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The Early Summer

Pawsteps sounded one after another. They were a sweet sound, a reassurance of Gabu's own body, of his health. Pawsteps said many things—including "I can walk," "There is a forest floor for me to walk upon," and "I can choose my own path." But at the same time, it was mildly disturbing for Gabu to hear his own steps. This forest was alive at night, but remarkably silent during the day. Now, at midafternoon, it was dark and almost eerie. The trees were very dense, enough so that the ground was covered with needles and leaves even in early summer. Some forests only had two or three kinds of trees, which gave them a special feel. This one had almost too many kinds! There was a huge variety of plantlife; the trees alone included towering pines and hemlocks, impressive oaks and maples, and even the occasional birch or cherry. There were shrubs—some of them flowering—and low regions filled with an algae-green soup that was up to a wolf's height deep. Gabu was learning the ins and outs of the place. He didn't want to make wolf soup. And he didn't especially want his footsteps to be heard… but the forest was silent, and there was really no way to avoid it.

It made more sense to hunt at night. There wasn't much daylight here at the best of times, and oddly, there was actually more wildlife here at night than during the day. With all the bats and insects and tanuki that made the nights come alive, Gabu's pawsteps would be better muffled. Still, he wanted to get to know the land a bit better before trusting himself to algal glow, moonlight and memories.

To his amazement, now that he wasn't bound to a schedule anymore, Gabu was actually turning out to be a pretty good hunter! He'd always thought of himself as unskilled—fit for a support position and not even completely worthy of that. But he'd managed to scrape by on his own for almost half a year, and had somehow even survived a winter alone (though he still couldn't remember it.) And then, even before he'd regained his hunting partner, Gabu had handicapped himself. He'd made the decision to hunt only one day out of three, and what's more, he'd let the quarry know. Making things even trickier, the best prey back home—he found he wholeheartedly thought of the Emerald Forest as home, now that he'd left it—were smallish things: rabbits and marmots. It was tough keeping himself fed without g—without bigger prey he could take consistently! But being in charge of his own life—that was something that was undeniably thrilling. And now, he was learning that it had all paid off.

Something was in the swamp—he could hear it. A muskrat? Maybe even a fisher? He couldn't smell much over the reek of this unfamiliar swamp. Gabu slowly advanced to try to cut off the creature's escape, in case it intended to come out this way. But his hopes weren't high. He wondered whether he'd get used to the ambient scent of this swamp and eventually be able to make out little differences. If he couldn't, he'd need to stick to the relatively dry undergrowth.

But if he had to, he could do that. Gabu had already killed several squirrels, a beaver and (excitingly) a jungle chicken since arriving here. He was only going to get sharper once he learned the land and shifted to nighttime hunting. After spending so long burdened by limitations, he was now finding it surprisingly easy to stay alive.

That was good, because he'd be feeding a whole brood any day now. Things were bound to get tough again. But Gabu was ready for that. He knew he'd only get this chance once in his lifetime. He would rise to the occasion… because he had to.

Over time, life got lower. That was the direction and the drift of pregnancy. This had always been true, but was more noticeable here, in this soft earth den dug beneath a wide white oak, without the murmur of voices and pack life just around the corner. For her past two pregnancies, Lala had settled comfortably into the role of wise hermit—she to whom those in need could come for advice, in exchange for gossip. She had rested in crags on a bed of dry grass, tended by Giro, Lolo and her respective mates and suitors, and had been a sort of carpet wolf, to use a recent metaphor.

Here, Lala was practically alone. She lounged below ground level, peering out at a jumbled view of leaves and low branches. The caterpillars had been nice to glimpse, but they were gone now. This den wasn't especially deep, but it felt like another world entirely from the stony crags of Baku Baku, with its moist, soft ground and roots all around. Lala had stopped digging when she'd hit the mighty oak's tap root; now it defined the corner of her dwelling. She spoke to it sometimes, when she felt starved of company. She and the tap root had things in common. They were both venerable things, confined to one place but much busier than they appeared. Fueling something. Enabling the greatness of life to be possible. Lala inhaled the tap root and let its scent relax her as she waddled around to take yet another nap.

