The Empty Read Free

and fearful. Your appearance will change making it more difficult for you to blend with humans.”
    “Why would I want to blend with humans? They stink.”
    Dolnaraq’s father offered a momentary grin. “Yes, their odor can be off-putting. But we need their essence. We need to hunt among them. Like it or not, we depend on the humans for our survival.”
    “You’re a human lover!” screamed Dolnaraq. He had expected his father to praise him, to tell him how brave he had been, to say that he wished he had the same courage as his young son. But, all he had done was to belittle Dolnaraq, making him feel foolish. “You’re a human lover and a coward.” Dolnaraq attempted to rise from the cave floor, but found he was unable to lift himself from his bed of straw.
    His father watched his pathetic struggle for a few moments, and then said. “No boy, I am neither. The humans are not so despicable as you might think. And I am neither enthralled by them nor a coward, as you claim. But neither am I your father. Not any longer. You may rest here until you’ve regained your strength, and then you must find dwelling of your own.”
    This was the last conversation the two would have, though the young reyaqc did hear his father weeping in long, guttural sobs from beyond the cave entrance and long into the night.
    * * * *
     
    Dolnaraq found his feet. He was now able to hobble unsteadily about the cave. His head still ached and his stomach would not yet tolerate food, but at least he was able to move about. Though, why he’d want to, he didn’t know. His father had an old, palm-sized mirror he’d acquired from a human some years prior. Dolnaraq had taken this and viewed his image. He had changed, yes. But not as he had hoped. His nose was now dark, but still shaped as before with no other fox-like characteristic. His left ear was somewhat elongated and random shoots of red fur protruded from it. His left eye—though still milky white—had widened in comparison to his right. And, within his mouth, one long canine tooth had grown—again, on the left—and protruded stupidly from between his lips making it impossible for him to shut his mouth completely. This also caused some difficulty in speech. The fingers on his left hand were shortened and clumsy, and his left leg felt twitchy and uncontrollable. He had no sleek beautiful coat as he had imagined. His senses of smell and hearing had not been enhanced. All in all, he’d become a useless freak. As such, he’d determined never to exit this cave again. What possible use could there be for one such as he?
    His father had ordered him to leave, but his mother would care for him, he was sure. And if not his own mother, if she fell sway to the same repulsion as his father, then one of the other females father kept, one of the childless ones would certainly show pity on this freak.
    Pity. That was all he was worth—someone’s pity.
    Dolnaraq rolled over in the hay weeping. It was not supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be stronger, more able. He was supposed to be admired not pitied. Maybe he should die. Maybe he should refuse all food, take no essence whether human or animal, and allow himself to waste away. It would be painful, yes, but not so long lasting. He was already weakened, in need of essence. The process of becoming a molt had drained his system. In many ways he was already depleted. Surly, it would be a simple thing to die. Then his father would truly weep. He would realize what his rejection had done and he would fall to his knees in anguish. Perhaps he’d even take his own life. This thought heartened Dolnaraq. He only wished he could be alive to witness it. Maybe he could hold his breath, pretend to be dead, make his father realize how wrong he’d been, then Dolnaraq could “awaken.” His father would be so thankful Dolnaraq was alive that he would hug him and care for him.
    Or maybe he would curse him. Maybe he would rather that Dolnaraq did perish. Then