
“You see, large tree, I’m looking for someone. Can you help me?”
The heart in Narrow-Seeker’s chest beats spasmodically and his throat swallows several times. His blood is rushing and slowly, he begins to feel again. He feels rage.
“He is a little bird (‘not so’). He could be resting on your limbs. If he is, tell him to wake up!”
As though sloughing off a deep torpor, the creature in the tree heaves up the spear that his mother made and rests it in the crook of his ‘other’ arm. It is not a true attack stance, but his jaws are still a little numb. The birdlike fold of his arms leaves it improbable to use both forepaws. With some strength that his body has recovered, Narrow-Seeker hefts the butt of his weapon into the pine’s dull trunk. There is a quick clap and the tree has responded.
“Little (‘girly’) brother!”
Narrow-Seeker rises. Using his sharply curved talons as hooks, he leans precariously into view. His motions are quick. Reckless to a big ground-bound brute. He is sure to throw a confident posture to the creature below. He hopes the brute remarks such courage.
Narrow-Seeker hears a high-to-low trill that says the newcomer is getting impatient down there. Even though he still feels a little funny, Narrow-Seeker quickly lifts from his perch and begins to descend. His toes work efficiently as he clutches at the wood. The ‘killing claw’ of his ancient ancestors has changed. Not much bigger than the other talons now, the second toe is set on a hinge that no longer curls back, but instead swings out to the side. Much like a thumb. This toe makes his foot useful for many things.
On his way down, he passes several slivers of warm sunlight that have penetrated through the canopy. One branch in particular is basking in a golden light. Narrow-Seeker wants to sit there and sun himself, but he chooses to ignore it. He knows better. His ears pick up the brushing sound of twigs around the tree’s base.
Every time his claws dig into the bark, a sweet smell comes to his nose. The scent enlivens him. Clears his mind. It reminds him that he is ready.
When his tail is a body’s length from the ground, Narrow-Seeker lets himself fall. He lands on his side in leaf litter. Small dried needles tangle in his feathers as Narrow-Seeker struggles to right himself. A pinecone pokes at his hind end. He barely notices that his spear is still firmly in his grasp. Something like chuckling comes from nearby. The sound rolls into song.
“My brother (‘of the old family’) graces the world. What a climber!”
Narrow-Seeker’s eyes cross in anger. Hate for himself and the brute colors his throat. Another laugh; the little creature looks up.
The other strides into view over a large fallen branch. His widely spaced toes crunch over the brown-red carpet as he purposefully struts. The way he flicks his toes darkens Narrow-Seeker’s throat pouch even more. The brute moves at a constant, smooth pace. Raised gray-white feathers adorn his back like a mane. They make his shoulders grow as Narrow-Seeker watches. Those spiteful eyes glare right back. The brute’s throat is bright red, like the thick band of feathers running down his arms. Seeing this reminds Narrow-Seeker of his own plum colored plumage. His pouch darkens another degree or two.
The brute lives up to his description. It’s a wonder how such spindly legs can carry those rolls of muscle. A thick tail counterbalances the massive girth, keeping it far forward. He pauses abruptly. The position of his body speaks volumes to Narrow-Seeker. It says, ‘You may stand in my marvelous presence, you unworthy squirt.’
Narrow-Seeker does, though the twitch in his eye and the unkempt mass of pine needles keep his displeasure obvious. His back and tail are low, unimpressed. The little creature tries to keep his true emotions less evident. It’s hard.
He is called Wide-Shoulders. A simple enough name. It is as common as it is fitting. There were several ‘Wide-Shoulders’ before the un-blooded arrival. Nicknames are often tagged on in the case of popular names. The brute was red like blood, so naturally he became Wide-Shoulders-Redder.
Narrow-Seeker shakes his modest mane free of debris. He manages to segue the posture into an ‘Is that all?’ stance. He mentally forces his shaking legs to steady themselves. He is strong. Narrow-Seeker refuses to be bullied.
