Bonded

“It’s on nights like this when the stars are out, and the moon is bright, can you see the werecat stalking its prey. The white light of the moon catches its silver fur just so, and its eyes glimmer in the dark. And then it pounces!” Asha pounced at the little kids sitting around the fire and they screeched and ran laughing back toward the tents. She smiled and sat on the log next to me as I drew swirls in the dirt with a stick. 

“Why so glum, little brother?”

I sighed and debated saying nothing, but what are sisters for if not to listen? “I still haven’t bonded an animal. Even little Meriam bonded with a turtle yesterday. When is it my turn?!” I snapped the stick and lobbed the pieces into the fire. 

“Don’t worry, Denzin, it will happen. It always does. Dad was twelve when—”

“And I'm thirteen! I’m a whole harvest cycle older than him. No one’s ever bonded this late before.” I dropped my head in my hands, hiding the tears prickling in my eyes. Asha’s weasel head-butted my ankle. It didn’t make me feel better. 

Asha squeezed my shoulder. “No one’s ever not bonded.”

She stood as one of the little girls listening to her story sidled back, chewing on her fingernail. “Is the werecat coming for us?”

“Of course not.” Asha laughed and ruffled the girl's hair. “Werecats only live in legends.”

The girl wiped imaginary sweat off her brow. “Whew. I was worried I was going to be lunch.”

As she ran back to tell her friends the good news, Asha glanced back at me. “Don’t worry, Den. Your time will come.”

I didn’t sleep well that night, and when Dad woke me up at dawn for the hunt, my heavy eyelids and warm furs tried to convince me to fall back into the darkness. Resisting the urge, I pulled on my buckskin leggings and bison coat and crawled out of my tent. 

The slap of frost in the air chased away any remnants of sleep. I breathed deep, letting the crisp air fill my lungs. The first snowflakes of the season drifted to the white covered ground. Something about the smell of the first real day of the snowy season grounded me. My worries from last night hadn’t changed, but in the scheme of the wide, gray world stretching out before me, they seemed small and inconsequential. 

Asha still lay snoring in her tent next to mine, but Mom was already up, stitching a last minute hole in Dad’s coat. She tapped my forehead with her palm in greeting and handed over my freshly oiled bow and string. 

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, returning the touch. I never heard her talk with her voice, but she didn’t need to. She always found other ways to convey her meanings. Mist, her boar, nuzzled his way between the tents, my quiver nestled in his jaws. I took it, scratching him behind the ear, and clipped it around my waist so it hung at the small of my back. 

“Ready to go, son?” Dad shuffled around the ever present fire, kissing Mom’s cheek as he took the coat and slipped it over his head. 

“Ready,” I said, adding a hat to my outfit. 

We met up with five others before jogging from the tent ring and out into the wild. Their animals flew through the increasing snow and bounded next to us on the frozen ground. East of us ran the Elk River, and the only trees around grew along its banks. Every other direction was hilly and full of sagebrush and cactus hiding underfoot. With the incoming blizzard and gray clouds blocking out the rising sun, we could barely see the hill in front of us. 

Dad’s crow swooped in front of him, cawing and changing our direction by a wing’s turn. I put on a burst of speed and caught up to him, my breath creating a cloud quickly whipped away by the strengthening wind. 

“Dad?” I panted. 

“Yes, son?” He didn’t even sound winded, none of them did. Not even Haylin with his sled. 

“What—what was it like when you and Kurza bonded?” 

He didn't answer right away, the wind pulling locks of his dark hair from its braid and lashing them about his head. “No one’s bond is exactly the same. I saved Kurza from a coyote, and he’s never left my side. Your mom’s tribe lined up their children and marched different animals in front of them until two connected.”

“What if I missed my chance? I’ve interacted with many animals in my life. Maybe my bond animal was the last bison we hunted, or the one we catch this time.” My breath hitched as I said it out loud. The thought had crossed my mind, but I never believed it could be true until now. 

Dad stopped, facing me and resting his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t worry, Denzin. You aren't the first child to worry, nor will you be the last. Everyone finds their bond, and you’ll know it when it happens. Stop thinking about it and get your mind on the hunt.”

