Borne lay softly humming to itself, the half-closed aperture at the top like a constantly dilating mouth, the spirals of flesh constraxting, then expanding. “It” had not yet become “he.”
The closer I approached, the more Borne rose up through Mord’s fur, became more like a hybrid of sea anemone and squid: a sleek vase with rippling colors that strayed from purple toward deep blues and sea greens. Four vertical ridges slip up the sides of its warm and pulsating skin. The texture was as smooth as waterworn stone, if a bit rubbery. It smelled of beach reeds on lazy summer afternoons and, beneath the sea salt, passionflowers. Much later, I realized it would have smelled different to someone else, might even have appeared in a different form.
It didn’t really look like food and it wasn’t a memory bettle, but it wasn’t trash, either, and so I picked it up anyway. I don’t think I could have stopped myself.
~ Jeff Vandermeer, Borne
