Valentina smiled.
He felt an urge to add a warning, to blurt out the sense of lethality and malevolence he felt in its presence, to mention the fisherman’s death and how it didn’t feel like a coincidence to him, but Valentina continued speaking.
“The horned wolf,” she repeated. “I would ask that you do not come here seeking this creature for the present. I know that request is unorthodox, but my apprentice has just begun his studies, and I wish to treat this situation with an abundance of caution. In short, there are enough variables on this mountain already. Valentina Blackwood signing off.”
She flipped the switch and closed the box.
“The horned wolf,” Valentina said. “Well done, Mr. Green. Descriptive. Practical. You shunned the ugly temptation to put your signature on a living creature by calling it ‘Green’s wolf’ or some such self-aggrandizing nonsense. Admirable instincts.”
“I have so many questions,” Green said.
Valentina folded her hands in her lap.
“Proceed.”
“What was that hand that took the sugar cube?”
“The network administrator? Mycelium network of a globe-spanning cryptofungus. The sugar is simple reciprocity. Though, there are numerous ways to access the cryptonaturalist frequencies.”
Green wondered at Valentina’s ability to deliver such bizarre explanations as if she were reciting a software user agreement.
He stood and moved to look out a window. He could see the pale line of the gravel lane and ranks of autumn trees fading to a jagged horizon.
“Shouldn’t I have said more about what the wolf is? Like, a warning? Nobody should go looking for that thing.”
“I am sympathetic. You certainly experienced a traumatic moment with the horned wolf, but you must not let it become the monster of your personal mythology. That animal may well be as dangerous as a Bengal tiger or a great white shark, but neither the shark nor the horned wolf are instruments of evil. Think of your time with the rag moth. Try to set aside emotion. Do not moralize. Nature. Not monsters.”
His anger flared, but he stomped the fire into a puff of smoke and cinders.
“None of this makes sense to me. Why can I see these things and people like Dancer can only see standard nature?”
Valentina snorted.
“Standard nature? There is no standard nature, Mr. Green. It is all fantastical.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, but we aren’t leaving this point so quickly. I am your teacher and I sense a fundamental misunderstanding in your question. ‘Standard’ implies something hierarchical, yes? Standard versus superior? Or standard versus substandard?”
Great. Another semantics lesson.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Mr. Green, sasquatch is a common cryptid of popular imagination, correct? You could have told me what a sasquatch was a year ago, is that a fair assumption?”
“Yes.”
“Tall bipedal forest-dwelling ape. Would you call that standard nature?”
“Well, no. Of course not.”
“Why?”
“Because it isn’t. It’s hidden. People don’t just see them. They’ve never found a body. They’re…legendary.”
“So, it’s a question of rarity?”
“Well, yes, but I think it’s more than that. Sasquatch is a matter of debate. It’s not accepted as just rare. It’s different. It’s mythic. Mysterious.”
