2
Finally, after sifting through the coat of whiteness, they find one.
It is small enough, about the size of a young one’s head.
More importantly, it is beautiful. It is in the shape of a kettork, and when Rkrkat pinches it with their mandibles, places it atop their tail, and holds it up to the blooming daystar, it seems to speak with light.
Little pieces of rock within the rock appear to shine and speckle.
It is a good rock. Rkrkat is curious what is inside it.
Sometimes they break the bigger ones open to see.
But not this one, for it is a good rock.
They take it back into their mouth and begin the intricate process of placing it on the stack. Rkrkat likes to place them on the very top. It is hard to balance the rock pile that way, but it is more beautiful. Their friend R’tok also liked to balance the rocks.
Rkrkat turns away from the rocks, back toward the world.
They feel like they can see forever. They see their pond, the closest body of water that could fit them and their young ones.
They chose that on purpose. They came back here after the Old Fight was over.
It felt right. It felt like it was supposed to be.
It is a sprawling land. Stretches of branches reach up toward Rkrkat as far as their eyes can see, an endless world of sticks and stones and lakes drenched in the relaxing cold.
Rkrkat can see the nests of other Rt’uk’rt, where others have broken through the frozen water to make space for sleep.
None have come to challenge Rkrkat yet. Perhaps one day they will.
Rkrkat’s hard shell may fade by that day, but that is acceptable. Rkrkat is strong.
Rkrkat closes their eyes and thinks of R’tok. They try not to think of R’tok’s very last moments. Those were bad moments. The old creatures killed R’tok with their contraptions. Their squat iron box that spewed comets of fire.
The squat iron box that was aimed at Rkrkat. The deafening roar of the meteor shooting out the long snout. R’tok leaping in front…
No, they try not to think of that. They try to contemplate where R’tok might be now.
They try to talk to them. They do not respond.
They never do. Rkrkat attempts it anyway.
Rkrkat thinks of when they first discovered the Favorite Place together.
That was so long ago. Rkrkat has grown so much since then.
Since the bad days. When the Kurraa still dropped death from their flying perches, taking so many Rt’uk’rt away. No, you must remind yourself, Rkrkat, so did you. So did all of us. Both sides ripping and tearing until it was done, done. Done.
Why? Because they were all angry. Because they were all afraid.
Sometimes, on the happy nights, Rkrkat sees their dead friends when they sleep. They all look down at Rkrkat, watching. Helping. Waiting.
On the bad ones, they see the fragile things they have broken.
They do not sleep well on these nights. The water feels cold and piercing and drains them of their everything.
The young ones ask Rkrkat why they walk during the night.
The young ones do not like the dark. It is too different from the daystar, but that is of little concern.
Rkrkat knows that the little ones do not know what they know.
Are there other Rt’uk’rt who brawl with sleep? Who wrestle with their own dreams? Surely, there must be. Rkrkat would not wish such turmoil on anyone, but they wish they were not alone either.
Their eyes turn back to the expanse. It is a beautiful place, even if it is not their own.
They do not think their own place had such plants.
Usually, these plants are green. Now they are brown and covered in the whiteness that falls.
Rkrkat’s favorite time is when they are red and orange and yellow.
They do not think their own place had those colors.
There were whispers that all Rt’uk’rt came from a very gray place.
Rkrkat is glad they cannot see any gray, except for some puffy, scattered streaks in the sky.
The sky is getting grayer now. They fought at many tall, gray places.
They fought because the old creatures did not like them.
Kurraa did not like the Rt’uk’rt because the Rt’uk’rt were not Kurraa.
The old creatures liked gray. Rkrkat does not know why when colors like green and red exist.
Rkrkat thinks about the old creatures, the Kurraa.
They were food, too, just like other Rt’uk’rt.
Rkrkat wishes they all ate other things.
They themself do not eat other Rt’uk’rt anymore; there are so many different animals in this world, of all shapes and sizes.
Rkrkat tries to tell their family to eat only the other animals.
The tek-legged ones with horns are plentiful and easy to capture, but the family does not always listen.
Rkrkat’s children are strong fighters. They always win.
Rkrkat does not want to win. They want more than kor’kar.
They want everyone. They miss their parent and the other first one, the two who escaped the cages where the sun could not reach.
Rkrkat tells the story often as the children creep into their shallow pools, the story of the first two who were birthed into imprisonment yet grew to become titans.
They want their children to know where they came from.
The animals that roam the new place do not taste as good as their own kind or the near-forgotten Kurraa, but they are just as filling.
There are very few of those old fleshed ones left.
Maybe even none. It has been many seasons since they have last seen one.
That idea makes Rkrkat very sad. They have so many questions.
They wonder if any Kurraa would answer them.
If one could forgive a Rt’uk’rt for all that has occurred. Rkrkat hopes.
Not fighting other Rt’uk’rt is worth it, Rkrkat thinks, because they believe this new place can become an old place where they come up with new words and new stories.
Where they do that together. It would be frightening; to not eat others of one’s kind is to lose the hardness of one’s shell.
Chewing on rocks, the shedding scales of the great slope, is a passable but poor substitute.
Others will be afraid, but that is acceptable.
Rkrkat can see a new world, a new Favorite Place, but they know they must lead the way.
They wonder if anyone else yearns for the same. They think there are others. They think they are not alone in their dreaming. They hope.
Rkrkat stands on the top of the Favorite Place, stalk held high and eyes wide open to the white crystalline powder that covers everything. It is a beautiful place. Rkrkat thinks that they would like to give it all a name.
Rkrkat decides that they must give the frozen water crystals their own name. Something so beautiful deserves that respect, just as all their children have their own names.
The looming alien at the top of the world looks out onto the wilderness with wonder. They whisper a thousand questions out into the ether, sounding like no more than a single stone tumbling down the vast precipice. No one ever speaks back. Not with words.
After dozens of shifts of the star, Rkrkat moves their weight and begins their descent from their Favorite Place and back to their pond. They will bring home some of the creatures with mighty horns for themself and their brood.
The sky grows darker as a chorus of ice begins to flitter about the sky. More gaseous, billowing gray creatures move in overhead, but Rkrkat does not care. Their aqueous eyes are set only upon the falling r’tok, those small angels that melt when they whisper of what lies beyond.