The Foreigner in the Selkirk Meadows
Bounded by a motionless state of solitude, Fjör found himself sitting cross-legged in the center of a meadow deep in the forests of the Selkirk mountains. The vast, empty yet open surroundings wisped him into a moment of reminiscence. A tiny crowned kinglet flew over his head and into the coniferous trees that surrounded him in a uniquely symmetrical circular fashion. This took him back to the moment when his mother had first brought him there.
He leaned back and shifted against the lagged breeze that slid gently along the surface of his pores, listening to the ruffling of leaves in the canopies beyond. A fazed sound startled him ever so slightly, so he turned just in time to catch the glimpse of a passing fawn in canter.
He observed the fawn in endearment, envious of the beast-like intuitive liberation it had been granted. How fortunate, he thought, for a kind to be so free.
A quiet hum escaped from his lips as he began to dress and wipe the dirt from his body and bare feet. He placed his fingers into his mouth and whistled for Mira. She had been hounding after sightless birds in the distance, during their moment of dodging. Her panting came from behind him. Once arrived, she began licking at the bottom of his ankles.
He gave her an abrupt sharp look. Panting, she looked up and stopped immediately, then tilted her head to the right, for she knew he did not enjoy it much. Fjör took in her beauty, of how her orange-golden hair billowed amidst the wind. How the sun glinted along with the white diamond-shaped crest of fur on her chest, forehead, and snout.
“Lay down Mira,” he said.
She obeyed.
After lacing up his shoes, he reached into his bag for a treat and gave it to her. Petting her head as she chewed, and feeling her fur so forgiving against his clammy fingers.
He picked up his things and laggardly treaded back home, pondering the misconceptions of his reality. How often he had been so fooled by his lack of understanding, his naivety. His eye ducts had grown moist, as a tear slid down the side of his face. Tersely, he wiped it away, and as his arm fell to his side, he could feel Mira's soggy nose brush up against the tips of his fingers, a simple act of console in the only form that she could ever really offer.
