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by Koji A. Dae

“Someone had to dash her hopes, or she’d grow into a fanatic, raving about magical octopuses.”

Each morning the summer my sister was born, I followed the rest of the girls from my village to the beach and watched the breaking waves explode into hisses of foam. I collected seashells and traded stories my aunts had told me. But I no longer believed an octopus would come on our shore and snatch me to the source of the ocean. They try to get people when they’re young. Compact. Easy to transport. Twelve was the cusp of never. I was shooting up in height, growing breasts, and putting a layer of fat on my childish hips—too old to believe that an octopus would lure me to the deep.

“Your hair’s too short, Kayla,” Bonnie told me. She was a neighbor girl, barely four years old. “Octopuses like braided hair. My aunt said so.”

“Oh, if your aunt said so.” I held up my palms as if to ask what she would have me do about my boyish haircut.

She was too young to understand sarcasm. Her wide, brown eyes believed everything her aunts told her. “I’ll braid it for you.”

I sat on a rock as her fingers, still sticky with baby sweat, stumbled through a couple of tiny braids. As she tugged, I daydreamed about summers on the mainland: empty boarding houses, except for the other kids who couldn’t afford to go home, no one to talk of octopuses or braid my hair.

Bonnie kissed my cheek and I touched the lumpy, uneven braids.

“Thanks, babe. Let’s go find you an octopus.” I stood up, took her hand, and spent the rest of the afternoon splashing in the shallows with her.

When she went home for supper, I stayed in the warm water and swam out to the depths where there was nothing but salt, seaweed and me. I dove deep, opening my eyes to a world of blue-green. Not an octopus in sight.

* * *

Tempers grew short in the dry heat of summer, and come September everyone was irritated by someone. I was irritated by my aunts for lying about octopuses, my baby sister for crying through the heat of the day, and my mom for having my baby sister.

When Angela was seven days old, my mom constructed a tight wall of sheets around the porch and put her bassinet outside.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “You’re not going to leave her out all night.”

“It’s tradition. I did it with you, too. That’s why you will carry the wisdom of the ocean, even when you leave this island.”

“It’s a stupid superstition.”

Two aunts came over to keep my mom from going out to Angela as she cried for comfort. Between her screams and the frantic pacing of my mom’s bare feet, I couldn’t sleep.

By morning my irritation reached a boiling point, and I stomped off to the beach without breakfast or a goodbye kiss.

I let the waves lick my feet, but I didn’t submerge myself.

“Come in with me!” Bonnie pulled at my arm, nearly yanking it out of the socket.

I dug my feet into the sand. “Go in yourself.”

“But what if an octopus is waiting for you?” The girl always spoke in screeches and exclamations. It had never bothered me before, but that day I wished she would speak like a normal person.

“There’s no octopus waiting for me.” I jerked my hand away from her. “Or you. It’s a made up story. You’ll see when they send you to the mainland.”

Her smooth face wrinkled with pain and confusion. “I’m going to get one. Mama had a dream.”

The brown sand tickled beneath my fingernails as I traced swirls in it. I grunted, hoping to leave it at that, but curiosity got the best of me. “A normal dream or a water dream?”

Normal dreams could be ignored. They were the fantasies of mothers or fever from the sun. But water dreams—a murky future seen by a submerged dreamer—were worth listening to.

She jutted her chin forward and looked me square in the eyes. “Water dream.”

I threw a pebble into the waves. “Even water dreams can be wrong.”

She stuck her tongue out at me before trudging off on her own.

Someone had to dash her hopes, or she’d grow into a fanatic, raving about magical octopuses. That would do her no good when she was sent to study with the mainlanders. She’d spend her last summer stripping away the silliness pounded in during her childhood, like me.

I continued throwing pebbles until Bonnie’s high-pitched shriek sounded from far down the beach. The other girls, all dark from the sun and in various states of undress, looked at the sound, but no one moved. I groaned and pushed myself up to run through the wet sand to the rocks where the beach curved around the cape.

“Bonnie, what’s wrong?” My words fell between huffs of short breath.

Her eyes were even wider than usual. She pointed with a trembling finger. “Kayla. Is that a…?”

In a large tidepool lay a pile of rust-red limbs with purple undersides. They floated like jelly, as if the octopus might be dead.

I leaned close to the surface of the pool. “I think it’s hurt.”

“But is it one? Really one?” Bonnie whispered, her voice finally tempered by awe.

The legs were too tangled to count, but I was certain there were eight. “Yeah, it’s an octopus.”

It wasn’t just an octopus though, it was a huge one. Like the ones from the stories. It could easily carry Bonnie, maybe even me.

