The Stray Dog and the Shy Loon
This was inspired by old European and Russian fairytales and childrenâs stories that werenât afraid to get really grim and talk about the hard facts of life. Dark Themes: Animal Death This time Chaos gets loose to wander the world freely, he meets a stray dog whoâs too dumb to be afraid of him. They make friends rather quickly. A hound thatâs all scruff and very little sense. He learns the best way to dig a hole for cooling off.
He learns the joys of dashing at a full sprint for hours on end for no reason other than to feel the wind in your face. To exist as pure exhilaration. He learns the joy of tug of war and how to pick the best sticks for it. He learns that chickens are in fact delicious even at their freshest, not just fried. He learns the game Tail chase and the PROPER rules for playing it. He also learns that humans will blame a stray dog for killing the chicken even though it was him and that a world that shoots one so trusting and kind is a world best avoided without Valentine. With Valentine in control during a shift, heâs far more resilient to guns but as he is now heâs just as mortal as the dog. He lingers in the shadows wanting to say goodbye but theyâve already skinned the hound quickly and put him on the fire to cook. He looks around. There had only been the one chicken... There are no crops. They had nothing left to eat, painful as it may be to accept... He understands. Everything that breathes must eat and die. It had been the dogâs turn. Chaos is more careful in selecting his prey after that. Chaos wonders if in meeting him, had the beast spent its last day deliriously happy? It had seemed so. The Demon turns, quiet steps carrying him away from the barely-there village in the middle of nowhere, and considers that there are worse fates than clueless joy and a quick bullet. He makes his way home to the lake where the fog hangs low over the mirror of water and settles by the banks, just next to the reeds. He can hear birds singing. Where are you, my love? I am here I am here Itâs not words the way Valentine knows them, But Chaos knows the heartbeat within the sound. Life, heâd been made to recognize it and quiet the spark. His chin settles on crossed forearms and one of the birds floats across the mirror lake, just beyond his reach. A female loon finds him, curious and shy. âOh, dear...I must say your plumage has seen better days. Where is your flock darling?â To anyone watching the conversation was a series of soft hoots and warbles. Back and forth, calm and serene. âThere arenât others like me. Iâm alone. I donât have a flock.â She ruffles in indignation at his answer, as if the thought is an affront and wades in circles among the shallows. âWell, that wonât do. Iâll just have to teach you how to be a Loon. come in the water. Weâll start with swimming lessons.â He canât stop thinking about the hound. Itâs his first time grieving and heâs not sure what to do with the feeling, doesnât know the name for it. So he follows her into the water and she teaches him grace. How to bow his head, and still be able to take in his surroundings. How to tread water with all four limbs without breaking the surface. How to tuck his wings upon his back while he swam so they stayed mostly dry.  More importantly, how to sing.  Once heâs figured out how to make the calls of one loon, he adds more, so it isnât lonely, and the lake sounds alive. Heâs not sure why, but having this noise to make, the sound to send skywards to the evening dim to dance and linger amidst the fog. It makes him feel better to have a way of expression. It might not be his, it might be borrowed, but it helps and thatâs the part that matters. Later, once Chaos has gone back home and receded back into Valentine, Vincent is surprised by the sound in the back of his mind. For a moment, the mug of tea at his lips pauses and he looks toward the lake...itâs not late enough for the loons to be singing yet. Then he realizes the sound is coming from within and smiles around the rim of his mug. Of all the things for Chaos to get up to while out and about.... Interesting, and not wholly unwelcome. Sip sip, ahhh~. Perfect. âYou should sing more often Chaos. You have a lovely voice.â he thinks. Thereâs a pause in the birdsong, but he feels the shift in emotion.  Startled delight.
Vincent chuckles, the sound a soft rumble. Now content, he settled back into his tea.