She was so full. Any time now. She'd counted three at least, probably four young lives that would depend upon her. I am your sustenance, she told them. Soon, you will draw on me the way the white oak draws upon its roots. And I will welcome this—I will provide. I will mother you, children. I will mother you harder than I've ever mothered any children before. For that is my mission, now. That is what I'm here for. No longer am I the belle of the crags, no longer a leader of grown-ups, whether prize or idol, ingenue or striker. None of that. Right now, I am here for you.

She imagined they could feel her emotions, even if they couldn't fathom her words. Her nipples were swollen, her belly broad and laden. She was like a fat tree, taking root in the earth. These children would be her masterworks. They would be the conduit leading from Gabu's grand plan into the future. They would be the tools by which she would do his bidding, so long as it was the greatest project under the sun. Gabu would be proud, but it wouldn't come close to Lala's own pride. My masterworks. I can't wait to see you, to smell you each separately. To know a small piece of what you'll be capable of.

A sense of shame refluxed through her. Lala was not creating these pups, not truly. It was some unknown force, the Paw of Nature, that built pups and swelled bellies. Not for the first time, Lala wondered whether Leto had some part in it. But that was unlikely. She might have tweaked and nipped the process, but babies had been born long before wolves walked the earth. Who had invented them? What incredible refinement of mind had enabled someone, perhaps an elder god, to invent such a phenomenon? To change oneself—that was difficult sport, but not unfathomable, and in a sense unavoidable. But to build living things anew, full of surprises from father and mother and beyond, to actually nourish them in the womb and draw them out—to figure out how such a ponderous thing might be done… Lala envied such an intellect. She wished she had the intelligence and wisdom to invent a way to make life from life. Perhaps, if she observed the process from just the right angle, she would catch a gleam of that ancient wisdom. Perhaps, if she amassed enough hints of the mystery, they would add up to a picture…

But then, this was to be her last birthing, was it not? Gabu had promised the goat he would never again be a father. If he kept that promise, and if Lala stuck by his side, then this would be all she was ever going to get. After this, there would be no more clues as to the nature of that incredible contrivance, childbirth. If this was to be her last taste from that deep spring, she had better savor it!

She arched her back. Something popped. She sank and splashed—splashed down against the cave floor. Ahh. Was this it? Had the time come?

She felt a grave shifting just above her pelvis. Her weight was falling back. Well, if they know it, she reasoned, I know it. Lala lifted her head toward the entrance and crooned as loud as she could manage: "Ga-buuuuuuu!"

It was time. She seated herself as stably as she could, set herself to steady breathing, and peaked her inner senses for a possible glimpse, however fleeting, of infinite wisdom.

Evening came. So did Lala's water, thin and vaguely sweet. Like kindness, sometimes. Aches came, and sharp pains, and Gabu came too, just when it seemed right for him to come. He said her name over and over; he licked her and groomed her and kept saying her name. And he asked questions in his thin, hopeful voice. Did they feel healthy? Yes, she said. Did she think there were four? Yes, that's right. Did she need anything? Just the knowledge that you're here, she told him, and Leto's love.

Lala wasn't actually sure that Leto loved her, or even knew she existed. But she believed it was likely. Leto's eye had watched over Gabu and his caprine companion, so it appeared; Lala was now a big part of that picture. If Leto had done more than forge an impossible friendship and walk away, she must know Lala. So if she was paying any attention at all, she would be aware of this childbirth. For all Lala knew, Leto watched over every wolf dam in labor. There was a weight to this event that was more than the century-old tree above them, more than the strain of her muscles, more than the millennia-old forest with a thickness verging on jungle.

It might be other gods, Lala admitted. She didn't know the courts the gods walked in. She only knew the smallest fraction of their gossip. In a place like that, Lala would be a green naif. But maybe on her death, she reflected. Maybe that was where she was ultimately bound.

Night came. So did heavy breathing, a labor for air, an agony of the ribs. So did relief, and so did four children, wet and disheveled, deaf and unseeing, yet already distinct. The largest was already crawling over the others, exploring the squashy carpet wolves that were his world. Three boys, one girl.