I spent the rest of the trip in silence, listening to Dad and his friends joke around, laughing with each other. No matter how hard I tried to shove my worries aside, they’d slide back into the front of my mind, and I didn’t notice right away when the hunters went quiet. 

Visibility had dropped even farther as the snow blotted out the sun, darkening the clouds from light gray to dark blue. The tips of my fingers tingled with the cold, and I flexed them to keep the blood flowing as I squinted against the blizzard, searching for the shadow of our prey. 

I sidled up next to my father as the vast, invisible plains pressed around us. Not knowing where the bison herd moved finally chased away my original worries and replaced them with new ones. If we got caught in front and the herd charged, we’d never make it home. 

“Look,” Dad whispered, pointing to the ground. Bison scat littered the snow covered terrain, steaming rising from each pile. “We’re right behind them.”

With the all clear came a rush of adrenaline. The chill in my hands disappeared as I knocked an arrow. Dad did the same while his friends pulled spears from their backs. Bonded animals crowded close to their people, sensing the building tension right before the attack. 

We spread out in a line, creeping forward with weapons held at the ready. Within moments, the beasts appeared through the swirling snow as shadows. They faced us, backsides at the wind, but we were downwind and they didn’t notice us until too late. 

Kurza leapt from my father’s shoulder and circled the bison, choosing one out of the herd and circling above it. The one closest to me shook its massive, shaggy head, and I started, but it didn’t notice. My light-colored coat kept me camouflaged. The low visibility caused the bison to blend together, and I had to keep my eyes locked on our target to keep from losing it. A small male with a lame leg. 

Dad signaled. I raised my bow, sighted, and—

A growl rippled through the air, carried to us on the wind. The bison trumpeted. 

Someone screamed, “Run!” 

I ran.

The party split, my dad and I running right. The bison charged, stampeding across the snowy plains. I stumbled as the ground rumbled under the hooves of hundreds of bison. Kurza squawked, alerting my dad as he raced ahead, but he twisted back too late. 

A bison dashed between us, throwing its horns. 

“Dad!” I screamed, but he disappeared behind fur, hooves, and horns. The second one in my path avoided me at the last second, but the one behind it clipped my shoulder with its bulk, sending me spinning and my bow flying.

Stay standing, stay standing. 

If I fell, I’d be dead. Trampled by the indifferent beasts. Another flashed past, and another. The light in the sky had all but disappeared, and they looked more wraith than animal. Someone screamed, but it sounded far away with the thundering hooves leaving no room for other sounds.

The stink of wild animal spurred me forward, each breath catching up to my thumping heart. The cold was long gone, thrown out by adrenaline and the body heat at my every turn. 

A guttural grunt broke through the thud of hooves. I had just enough time to glance over my shoulder and see the gleam of a horn as the moon broke through the clouds. Then I was flipping through the air, a searing pain in my side. I met the ground with a thwump, and the air left my lungs. 

No. No, no, no. 

A caw above me. Kurza. 

Hooves flashed a hand's breadth from my face. Another slammed into my thigh, but I barely felt it over the white hot stabbing in my side. 

“Dad,” I croaked as a bison charged right at me. Refusing to close my eyes, I stared death in its fur covered face, fear glinting in its eyes. My heart calmed, and I took one last breath, at peace with the fact this animal wasn’t hurting me on purpose.

A silver streak rammed into the side of the bison, veering it away from me. I gasped and my heart leapt to my throat as the reality of my near death caught up. A cat the size of a wolf bounced off the bison and dashed back to my side, letting out a ferocious scream. The last few bison galloped around the creature, around me. Their receding hoofbeats rang in my ears as I dragged myself to my knees. Blood soaked my coat, and my leg was stiff, and breathing hurt, but I was alive. 

Alive. 

The cat circled around me once and sat facing me. Its fur gleamed silver, dancing gently in the wind as it died to a light breeze. 

“Mira,” I whispered, raising a hand. She nuzzled it, her tail twitching in the trampled earth and snow. A warmth spread through my palm and up my arm, dulling the intense pain, and I knew. 

This werecat was mine, and I was hers. 

“Denzin!” Dad’s shout broke the moment. He dragged me into a rib splintering hug and I yelped in pain. He let go, holding me at arms length, eyes searching me and finding the blood. Tears wet his cheeks. Kurza cawed and landed on Mira’s back, cocking his head at her. 