I looked from the tidepool to the ocean. “I think it’s stuck here. Maybe we should move it into the open water.”

Bonnie didn’t move, so I stepped forward and reached my hand into the shallow pool. The octopus oozed towards me. My fingers brushed over its rippled skin, and it shuddered, like a happy dog. I moved my other hand beneath it and a sharp pinch made me draw back.

Drops of blood fell from the back of my hand. “That thing bit me.”

My mind clouded over, as if I were deep under water. Bonnie’s words were impossible to make out. But other words came to me. Let me take you.

“Stand back.” I sheltered Bonnie behind me—half to protect her from the violent creature, half to have it all to myself—and reached into the water again.

The creature jumped out of the pool. The webbing between its tentacles stretched taut as it skittered towards me. I pushed Bonnie away and two powerful tentacles, thick as my arm, wrapped around my waist and knocked me over. The beast dragged me over the hot sand and plunged into the water.

I gasped and floundered as its webbing compressed my chest and pulsated, forcing water into my lungs. The creature darted forward, and I hung limp, like an extra set of arms dangling from its head.

The sun stopped illuminating the water. My blood turned to icy slush, no warmer than my captor’s suction cups. It twisted and swirled, and we spiraled down to the depths where cold and darkness put me to sleep.

* * *

When I came to, the sun was shining on my shivering body, and I was on a different beach, with white sands instead of brown.

Sputtering, I sat up and pushed my hair from my eyes.

“Greetings, sister Bonnie.”

“Bonnie? I’m–”

“It’s been a long journey. I trust Phearidus kept you from harm.”

“Phearidus?”

The speaker had long black hair and dark skin. She looked to be about seven or eight. Her eyes were muted green instead of brown, but she could have been from my island.

“It’s confusing when you first come here. I’m Shauna. I’ll help you.”

Shauna guided me through a cool pine forest to a small village filled with girls dressed in long-sleeves and pants going about their daily chores.

I rubbed my hands briskly over my arms, trying to warm up.

Shauna guided me to a fire and motioned to one of the girls nearby. The girl looked down at a bundle of clothes in her hands then scurried off.

“We thought you’d be younger,” Shauna said.

The fire thawed me. “I’ve never been so cold.”

“The source of the ocean is further north than most people think, but you’ll get used to it. You’ve been chosen to be Phearidus’ rider.”

Bonnie was chosen. I just happened to be protecting the little girl at the right time. I should have said something, but my teeth chattered from the cold and that was my only answer.

The girl returned with pants and a long-sleeved shirt. They were dull brown, not the colorful rainbow outfits I’d imagined for the girls who bore the secrets of the sea, but they were warm and comfortable.

After a bowl of soup, Shauna took me to a hut. Inside, a spring bubbled up from between flat rocks. The water pooled about a foot deep and ran back down the rocks around the edges. The scent of rotting eggs made me hesitate, but Shauna waved me next to her. Around the walls of the hut hung several empty vials tied with braided ropes of seaweed.

“This is the source of the ocean. It contains the secrets of coexisting with the ocean. Once you build your water-suit, you’ll carry these secrets to babies born on our islands.”

Like Angela, crying all night last night. I thought forcing a baby to spend the night alone, wailing in the dark, was cruel faith. But it was true. Octopus riders weren’t some stupid myth. I was one. Or Bonnie was.

Somehow I kept not telling Shauna what my name was. When she introduced me as Bonnie, I didn’t correct her. I learned to turn quickly when someone called me Bonnie. As I wove seaweed, colored by the spring of secrets, I became Bonnie.

* * *

My suit crafted itself, my fingers numbly twisting until the green threads turned purple and red. Not my favorite colors, but they sparkled and shone, creating delicate webbing throughout the fabric of the suit. I tried to remember what Bonnie’s favorite colors had been. This suit was meant to be hers. But it slipped over my body and held me close, warm and snug like a hug.

It took all winter—a season I had never known—to finish my suit. By spring, when the snow on the island melted and the days warmed to an echo of my life as a child, I was ready for my first ride.

Shauna presented me with a vial to carry the water, and I filled it from the hot spring, carefully corking its secrets.

“Phearidus will take you to your first child,” Shauna told me, standing on tiptoe to kiss my forehead.

I waited on the beach alone until the heavy red and purple octopus washed ashore, dashed to me, and carried me into the current.

You’re not Bonnie. It thought to me as it dove deeper, spinning in a slow spiral.

No. I admitted. Are you going to tell them?

It swam faster, until I grew dizzy. It was my mistake.