Wide-Shoulders shifts position. The little creature notices a very large spear tucked beneath his red arm. He holds it differently than Narrow-Seeker’s teachers. They are silent. Wide-Shoulders anticipates a song but Narrow-Seeker refuses to acknowledge him.
“I thought the little bird likes to sing (‘and sing well’).”
Spite holds Narrow-Seeker’s tongue in place.
“You passed the test. You can talk now.”
Nothing.
“Look if you want to do this right you’re going to have to talk to me. It’s important. I don’t lie!”
Narrow-Seeker growls under his breath. He warms up by bouncing a note in his nose before breathing a song. It comes to him quickly.
“Whatever you say, my… friend. But why are you here (‘unblooded newcomer!)? Who picked you to be my partner?” The anger in his voice surprises Narrow-Seeker. He didn’t mean for his true feelings to bleed into his song. The unblooded newcomer stiffens and responds immediately.
“You need the help, little singer. Even your family can see it!” Wide-Shoulders interjects into the harmonic pause rudely.
He breaks off their already ruined chorus with a jerk of his snout. Wide-Shoulders turns and heads for the break in the trees. Light silhouettes him and he doesn’t look back. Narrow-Seeker bounds lightly over the uneven ground in his wake. He holds his spear as Wide-Shoulders had. It works.
Narrow-Seeker reaches Wide-Shoulders now standing a body’s length in the open. The sun is high and the little creature enjoys the warmth. He moves to address Wide-Shoulders. The larger creature turns away as if seeing something in the distance. His tail is low over the baked dirt.
The long pause speaks louder than his posture.
“Wide-Shoulders-Redder (‘very red’),” Narrow-Seeker begins cautiously. He waits for a response. Wide-Shoulder’s mane twitches. “I don’t see the game trail,” continues Narrow-Seeker melodically. “I heard them pass through last night. It’s silly I know, but did you see it? Can you show me?”
The brute turns back immediately, tail lifting. Narrow-Seeker’s lie worked perfectly. Wide-Shoulders snorts in a deep breath, preparing for a sonnet.

The pair move as one beside the wall of squat spruce trees. They keep in the formation taught to them, side by side. They step rhythmically, matching their strides. It keeps noise to a minimum. It keeps them stealthy. It lets them use their ears.
They stay in the shade. Each time they near breaks of sunlight, they hurry forward, slowing only when they reach the seclusion of cover. Narrow-Seeker notices how the light gleams when it hits Wide-Shoulders. His pallid feathers and rich ruddy skin seems to agitate the sun. Like an alabaster statue. The larger creature moves quickly and quietly for his size. He will not compromise himself by staying in broad daylight. He handles himself well.
Narrow-Seeker is drab by comparison. Not a truly feminine drab, but his brown-white feathers don’t help combat his nickname. Dark feather armbands make good camouflage, but leave him an unattractive mate. Narrow-Seeker wishes he could gleam in the sunlight. He should be redder.
Keeping the pace, Narrow-Seeker ducks to peer between passing trunks. He listens. Rattling calls rebound across the sheer valley walls. Large and very far away. Ahead, the glint of a lonely creek calls out to them. They must be close. The hunters hurry through another patch of sunlight.
Wide-Shoulders freezes. He snorts rapidly. Narrow-Seeker is unsure if he smells something, or is preparing to formulate song. The smaller hunter searches about alertly.
“Near!” Wide-Shoulders chirrups shrilly. The brute poses, trembling slightly in anticipation. His eyes are wide in the dim light. He wants Narrow-Seeker to pass through the spruce line. He’s small and girly. He’s the sneakier of the two. The little creature realizes he is already stepping through the low-slung boughs. His head brushes the foliage, knocking loose a cluster of grub-like cones. The scent hits him and he hesitates. Narrow-Seeker looks past another heavy-laden branch with crossed yellow eyes. What he sees causes him to grip his spear tightly.