“Thanks the gods,” Dad whispered, and touched his forehead with a fist, bowing toward Mira. “And thank you.” Despite his relief, Dad still had a spark of fear in his eyes.

“The others?” I asked, throwing an arm around his neck and easing upwards. 

“Safe, setting up the sled.” He nodded in their direction. 

“Good,” I whispered, and wrapped my free hand in Mira’s fur, borrowing her strength to make it to the sled. When he didn’t say more, I glanced at him, concern still written on his face. 

Dad hesitated. “I don't want to worry you, but the stampede…”

As I settled into the sled with the help of Dad's friends, I followed the path of the stampede with my eyes. Southeast. Back home. I sucked in a breath. 

“We need to hurry,” I rasped, my voice whisked away as the wind picked back up, but I didn't have to tell them. Dad had already grabbed the rope tied to the sled and they began to run. 

The wind whipped around us as the musk of the bison led our way back home. With each stride, my fear grew, reflected in the eyes of Mira. 

My thoughts turned to my mother, my sister, and I couldn't get the picture of the hooves striking them from my mind. I wished I could run, could do something other than sit in the sled and dwell in my thoughts, so by the time the smoke of the campfires came into view, the adrenaline from fear covered the pain. 

Time stretched and shrunk at the same time as I both needed to get home to see what happened, and felt if we never showed up, nothing would change. The camp would live on in the way I remembered when we left. 

But that wasn't realistic. Dad picked up his pace, and the carnage unveiled itself. 

A single wail broke the unnatural silence surrounding the camp. Ice trickled down my spine. 

The camp was unrecognizable. Tents were flattened and torn. Campfires scattered. Tanning skins were strewn about with utensils, tools, and children's dolls. From my vantage point in the sled, I saw only one body, but it wasn't human.

Dad helped me to my feet, his eyes casting around for anyone, anything, when another wail pierced our ears. Shadows materialized in the swirling snow. Dad stepped in front of me, and his friends grabbed their spears, but the shadows morphed into human shapes, one flying in front of the others. My mother. I recognized her as soon as the snow parted. But she didn’t run to us, she ran to the body of the animal. The body of a boar. 

I gasped, limping to her. Dad helped me, and together we sank before the body of Mist. The wailing had been my mother. I had never heard her make a sound before, but now she wept opening, gasps and whimpers hiccuping from her throat.  

Tears welled in my eyes, spilling over with little effort. Even Dad, who never cried, had tears on his cheeks as he hugged Mom. Mira nuzzled my jaw and padded over the Mist, placing her head on the boar’s and purring. 

The rest of the tribe gathered around, some of them whispering prayers to guide the boar’s soul safely into the next life. I wish I could say Mira had the ability to bring Mist back, but not even the most powerful spirit creatures could do that.  

I started at the hand on my shoulder. Asha stood next to me. Her eyes were sad, but a small smile turned her lips upward. 

“Where disaster hits, a miracle is sure to lie,” she quoted the old saying, nodding to Mira. 

“But Mom—”

“Mom will be okay. Mist saved her life, the highest honor a bonded animal can hope for. She will be passing on to the highest level of the afterlife.”

Asha patched me up while the Elders sang and danced to the song of the dead, a ritual allowing the spirit of the dead to move on. 

Two ribs had broken, and she needed to bandage a long, but shallow cut. My thigh had a huge bruise. It could have been much worse, but I got lucky, thanks to Mira. I gazed at the werecat, her fur shimmering as the blizzard wound down and the last rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds. 

When the orange and pink clouds of sunset chased away the snow, the Elders concluded their singing. Mom said her final goodbye before wiping away the tears and hugging Dad and I. She touched my forehead with her palm in greeting and gestured toward the blood on my coat. 

“I’m okay, just hurts.” 

Mom nodded and stepped back, allowing Mira to come forward. As soon as I tangled my fingers in her fur, the pain receded, and I let out a breath of relief. With her by my side, Mom, Dad, Asha, and I joined the rest of our tribe in gathering the parts of our camp that were salvageable. I hadn’t experienced devastation like this before, but many of the adults had, and as long as we worked together, we’d make it through.