When Phearidus surfaced, the sun was dipping down over my own island. I gasped as several boys and girls boarded a boat at the pier. One of them, with a jutting jaw and dull eyes, shared the same flat nose and pouty mouth as Bonnie. But this girl was twelve, heading to school on the mainland.

It’s not possible. Bonnie is just a little girl.

Octopuses don’t just travel the depths of the oceans, but the depths of time as well. When you ride with me, I will take you to the future and the past. Wherever and whenever you are needed, Phearidus explained.

She unwrapped her tentacles from me and I floundered in the water, reaching for the safety of her embrace until she pushed me into the shallows. I waited for the boat to leave and the sun to set before going ashore.

Once on land, my feet knew where to go. The wailing of the newborn guided me to a rickety porch. I climbed through the sheets and found a baby in a bassinet with a full head of black hair and dark, curious eyes.

He stopped crying when I approached. I smiled down at him and opened my vial. I poured three drops over his head—one to understand the creatures in the ocean, one to understand the waves in the water, and one to understand the history of his people. Then I kissed his forehead and left. He was crying again before I reached the shore.

* * *

Phearidus took me from island to island to anoint the babies. I didn’t know what year it was, or even the season. Most islands I didn’t recognize, but Phearidus took me to my island a few times. I always stayed a few extra minutes on the beach, my toes in the familiar sand. Eventually she would crawl out of the ocean and bring me back to her magical world without mentioning my homesickness.

When my vial was empty, Phearidus returned me to the source where Shauna and the rest of the riders waited for me.

I took off my suit and it disintegrated.

“You had some long rides, Bonnie,” Shauna noted.

“Huh?” I was slow turning around. I’d gotten used to Phearidus thinking of me as Kayla.

“You’ll need to weave a new suit.”

I shivered at the thought of staying on the tiny pine forest island for months. But at least it was summer, and I wouldn’t freeze through another winter. I’d have to ask if Phearidus could always drop me off at the beginning of summer.

As if reading my mind, Shauna shook her head. “We’re like the octopuses, pulled out of time.”

I wanted her to explain more, but though she knew everything the source could tell us, she didn’t understand how the octopuses’ magic worked. Not even the octopuses did.

I spent the strange out-of-time summer on the beach, weaving a new water-suit. This one was also purple and red, but threads of dark blue like the sky before a storm began to show up towards the end of summer.

My favorite color, I told Phearidus, who had taken to splashing around the shallows while she waited for me.

* * *

My next ride felt longer, though it was impossible to tell for sure. But Phearidus seemed to keep us underwater longer, selecting our targets more carefully.

Is something wrong Phearidus?

The octopus hugged me tighter and spun with precision. I’m getting old. I got you too late.

Got me too late or got me too old? With the real Bonnie would she have had more seasons? She didn’t answer.

When she took me to my island, I stayed outside the window of the house where I anointed the baby. The mother was pacing inside, talking to two other women.

“She’s crying. It isn’t safe out there. Let me go to her.”

“It’s okay Sabina. She’ll be fine. You went through this, too. All babies go through this.”

“Not on the mainland. It’s a stupid superstition.”

The third woman cleared her throat. “At least you still have this superstition. Bonnie will have her baby next month. A baby that will never learn of the ocean, that will never know where it comes from. Better to leave your baby to cry for the night than to forsake your home.”

The mother quieted. As if understanding what was going on, the baby on the porch stopped crying too. I was the only one left crying, silent tears streaming down my face.

Can you take me to Bonnie’s baby?

Bonnie’s baby? Phearidus released, and I almost fell out of her arms. No. Bonnie never has a baby.

Yes she does. Next month. I just overheard.

Phearidus rippled her suction cups—her equivalent of a shrug. A baby born on the mainland isn’t one of ours.

But Bonnie’s from the islands. If I hadn’t taken her place, she wouldn’t have a mainlander baby. Of course, she would have been a four-year-old forever and never had a baby, but I didn’t think about that. Only that I stole something from Bonnie, and finally I could give something back to her. Take me to her.

Phearidus took me to a shallow, stinking bay, filled with ships and bustling with cars. It made me shudder, and Phearidus was slow to let me go. Don’t do this, Kayla.

I pushed her arms off me and swam to shore. People pointed as I got out of the water in my dripping, skin-tight suit. I ignored them and asked my feet to carry me to Bonnie.

They took me further away from the ocean than I ever imagined an island kid could go. I walked through the city, through the wilderness, and into the next city. I was exhausted when I found Bonnie’s small apartment building, which took me three tries to scale.

The baby wasn’t laid out for me, of course. I had to ease the window open. Bonnie was sleeping in the living room with her baby next to her. I crept on tiptoes to them, trying not to wake her.

But Bonnie shifted and stirred, letting out a high scream.

