find your footing, falter

Life in the Light had started well.

When Tus had led her herd into the Light, leaving Ruth behind at the gate to their old home, she’d thought that surely everything was going to fall apart instantly. There was no way she could care for the whole herd- not with all of the things they didn't know about the Light, all the dangers and wonders it held. They knew how to survive in their old world, had been born and raised in its dark halls, knew how to navigate largely by touch and sound and scent, and out here, everything was so bright. The memories of Before helped a bit, but they could only go so far to remedy the sheer volumes of unwitting ignorance that plagued them all.

Surprisingly, they made it through their first winter largely unmarked. They left it with thinner fat over their flanks than they had when they went in after the bountiful fall, and a perpetual gnawing hunger in their bellies, but there was nothing new there. In fact, Tus thought that even after the worst of the days this cold-turn, it was nothing like the worst of the times in the old World.

She was grateful for whatever they had, even if it was the small things.

They were not exceptionally good at hunting when they first left, and it seemed that the free fellows of this world were wilier, more cunning, fitter and fleeter and stronger than they would ever be, but that proved itself untrue as the winter progressed and desperation began to color their hunts. Need was a powerful and skilled teacher, and the herd made it through to the other side with no losses, save for those who had elected to strike out on their own, shrugging the yoke and comfort of the herd for the wide open sky of the Light.

Tus thought, as spring warmed the air, that the worst was over.

She was wrong.

Over the winter, she’d begun to be acquainted with two youngsters near enough to her own age, perhaps a little younger. She’d known of them before, of course. One couldnt spend a life in the Old World and not know everyone. But she hadn’t known them.

Their names were Laidir and Iogair, and they seemed… interested in her.

She didn't understand it, but she was struggling to understand many of the ways the herd was shifting, these days. For one, her own role had simultaneously grown and diminished, which seemed to be a mixed blessing. The herd came to her with more issues, but many of them were trivial. No longer was she doing as she had seen Ruth do in the Old World, where she would have to make the decision on who’s nest received a disputed carcass, who’s hatchlings would live or die. Here, there was more food than they could ever dream of.

It left her with more time for herself, more time to think about things beyond the herd and survival, and she found herself orbiting closer and closer to these relative strangers, who seemed to be pulling closer to her in turn.

Laidir was a pale cow with inky stripes covering much of her body, and she seemed to be the outgoing one of the pair. Wherever they went- and Tus found herself watching, more often than not- the female was in the lead, investigating new situations with vigor, until they had been deemed safe. Then, only a few steps behind, was Iogair, his tawny flanks blending in seamlessly to their new world, always following, moon-eyed, in Laidir’s wake. Tus watched him bring her strange new plants, pebbles, silly things, things that would have had no purpose Before, and held all the more significance now for their novelty.

They seemed happy.

Their first few interactions were unsure, as Tus found herself accosted by them, gently, on multiple occasions when she had not expected to be. They were small things, little conversations, or moments where she was just tired and they were a presence, strong and secure, only a half-pace away, warding off potential issues before they could reach her. Moments of reprieve, in this exhausting new life, and moments of companionship, in a world where she had no one left that knew her.

And so she spun closer to them, and they seemed to reflect her interest back.

Iogair would bring her a rock, one day, something smooth or shiny or especially jagged, or some other odd curio he had found as the herd passed through lands yet unknown to them, and together they would marvel over it for a precious few minutes. She liked to know everything there was to know about their world- both for her own curiosity and for the sake of the herd, and Iogair was always happy to indulge her.

Laidir would bring her something practical, a location of water, or a mouthful of a meal, something to tide her over until the next hunt. Or, her favorite, she would come and goad Tus into running, stretching the new muscles they’d been growing since their world opened. Sometimes, Iogair would join them, and the minutes they spent, thundering through the trees or across the rough black rock, would sustain her for the days to come of weary, uncertain wandering.

But then, occasionally, she would watch Iogair rub his nose under Laidir’s chin, or see them laugh, quietly, softly, or mock-tussle over a meal, and she would think that maybe whatever they had was not for her to share after all.

The winter was spent in this way, their dance ebbing and flowing, and Tus was content to let it continue like that for the foreseeable future. She wasn’t sure how these things were supposed to go, anyway, and she wasn’t sure what they wanted from her. Wasn’t sure what she wanted from them.

Things came to a head when nesting season came around.

Spring thawed the last of the snow, and nests, better nests than those of the Before times, were built. They all tried their best, and really, Tus had thought at the beginning, they couldn’t possibly do worse than in the old world, where eggs were few and frail, and rarely hatched.