"The white one," whispered Gabu. "We should name it Mei."

Lala stretched her neck to lick the pretty thing. "It's silver-white, like me," she whispered back. "And it's the girl."

Gabu's eyes were so soft as he looked them over. "Then what do you think we should call her?" he asked.

Lala met Gabu's eyes mischievously. "We'll call her Meiko," she decided. "And this one—the dark brown one. Bari." They'd already discussed it, in fact—their strongest son would be named for Lala's brother. It might have taken a careful eye to determine the strongest, but as it happened, with one pup slowly trampling all the others from the start, there was no contest.

Lala began to nurse her children for the first time. She repeated all her messages, as if the milk could carry her praise, her encouragement, her admiration. Feed, she said, and grow strong. Gabu nuzzled each pup ever so gently, and nuzzled Lala, and brought her water in a tremendous leaf, tilting up one corner carefully in his teeth. She drank the water, ate the placentas and cleaned away the afterbirth. And the night was as day; they didn't mind the darkness.

The others were called Himari and Nogusa. Himari, pale brown with fur like feathers, delicate when he began to walk, every step to the side as well as forward. Sun ball. Sunflower. Nogusa, flecked with a plethora of grays, light and dark. Pronounced ears that rose at the slightest thing, even before he could really hear. Field grass. Wild growth.

Gabu cuddled Lala with a fervency she had to admire. She'd been loved before, of course, and administered assiduously. But never had she gotten such a sense of urgency from one of her lovers. Gabu darted to the den, dropping whatever food he'd managed at the entrance, and nuzzled Lala on the top of her head, and kissed her, and nibbled her neck as if he couldn't love her hard or fast enough. He would touch each pup, turning it over, licking, snuffling its ears. And then, likely as not, he would leave again, knowing more meat was needed.

Lala couldn't blame him. She was hungry. She wished she could leave her den for more than a few minutes to get water and a breath of fresh air, but these pups were more important than any she'd ever had. They were Gabu's pups, but they belonged also to his project… to his ambition. They were Lala's children, yes, but they were also the pups of the future. She knew to take great care with them.

Bari was the first to sniff her teats before suckling, and the first to push another pup away. Lala smiled, and simply moved little Nogusa to another teat. She had plenty. Meiko, though, was the first to wag her tail. Once she started, it was like a path had opened, and she wagged it frequently. She wagged while nursing; she wagged while cuddling. She even gave feeble wags while she lay asleep. Lala watched her children with squinted eye and wondered what they dreamed of.

It was always a joy when Gabu came home from his night's roving and nestled himself up beside her. He was the last thing she needed to stay awake for. His presence was like her final blanket; with him in place, the world was right, and she could sleep.

The 99th Day

When Mei returned to the Deep Forest, he was forced to tread cautiously. It was night, and there was a superabundance of sound—crickets sawing, katydids chirping, frogs croaking, and even the occasional owl's screech—or was that a tanuki? Amid this soft clamor, Mei couldn't tell whether there might be something dangerous lurking. So he strode carefully, one leg at a time, keeping a watch out, ears wide open. His eyes were attuned to the darkness, but he had to admit being able to see nearly every direction in his peripheral vision wasn't terribly reassuring when so much of the periphery was obscured by darkness, and every direction was obscured by trees in nearly full leaf. There was no moon in the sky, either. So Mei struggled to unpack one sound from another, one scent from the next. He focused on trying to figure out what danger looked like, or sounded like in a place like this. When a screech or a rustle of branches came from too close, he dove into cover and waited for the normal clamor to resume.

Eventually, after enough of this, the reassuring scent of wolves came as a sheer joy. No, wait—wolfscent was the most dangerous! Mei had forgotten that not every wolf was his friend. Was that Gabu's scent? Or was it just a wolf's generic must? He hid in the undergrowth, nose lifted, and tried to puzzle it out.

Ohh. Yes. Of course. It was Gabu's scent, plus Lala's, plus those of the children. They might be fresh from Lala's womb. Their den must be a ripe place indeed.

Mei stepped out into the open and called: "Gabu!" Then he leapt back under cover, just in case.

