Skinwalker

The dream came at me, slow, predatory. Slipped up, padding close, a vision of a pregnant moon, big, round, full of light, glistening on snow, reflecting back from icicles hanging from tree limbs. Stars in the sky were cold, less bright than on sickle moon nights. I was cat, but not Beast. Was myself but not quite, in the odd way of dreams. I scented the darkness, whiskers trembling, smelling the forest, alive beneath the snow but heavy with winter’s long slumber.

 

I sat, unmoving, short, stubby tail tucked close, staring over a pristine expanse of meadow left by white man’s fire. Pangs tore at me, hunger gripping my belly. I had hunted, had caught a rabbit days ago. Now I waited, watching for movement on snow. I had to eat or I would die.

 

The wind changed, lifting my fur. The frozen scent of meat came on the air. Blood. A kill, not mine, lay beneath snow. Close. Hunger clawed at my belly. I stood, opened my mouth, and pulled in scents as Edoda had taught me. Big-Cat scent was merged with the blood scent. Fear cut into hunger, fear of Big Cat. Panther. Tlvdatsi. Hope shot through me. Tlvdatsi. Edoda. I huffed hard. No. Edoda is dead. His blood scent was a cruel memory.

 

Grief brought the awareness that I was dreaming. An awareness that pushed me up and out of the dream, making me an observer. This is new, I thought. Not a dream. A memory. Excitement built along my nerves. In the dream/ memory, I sniffed deeply; flehmen behavior, another part of me thought, sleepily. Jacobsen’s organ, necessary for all creatures who use olfactory and pheromonal communication methods.

 

This was a different cat scent, dangerous to bobcat—to we sa. To me. But the Big Cat was gone. It had hidden its kill. I crept across the snow, pausing often to crouch and to listen. To scent the wind. Gone. Big Cat had abandoned its prey.

 

The scent of blood grew, frozen beneath the snow. Hunger clawed at me as if alive, demanding, eat, eat, eat. The kill was shoved beneath the lip of a white and yellow rock, quartz white as snow, veined with the white man’s gold. The blood scent reached up through the snow. I unsheathed my claws and batted snow away, moon-touched fluffs flying in the dark night.

 

A frozen deer carcass was revealed and I tore into it with claws and sharp teeth. Eating, desperate. Blood melting and smearing across my cold fur and paws and jaws. Hunger stopped tearing into me, satisfied. And still I ate. Gorging.

 

Weight slammed me into carcass. Claws tore into my shoulders. Big Cat. I tried to run. My pelt ripped in her claws. The smell of my blood was hot in the night. Tlvdatsi screamed. Pawed me over, exposing my belly. I raised my paws, claws extended, ripping into her face. The scent of cubs, born out of season, was strong on her. Her blood fell onto me. Her fangs tore into my belly. Ripping. My claws slashed deep into her. Our blood mingled, running together. The snake buried in the blood of tlvdatsi opened to me. Pain tore into my heart. My breath stopped. I am dying.

 

I sank into the snake of the tlvdatsi. Deep. Deep. I saw where we were similar. And different. I couldn’t be Big Cat. I was too small. Darkness pushed inside me. Dying. One last clench of claw. Hopeless. Frantic.

 

I shivered into the snake. And stole the body of tlvdatsi. Not just the snake under her skin, to share her form. I took her. Stealing her body. Stealing her soul.

 

Light and cold and blood exploded through me. Tlvdatsi screamed in rage. Fighting me. Inside with me. Nononononononononono.

 

I took tlvdatsi. Made her mine. I shoved my memory into her skin. With her.

 

I/we rolled across snow. Heaving breaths. The world shifted, shuddered, quaked. I fought her for control. And I/we rose up, hunger demanding. I/we ate from her kill. My kill. Tlvdatsi screamed and raged. Eat, eat. Belly aching with need. Then, Kits. Kits. Kits.

 

I stopped eating when I was full. Satisfied. And big. The Beast was crouched inside tlvdatsi with me. Watching. Kits, she demanded. Showed me the path, back to her/our den. Scents, landmarks, places marked to make it ours/hers, hers/ours. Followed near the trail, in the spoor of a wolf, hiding my tracks with his. Would have to kill the wolf soon. Danger to kits.

 

Kits made hunger cries, chirping whistles. Squealed low-pitched. I/we followed my beast scent to den, low cave in rock, opening wide enough to crawl through, into the dark of earth, into cave. Leaves had blown in. Good den. I/we touched, licked, smelled cubs. Very young. Breath full of milk, open mouths in dark. I/we settled with them, grooming paws. Cubs pulled at us, milk teeth uncomfortable yet soothing as they nursed. Language and history and memory fell away. Buried. Beast was born.

 

I woke with a shudder. I was drenched in sweat, my heart an uneven trip-hammer. “Crap. What was that?” But I knew. I knew. It was a memory of my own past. It was the memory of how Beast and I ended up inside me together. I had stolen her body. And ended up with her soul, inside, with me.

 

Deep within, I heard Beast’s panting breaths. I tasted her anger, old and worn like a bone with nothing left inside or out, no marrow, no substance except memory.

 

“Dear God,” I whispered. “What did I do?”

 

Neither God nor Beast answered me.

 

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