One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 14, page 7

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Zhíno Zhudıro lay trapped in his body. He could no longer fly free with the swallows, stampede with the buffalo, or swim with the orcas. The taste of being a wolf remained on his essence, but it was more a tantalizing torture than a fond memento.

He had used almost all of his own lifeforce to return Pí‘oro’s spirit to his body. Just exude the energy from himself, wrap it around Pí‘oro, and bind him back into his mortal shell. It was the least Zhíno could do to help his soul-brother.

Except Zhíno had assumed he’d still be able to continue his journey through the worlds with all the animals. Instead, he was stuck inside his comatose body without the energy or strength to regain the spirit world. Or maybe it was because Névazhíno was no longer present.

Plague of Rékaré, how would I know? I’ve never done anything like this before.

Zhíno relaxed his spirit, the equivalent of a deep breath, and reconsidered his situation.

In the darkness of his disconnected dream state, dim lights glowed in the distance. Had those been there before?

He urged his consciousness toward the lights. One was a sharp yellow and the other a duller purple. Just by merely thinking about them, they drifted closer to Zhíno. He concentrated on the purple light, which seem oddly familiar, and it hurtled toward him.

Startled, Zhíno braced his mind for an impact, turning his thoughts elsewhere, but no collision occurred.

He looked back at the friendly purple light, which was close enough now that he could see the swirling particles and intense core that comprised it. The tiny violet dots would shoot out of the core, dance around in random patterns, then spiral back into the pure purple center.

Zhíno touched it.

Thoughts and emotions slammed through Zhíno’s consciousness. He reeled from the contact but didn’t disengage. Contempt, reluctance, and gratitude flowed through him. He was hit all over with aches and pains from a body that wasn’t his.

The gratitude, though, had a familiar ring to it. It wasn’t so much the nature of the gratitude, but the direction.

It was directed at him, at Zhíno.

He focused on the contempt and realized it was directed at the God of Animals.

This swirling purple light was Pí‘oro. It had to be. Somehow, some way. It was a complete mystery to Zhíno, but that’s the way it was.

He pulled back from the light before he formulated the thought, You’d better be grateful, soul-brother, because now I’m trapped.

Zhíno stared at the swirling violet light. Now that he thought about it, it kind of looked like Pí‘oro, like his attitude. The particles flowed in calm but deliberate motions.

The yellow light, not too far away, sort of had the same attitude as the old lady, Vata. Rough and strong with a genteel layer above. She was clearly more powerful than Pí‘oro, her light almost too bright to look at, even if this was all a dream. A continuous stream of her little yellow particles flew far away from her core, all the way to Pí‘oro’s light, where they dove through the purple swirl, circled tightly, and shot out back toward Vata. Other of her particles flew off into the infinite blackness, their destinations unknown to Zhíno.

Growing bored, Zhíno spread his field of view, searching in all directions. Not too far away floated a dim blue-green light. What’s the name of that color? He zoomed in for a closer look. It doesn’t matter. Blue-green is good enough.

The blue-green light sparked and swirled in hesitant motions, uncertain of what to do, unable to do much, but with great conviction, nonetheless. This was Fírí.

Zhíno dove in, with one question on his mind. Are you all right?

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