The carnivore moves on two massive legs. It retreats from the creek with long, leisurely strides. Water is dribbling from a still gleaming maw. It looks dark, even against broad daylight. A pillar-esque tail swings into view as it moves away. It is densely feathered; a pelt that jars with every step. This predator has evolved in a very cold climate. Narrow-Seeker can see the long blade-like teeth, even at this angle. Tiny arms have all but vanished. This is a tyrannosaurid. The crushing bite and titanic size of ancient kings has been sacrificed over time. This creature employs a cutting, bleeding attack. These beasts are well known to Narrow-Seeker’s people. There is no carnivore larger. Not a more worthy kill.
“Brother?” A voice. It is almost a shriek.
“I see it!” Narrow-Seeker replies an octave higher.
A bushy white mass jostles next to him. A high whistle. Narrow-Seeker feels Wide-Shoulders panting, the stink of his breath. He cannot tear away from the retreating beast. It is so close. It swerves casually to avoid low brush and Narrow-Seeker knows it is time. But he does not move. The window is closing. Thankfully, the brute screams in his ear.
“Go!”
Wide-Shoulders-Redder explodes away. He is soon at full speed. Narrow-Seeker sees him running with clarity. He sees that giant spear clasped tightly in his jaws. He flashes like the sun and his feet are thunder.
Narrow-Seeker forcibly breaks the spell that holds him. He runs. In mid flight, he thrusts his own weapon. He catches it in his mouth with a plop. The balance is perfect and he pushes faster. He gains and is running beside Wide-Shoulders. The large hunter acknowledges him. There is a trace of relief. They glide closer to the great beast. They move together. They are a team. They are a greater predator.
“Positions!” Wide-Shoulders screams, barely saying anything at all.
There is no reaction up ahead. The predator continues at a jaunty pace. Its low-keyed ears are not designed to pick up such high frequencies.
“I’m with you!” Narrow-Seeker sings a reply with clipped tones. He drools over the spearhead. Breaking to the left, he takes his side hearing the rush of his feet over the dirt. His side of strength. A brilliant white flash, Wide-Shoulders enters formation on the right side. They are gaining.
Finally, something has triggered the great beast. Perhaps it has been spooked by the pattering approach. Maybe it sensed movement. It lunges into a canter. It builds speed quickly. It doesn’t look back. It doesn’t make a noise. Narrow-Seeker knows it is too late for escape. Momentum carries him close. He bounces past a rough swath of earth and looks up. Narrow-Seeker is beside the beast now. He can see the light hue of the feathers on the beast’s stomach. The rippling muscles churning in the leg. Simple grunts of exertion emit from behind those saber teeth. Beady brown eyes focus forward.
A rapid percussion of steps sound from the other side. Narrow-Seeker sees two slender legs dashing beneath the shuddering predator. They must attack together. Wide-Shoulders calls for the attack, gripping his great spear in his rigid right forepaw. Narrow-Seeker leaps from the left, drifting up serenely.
Memories. He can see the training trees. Targets painted on them with bleached sap. The pockmarks of his spear strikes had always been just as high.
Where the beasts arms had once been, the feathers are bone white. Narrow-Seeker watches as it floats closer. He aims with his jaws, moving like fluid. His left arm punches the spear forward. The motion is clean. The tip strikes true, digging deep into the shaggy hide.
The great beast grunts with a voice so deep that Narrow-Seeker can feel the sound in his chest. He has struck first.
They begin to fall. For one surreal moment, he and the beast descend together. He watches the eye clench tightly. The rush of wind. It stumbles, tucking in on itself. It reaches the earth before the little hunter.
Narrow-Seeker lands, bouncing and skipping several times before coming to a halt. It is over so very fast. He stands for a time, staring beyond the bend of the creek.
Wide-Shoulders hovers over the carcass. He ducks at the approach of Narrow-Seeker. He is holding the butt of his thick spear. It has shattered. The brute straitens with another shard clasped in his jaws. He snorts and stares into Narrow-Seeker’s eyes. He winks but sings no praises. He slips away and is obscured by the massive, still form.
Narrow-Seeker sees the weapon. It stands tall, a pike driven into the side of a mountain. It is whole. The little hunter goes to retrieve the spear that his mother made.