The word echoes in my head. For the first time ever, something bubbles through the red fog.
Two creatures like me, smiling. “Come meet my mate.” The thought comes from nowhere. He’s so lucky.
I shake my head. What does that mean? Creatures like me? I’ve never seen another like me. And mate? What does it mean? I’ve never heard this word before.
I have heard this word before.
It doesn’t mean anything.
It means everything.
No!
What has this odd creature done to me? Perhaps it has poisoned me already. I should kill it. Except I can’t. I can’t kill it and, worse, I don’t even like the way it smells now. The fear, sharp and acrid, is normally something I seek in prey because it soothes the red fog. But the red fog isn’t gnawing at my mind now. Instead, there are words I don’t understand and images I don’t recognize, and this creature is behind it all. I should want it dead and yet, all I want is for it to stop smelling of fear.
It whimpers as I near my snout to its face, closing its odd white and brown and black eyes. “Just get on with it,” it says and somehow, I recognize the fear in its voice as easily as I recognize it in its scent. “Go on. Get it over with.”
I don’t understand the words. They sound familiar, as if I heard them before, but the red fog covers that part of my mind. I don’t understand the words but, as the creature tilts its head to the side, baring its neck to me, I recognize the gesture.Submission. It’s submitting to me?
For reasons unknown, the thought sends a thrill through me, excitement much greater than that of a successful hunt. It’s submitting to me, which means it’s mine.Mine. That’s important. I don’t know why, and thinking about it makes my head hurt, so I just settle for the simple fact that this odd, two-legged creature is mine now.
Mate.
The word comes back. It doesn’t bring images this time, but a good feeling instead. Mate. Mine. That’s how it’s supposed to be.
The creature cries out as I bury my snout in the crook of its neck. Holding it down with all four of my hands, I deeply inhale its intoxicating scent. Even sour with fear, I’m still attracted toit. If only I could make it stop being afraid. If it’s afraid of me, would it stop being afraid if I left? But how would I smell it if I weren’t here? I don’t just want to sniff it from afar. I want to hold it. I want my scales covered in its scent. I want to curl myself around it and not let it go.
Yes, I definitely need to bring it to my den. It won’t be hard. The creature isn’t very big and I can move quickly even if I carry it. It doesn’t seem strong enough to fight me.
“Are you going to kill me or not?!” the creature exclaims, more words that have no meaning. Except one does. Kill. My mind knows that word.
The creature clearly thinks I’m going to kill it, so it’s afraid, like a barkhide hiding in the underbrush, waiting for my claws to tear into it. But I’m not going to kill the creature. How do I make the creature know? I can’t make words like it does.
The memory emerging through the fog is painful.
Words coming out of my maw. Many words. So many words.
Whimpering, I reel back and grab my head. Perhaps I shouldn’t bring the creature to my den. It seems harmless, but it’s causing me pain. I don’t like pain, but I do like the creature’s smell. And I want it not to be afraid. If I leave it here, the venomfangs will eat it. Or will they? Perhaps it will use its painful ability on them, too?
“Hey.” The creature’s voice is softer now. No more shrill screams. I like that. “Are you okay?”
I realize I’ve been scratching at my aching head hard enough to disrupt a few scales. The creature is devious, making me hurt myself, but I still can’t bring myself to kill it. I like how it spoke to me now. I want more words, but when I jump forward to capture the words at the creature’s maw, all I get is another cry and a spike of the fear-smell. Disappointed, I retreat again, a low whine escaping me. I only know how to make creatures afraid. I do not know how to make my creature not afraid.
Making an odd sound in its throat, the creature shifts its position slightly. It’s only using its arms, not its legs. Is it damaged? I find damaged creatures from time to time. They’re easy prey, especially when trapped outside during sharp light. Out of habit, I check the leaves on the nearest tree. None of them are curled. There will be no sharp light yet.
“Are you okay?” the creature repeats. “I, um… I thought you were going to eat me so you can probably understand all the screaming, and if you weren’t, I’m sorry for assuming you were. Going to eat me, I mean. I just thought, well… Your teeth and claws and everything.”
As the creature chitters, its voice softening again, I stop scratching at my skull. The creature’s words, if unintelligible, are soothing. The red fog settles in the back of my mind, and there are no painful images in front of my eyes. Just the creature’s voice and its smell.
This time, I do not lunge at it. That is how I hunt. The sudden movement scared the prey-like creature. I approach slowly, low to the ground. There’s a rumble inside my chest I don’t recognize. It doesn’t bother my creature, so I ignore it.
“Oh. O-okay.” The creature’s voice catches as I approach. “You’re clearly one curious murder-chameleon. That’s okay. As long as those teeth don’t get involved, feel free to sniff me. Not the weirdest date I’ve ever been on, am I right?” Letting out a soft bark, the creature bares its teeth at me. In any other animal I’ve ever met, I’d consider it a threat and respond in kind, but something beyond the red fog tells me that teeth-baring is a good sign for this creature.
Once I’m right in front of the it, I pause, unsure how to continue. I want to touch it. Touch it. Smell it. Taste it. Hold it. It’s mine.Mate. My mate.Yes. The part of my mind covered by the fog seems to agree. I want all that and more, but thecreature’s fear-scent has lessened a little and I don’t want it to spike again. How do I touch it without making it afraid?
Slowly, I extend one hand toward the creature’s leg, my claws retracted. Pausing its chittering, the creature inhales deeply. I brace myself for another scream, but instead, it speaks softly. Sweetly, almost. “That’s okay. You can touch me. Just be careful, please?”
It doesn’t stop me as I place my hand on the odd gray skin. It’s not peeling in this spot, but it’s loose, almost as if it weren’t connected.