A rampaging through the brush followed soon after, followed by the reassuring lupine cry: "Mei!" Soon, the two were at each other's faces, Mei prancing upward and Gabu canting down, licking and nosing and laughing.

"I was worried I wouldn't ever see you again," confessed Gabu.

"You were? But I told you I was coming back."

"I know, but… but this place is so different, and so far from everything…"

Mei nodded. "That's true. It's frightening at night. I probably should have waited for the warblers to wake up, but I'd been away so long I told them I'd just forge on…" He glanced around at the loud forest, lit only by dim starlight and the occasional lightning bug, but that was laughable now—with Gabu here, there was nothing to be afraid of. Except… "Gabu. Your children."

He didn't want to ask outright, just in case. But Gabu's smile didn't falter. "There's four of them! Oh, Mei, I want you to meet them! Come on—I'll take you to the den!"

Mei had left the wolves just before they'd selected a site for their den. He asked about their time alone here, and Gabu went on excitedly. He was almost babbling, he seemed so happy to have Mei to talk to. Lala had chosen the den's site and had done most of the digging, he explained. She had a strange affection for the big oak tree it was dug under. And Gabu had been focused on hunting—learning where the paths were, how the animals here tended to hide or flee, how to detect trees in near darkness. He'd been getting better! In fact, he'd been hunting just now when he caught a whiff of goat, and had wondered—was it Mei? "It's been so long since I smelled another goat, I wasn't honestly sure."

Mei laughed. "I had the same thought about you! Until I realized I was probably smelling your children."

"Well, if it had been another goat, don't worry." The wolf sat upright and crossed a foreleg over his breast. "I wouldn't have set paw on it. But I still would have liked to know it was there."

Mei thought back on Mii, and how she'd followed him on his tryst one day when Gabu was still a secret, and gotten lost in the process. He wondered if she would ever try coming to find him. "I'm full of excitement, Gabu! I've got so much to tell!"

Gabu chuckled, dropping into a rapid lope as he cracked a huge grin. "Me too, Mei!"

They'd been a long time apart, but getting together again was so much fun.

Mei peeped into the cave, but there really wasn't a speck of light to be had. He could make out distinct wolf scents now, at least. Lala's gentle breaths were like a source of wind, here in the recesses of the grand oak.

"Maybe if we're really quiet," Gabu whispered, "you can smell the cubs. I just don't want to wake them, or Lala."

Mei nodded and crept silently in. He would once have been afraid of incurring Lala's wrath, but she could hardly do anything do him now, could she? Wasn't she suffused with a mother's love?

Gabu sniffed at a pup, then turned to Mei and guided his head gently with a paw. "This way, Mei. It's right in front of you."

Mei smelled the whelp. It smelled like blood and… well, it registered like a wolf, but more so. It was stewing in its fresh wolf juices. "It smells healthy," he whispered.

Mei could feel Gabu's tail wagging.

Mei spent the night in the corner. At daybreak, he peered at the pups, taking in their colors. Then he walked back through the forest, bleating in the peculiar way he'd devised until he heard the sound of the warblers approaching. They wished him good morning, and he told them the news. They reacted with civil pleasure, but seemed largely indifferent to the birth of the wolf pups. "Life provides," said Hatsu.

"Life expands," added Haburo.

Mei returned to find Lala awake. She yawned even while she was staring, taking him in. Then she smacked her lips and regained her breath. "Well, well!" she said. "The wandering ungulate returns."

"Hello, Lala. Congratulations."

A big, genuine-looking smile met him. "Thank you! I think this is my best litter yet."

Mei didn't remark on the notion it would also be her last. "Are you feeling well?"

"I've been feeling… close to the ground," she replied. "Bearing young makes you feel heavy, you know. The heaviness hasn't left me entirely."

"And all the pups are well?"

Lala shifted a hind paw and touched the mottled gray one. "Nogusa, here, is a bit of a weakling. Not a runt, not yet, but he may become one."

"Sorry to hear it," said Mei.

"It's not a problem," said Lala. "Life is inequality. We learn that from one side as well as the other."

Mei felt a nearly imperceptible shudder go down his spine. He was getting accustomed to Lala's… voracious approach to life. She still felt a mother's love, he expected.