She was right, in a sense.

Laidir and Iogair were with her, the night the first thing went wrong. They’d bedded down close enough for their tails to touch hers, ever so slightly, and the feeling seemed to warm her whole body, even as the night air cooled her. The herd had been stationary since the eggs were first laid, less than a moon cycle ago.

A howl rent the night.

Tus was bolt upright instantly, and spent a disorientating moment whirling around, trying to figure out who of her herd was in trouble, and then Iogair was at her side, stopping her frantic movements, and Laidir was pacing, searching for the danger.

There was none, and after a while, the sound came again, a sound of deep agony, one that was actually traceable.

She stepped quickly through the forest, past the spread out and half awake bodies of the herd, trailed by Iogair and Laidir, until she found the nest the howling had been coming from.

The cow was prone, on the ground, unmoving, and for a second Tus thought she was dead, until she saw her flanks move, rise, and the howl come again. She inspected the scene, and saw only the cow’s mate, in a similar but silent state of distress, the nest, seemingly a little lopsided but alright, and the cow, whose side was covered in-

Eggshell. And egg, the sticky residue from within coating her skin. Tus looked back to the nest with no little horror, and saw that all the eggs were shattered beyond help, their cores seeping into the ground.

Tus wasn’t sure how to feel.

The cow’s wails had become words, finally, and Tus understood.

“I didn’t mean to!” she wailed. “There was so much space, I’d gotten used to it, and I moved and it just- happened!”

Tus had never nested herself, of course, but she thought about the cow’s words, and then thought about how the herd had nested Before, and realized.

The nesting site in the tunnels had been cramped- tiny, as most of the spaces had been. There had been no room for movement, and any sleepy, unconscious motion was trained out of an individual by adolescence, courtesy of quick nips from whoever was resting nearby. You slept deeply, silently, and unmoving.

Here, the herd had lost their need to do any of that. Here, the space was endless.

Here, you could roll over in your slumber, and no neighbor would bite at your tail to make you stop.

Here, you could roll, and crush your whole nest in one unknowing motion.

There was nothing to be done for the cow, and Tus could only offer condolences. A dead clutch was not uncommon, but she’d hoped-

She’d hoped it would be better, here.

Iogair led her back to where she’d been sleeping before, and this time, when she settled down to try and get what sleep she could for the rest of the night, he lay down closer, his flank pressed to hers, and Laidir followed a moment later.

After that, it seemed the floodgates had opened, and things just kept going wrong.

Birds, pecking shells open when a parent turned away, or other island residents making away with the eggs when no one was looking. Some shells crumbled under the pressure of the growing hatchling within, others just- melted. Clutch after clutch, turning cold against their life-giver-nest-watcher’s bellies.

Tus watched, helpless. Iogair and Laidir watched, and held her up.

“I don’t understand,” she said to them one night, in a moment of weakness. “I don’t know how to fix any of it.”

“You can’t,” Iogair had told her, Laidir nodding alongside him. “We just have to learn.”

In the end, only a few clutches, out of dozens, made it out. It was a number even lower than in the tunnels. The rest were dead, or had been destroyed long before hatching time. 

The only consolation was that the ones that did hatch were healthier than anything that had been born in the tunnels- unfolding themselves from eggs with more confidence, brighter light in their eyes- eyes open to a world that would always be bright, and never dark in the way Before was.

Tus watched the scant few new additions to the herd morosely. She knew there was nothing she could have done- these were lessons that had to be learned, the hard way, but she couldn't help but feel this must have been a failing on her part. Her first nesting season as the Grand Dame, and all this death.

Iogair and Laidir stood by her side, as they had been, all these past terrible weeks. If there was one thing she had gotten out of this debacle, it was them.

But she still wasn’t sure why.

“We’ll do better with ours,” Laidir said to Iogair, an unusual note of flatness, of sadness, in her voice, and Tus looked away. 

Of course.

Then Iogair’s blunt nose was touching her cheek, lightly, to get her attention, and she looked over at him.

“We haven't forgotten you,” he said, and she felt Laidir along her other side, a shoulder pressing to hers, solid and comforting.

“You’re included in our plans,” she said, and Tus blinked.

“What?”

“If you want,” Laidir added.

“Oh,” said Tus, and then again. “Oh.”

Iogair’s breath was on her cheek, and Laidir’s heartbeat, felt through the thinner skin of her throat, was on her own neck, pressed. 

“Is that a yes?” Iogair asked.

There was no answer but yes- she just hadn’t dared hope for it.

“Yes,” she said, and let herself breathe.