No owny, like that's not new.
I had a thought, and it turned into this. Omfg.
In the Center of Circular Nothing
She's full of tight smiles and fake laughs, because there are no others but her fur mother and her fur brothers.
She knows she is different; she knows because she does not run on all fours, or have sharp, arm thick teeth, or a tail, or natural fur except that on her head. She knows she is different when she sees her brothers play for the first time, and she understands that when they roll and tumble and bite her arms playfully that it is not their play. She sees this as the older of the two nips the younger ones ear and it bleeds harsh crimson, and the younger responds with a snap to the legs that could have ripped hamstrings had he actually been aiming.
She knows she is different when she stops growing at 'pups age', and her brothers continue to grow even as she does not, so that they can carry her on their backs when they run.
She is full of tight smiles and fake laughs, because she thinks that there are no others besides the people of the 'town that has guns' and the 'woman who kills the forest.' She hates the woman because she is taking her soul ever time she cuts down a tree. She hates her because as the forest recedes her world becomes smaller, angrier, more violent, because the boars and the apes and the spirits do not have enough room.
The spirits are gentle and kind, and recede as the forest recedes, understanding in some basic way that 'it will change, the forest. It will come back' and she does not plead with them because they understand that. She does not know that they know this, and they do not tell her, so she remains ignorant of their knowledge of someday.
The boars are blind sighted and stubborn, ready to use their tusks and hooves before they use their tiny brains. She pleads with them to protect the forest because they must understand that it is not going to come back. She pleads with them because she is like them, unknowing of the spirits someday. She, and the boars, would ask 'why not now' if they knew that the spirits knew of the land of someday.
She does not plead with the apes because they are like man, in a way; brutal and ignorant and cruel to those around them and not them. She does not plead, for they are not, and shall never be, reliable allies, like man.
She is full of tight smiles and fake laughs until he comes; the human in her forest. When he comes baring the mark of the iron evil, he is foreign and strange and unknown. He is full of dreams and wonders and tales of lands far away, of a place where people do not kill their forests for weapons against the spirits. He is full of real smiles and laughter that echoes and looks that make her knees feel watery. He is full of real, and unknown, and beautiful, and different, and she hates him for it in the beginning. He is all she can never be, and all she thinks she can't, and she hates him and the world for creating some one who has everything she cannot.
She grows to tolerate him, barely, because of what the boars and the spirits and the trees tell her. He is kind to the plants and the spirits, and respectful to their places in the forest that is slowly creeping backward. She respects him because he is full of real, and unknown, and beautiful, and different. He is, and that's what makes her feel divided. He is, and he is not, because he converses with that woman in that place and he is. He is not because that woman and her peoples smells taint his own, and he reeks when he returns sometimes to them.
She is full of tight smiles and fake laughter that is fading, because she used to have one world, and now she has two, and she doesn't know where she stands exactly.
She just knows that he is, and he will be there for her in both of her worlds because of it.