The sky kisses her in the ruined wasteland of the Bathtub, fat raindrops that soothe rather than scold, big thunderclaps and flares of lightning roaring in her defense, a loud protest against the sadist earth. There's an animal smell, hard and musky, bitter like a gunshot, warm like her daddy's clothes, wet like the rain. She draws her little arms around her bird's cage of chest, and the sky loves her, over and over, impassioned and defiant. It's a caress, a fire she will never ever respond to, not now, not here. It's just her - Little Hushpuppy, and the world above, minus one.
Her daddy's pyre blazes red and gold, smoke drifting lazily from the wood and the flesh of the man who used to hold her, hug her, laugh at and with her. She is close enough that the heat bakes her skin, and yet she does not back away. Too much sentiment rising up in her, crammed into the narrow of her throat, full of words and things she cannot say.
The Auroch stands beside her, large and impassive. It brushes her shoulder gently with a tusk, snorting in sympathy, a hot gesture that makes its fur shake. Are you crying sweet child? it asks, snuffles onto the small of her back and gives a tiny whine.
No, I am brave, a lion. Lions don't cry.
"Yeah," she answers, running her hands along the scorched cloth, the flaking pieces of driftwood they managed to salvage - all for this. "Yeah I am, you got something to say 'bout it?" And she turns and looks the Auroch right in the eyes, unafraid and little bit mad, mostly just sad, but there's that fierce feeling rising up in her again, the feeling that says You are strong my darling and you will not yield. The feeling of her daddy.
Her companion snuffles a bit derisively, a bit placidly. It blinks at her through the thick tangles of hair, pupils black and stony. Crying will do you know good, child. That is how we slept for years - it was the sorrow. Our tears were what drowned us, what froze us. We cried the seas into being, once, a long time ago, when we despaired. She can feel it sigh, almost, a whispery sound in her head. That is why they are salt-filled, bitter and dark to the taste. We felt too much. You feel too much, too, sweet little Hushpuppy.
"I'ma not little," she huffs, pushing away from it. "I'm gonna grow up big as you are one day, just you wait 'n see. I feel whatever much I want for my daddy 'cause I can, and you ain't gonna change that. He's my daddy," she repeats, petulant.
I know, child. I know. But it will be better.
"You can't say that," she retorts, "you didn't even know my daddy as well as I did, you weird old thing."
By the time the sun drops over the horizon, a great yolk on the frying pan of the atmosphere, she is cold and shivering, and burrows into the Auroch's legs like it's a wooden post. She is crying as the boat with her daddy on it drifts into the ocean, the vast expanses of water ferrying it away, him away, with all the gentleness of a mother. The moon and the stars, they come out and peek, coyly, at the departing raft, and the wind tips its hat and says a few words. Herons settle, pecking peacefully, and she is standing still, brave Hushpuppy and the Auroch at the edge of the world.
I did know, it tells her, finally. Not like you knew him, but close enough. I have watched. All of us have watched. We have dreamed of you, of things afar, of this world and the oceans again fresh in our nostrils, fish and clams crunching in our teeth, the glow of fire and warmth and love. I have dreamed, Hushpuppy, of you. Sweet child, you have always been surrounded by us, by your kin, and it shall continue still. We will not end. You will not end. You, little Hushpuppy, you have the heart of a lion. It nudges her softly, quiet sounds of encouragement slipping from its mouth. You are the world.
Strong. Brave. The Hushpuppy-who-is-the-lion winks at her from the shadows, an eager smile on her lips, an invitation to play. She kicks away some seaweed, crinkles her toes, hugs the Auroch a little more, just until it's full dark and the stars have begun to shine, and the Moon vast among them, a great wheel. She breathes in the Auroch-scent, arctic cold and mist and slumber, and she can feel a little bit better.
"Let's go!" she says, already walking, then running. "We got things to do, places to see - hey, are you comin' or what?"
Hushpuppy-the-lion grins, toothy and bold. Her Auroch follows heavily, at a slower pace but it follows, the moonlight on its back, humming a tuneless and fathomlessly old song.
Of course, sweet child.
I am very afraid sometimes, she confesses, the two of them lying under a massive redwood tree, autumn briskness turning the air peppermint and sharp. I am - I am not brave, not always, not such a fearless girl. Not me.
Not you, the Auroch agrees, but you all the same. You are brave enough. You are brave where it counts. I should not fear, but I fear as well. My Hushpuppy, you have more heart than this old Auroch could ever dream of.
Oh, you. But she will smile, then, resplendent, teeth like ivory, the whole of the universe at her fingertips, lovely and suspended. We can be brave together can't we?
Brave, it muses. Little Hushpuppy, I would like to think that you are still little, but that is not so.
What am I now, then? She rests her elbows on the ground, perching her head on her palms.
You're big. Grown up bigger than me, this tired Auroch that I am. Big as the sky. Big as the sun. Big as your daddy, that lion, sweet girl. Bravest of them all, Hushpuppy.
Bravest.
They could laugh, in that still, in the glen and others beyond; they could dance, climb the trees up the canopy and glimpse the galaxies from the treetops and God's house somewhere in the cosmos, the other Aurochs sniffing and snuffling way down at the bottom, asking for them to come down it's too high. And she would giggle, that high, twinkling sound clear as a brook. Come, she would tell them, beckoning, goddess-like and young, come up and see the suns with us. Come up and live. There is no fear now. There is no fear anymore.