"Lala's still making sure he gets plenty of milk," Gabu reassured.

"I have milk to spare," she singsonged. "He'll have plenty of chances to show his weakness in other areas of life."

Mei's shudder was a little bigger this time. "Nogusa, you said? What are the others' names?"

Lala ran her nose down the nape of the silver-white one. "You'll be pleased to hear we named this one for you!"

"This is little Meiko," said Gabu. "Sorry about her being a girl… but she was the only white one!"

Mei's heart melted. Meiko. Sprout, or bud. He watched her start wagging her tail as her mother stroked her, and he smiled the biggest smile. "That's all right, Gabu." They really had named a wolf pup after him! That was amazing. And it was fitting in a way: Kuro had wished that either Mei or himself could have been female, and now Mei was witnessing that in a way. This was himself as a she-pup. Or so he could indulge himself in thinking.

"The other two rhyme!" announced Gabu. "This is Bari, and this is Himari." Dark and light brown, respectively.

"After your brother," Mei surmised, indicating the dark one.

Lala nodded. "May he live again."

"He was my hunt leader, too!" added Gabu, playfully nosing the active pup. "I was a little afraid of the first Bari, but…" He shrugged. "He was good at his job. And I'm bigger than this one!"

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Lala teased.

"I'm so glad for you," said Mei. He looked over the youths as they squirmed around blindly. He tried not to think of what they would become someday, but the thought wouldn't leave him. Future destroyers. Future renders of flesh. They were in a little pile, a cute little pile of destruction. Mei thought of all the creatures whose lives they would end someday. He imagined himself showing a long line of creatures, great and small, to the entrance of the cave, and showing them the tiny pile of fur and flesh that would one day end them. And he imagined a stag stepping forward with a sizable hoof, and a remark—"They don't seem so mighty"—and squashing them into a little mixed up pool of slurry. Then that's all they would be, and the animals would stare, then laugh… and the little pile of multicolored goo would just sit there, oozing, and never do anything else. It would be so easy right now for someone to curtail forever the destruction these four cubs would someday cause.

Yet Mei didn't want that to happen. He meant what he'd said: he was glad for Gabu and Lala. And he was even glad for himself, because even if he never meant to have children of his own, he would have the privilege of watching these children grow and develop. He meant to be part of their lives—to invest himself in them.

It was a strange feeling, even after all this time. Mei felt like a traitor to his kind. But even as he realized this, and realized simultaneously that, at bottom, it didn't bother him, he felt himself taking another step on the path to forever. He stood there experiencing love for these four little treasures. He didn't want them to be squashed underhoof. He wanted them to lead happy, productive, fruitful lives.

"You made it possible," Lala reminded him fulsomely, as if reading his emotions. "We never would have had them if you hadn't given us permission." It sounded like she still found the idea exquisitely funny.

But it was true. These were the little monsters that Mei had opened the gate for and let into the world. They were his responsibility, after a fashion. And they would cause such pain.

Yet Mei watched them squirming, the little white one's tail wagging, and he loved them. He adored them already.

Did that make him a monster?

A/N: Wolves really do come in a wide variety of colors… but not usually with this much variety in a single litter. That's cartoonists's license.

For an even more uncomfortably loving canine mate and father, read The Book of Sorrows, sequel to The Dun Cow, by Walter Wangerin, Jr. And don't say I didn't warn you.

More than usual, I was aware while revising the introduction to this chapter of the differences in Mei and Gabu's idiolects. A lot of phrases and words I originally used (like 'plenitude') would have been fine for Mei's thoughtstream, but I had to change and simplify them for Gabu's.

Too bad Gabu doesn't have a scarf anymore! It would be good for transporting water, but I imagine the wolves don't produce a lot of those things. I'm really honestly not sure how they make them. Maybe they just find them in barns.

It was tempting to set a section during the 100th Day. Day 100 is a significant one in Pinkie Pie's Travelogue, my other work with numbered days. But somehow 99 feels more suitable here. The birth of these cubs is not a completion in itself; it's a thing on the brim.

"I think this'll be my best child yet!" That's what real mothers say, right?

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