I covered her mouth and recognition dawned in her eyes. “Kayla? Impossible.”

“I’ve come to bless your baby.” I held up my vial and uncorked it, but Bonnie snatched her baby close.

“You died. Got carried out to sea by an octopus.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t die. I became a rider. You always believed in us. What happened?”

Her tense biceps relaxed enough for her to lower her baby to her lap. “The mainland. It’s hard to keep believing in all the backwards island ways when faced with everyday reminders that they can’t be true.”

“But they are true. And your baby will know them.” I measured out three drops of stinking water onto the baby’s forehead and bent down to kiss it. “But it’s your job to keep them alive, too. Tell them to your child. Help them grow in her.”

Bonnie, wide-eyed as ever, nodded.

* * *

After that, I demanded Phearidus only take me to the mainland babies—the ones who came from the islands but would never know their roots. She argued with me, dragged me to the clean shores of islands. But I refused to go to the babies until she gave up and carried me to the polluted shores of the mainland.

We spent the rest of our season spreading memories of the islands to babies born out of place. I touched some of the mothers too, reminded them to keep the stories in their hearts and on their lips, begged them to take their babies, just once, to see their birthright islands.

When Phearidus returned me to the source island, she was weak. She no longer zipped through the water, and she was a pale yellow instead of her usual vibrant red.

“I think Phearidus is sick,” I told Shauna.

“She’s dying,” Shauna said. “It’s her time. You’ll get a new octopus after she passes. She’ll send one to you.”

“Let me take her on one more ride.”

Shauna said she was too weak, but I filled my vial and insisted.

Phearidus. Take me to my baby sister. Angela.

Phearidus pushed off from the rocks and floated to the depths of the ocean, letting my weight sink us rather than propelling us forward herself. She barely had enough energy to surface, and I had to kick to help us reach the beach.

I went to Angela, kissed her head, and blessed her. My heart pounded as I heard my own mother pacing the small living room. I could go to her now, see her and tell her I would be alright. But I didn’t.

I waited on the cape while the sun rose. Phearidus was too weak and tired to force me into the water. She floated next to me, and I stroked her rough head.

There Phearidus. A group of girls scattered along the shore. There’s Bonnie. You could take her now. She’s younger. Has more life to give you.

But you… Phearidus faded to white at the tips of her arms. I can’t leave you.

You were never supposed to take me. It was always supposed to be Bonnie.

Phearidus pushed an image into my mind. It was me, going to the mainland for the first time. You were the only one who would insist. Keep insisting.

I clung to the image, but her thoughts faded from my mind and her body floated limp next to me. I bit my trembling lip and released her body, letting the current take it, and a piece of my heart, back to the depths.

Before my sorrow could blossom, another octopus rushed up to me. It wrapped too hard around my waist and pulled me to the depths without pause. It bit my neck and blood spilled out behind us as we went on to the next baby.

You do Phearidus no honor by struggling.

I relaxed into a sulk. The new octopus was right, Phearidus wouldn’t understand why a human would need time to grieve. I only work with mainland babies.

I know, Bonnie.

I didn’t tell her my name was Kayla. That was Phearidus’ secret.

 

* * *

About the Author

Koji A. Dae is a queer American living in Bulgaria with she/her pronouns and anxious depression. She has work published in Daily Science Fiction, Short Edition, and Third Flatiron, among others. Her first chapbook, Scars that Never Bled: A study of Frankenstein Through Poetry, was released in August of this year. For more information, check out her website kojiadae.ink.

by E.D. Walker

“She’d lost her mate, and all her last clutch of eggs but this one bright, beautiful girl. She wouldn’t let some monstrous set of wings take this child too.”

The sky was a vibrant pink, like a sea fish newly ripped open, and the beach sand was cool and soft under Swift Shadow’s feet. Her hatchling scampered a few strides ahead, lashing her long tail and snapping her neck forward, biting the waves as if the sea were prey to be devoured.

Shadow sighed as she watched the hatchling dart into the waves. All things end and all things are eaten by the earth. Truly, she wouldn’t be able to call her young one a hatchling for much longer. Her clever girl had outlived all her siblings and Shadow’s own strong mate. Soon her youngling would enter her third year, which meant she would finally have her Naming. If only I can keep us alive that long.

Shadow nosed at the dirt, looking for some shells to crunch, to suck the slick, squishy meat free, but this was a singularly barren beach.

Meals had been scarce the past few days, and Shadow had led them toward the sea, hoping they might find something washed up and rotting. An easy meal to fill their aching stomachs. That seemed to have been a foolish decision. Shadow clicked her teeth together, then opened her mouth wide enough to call the hatchling back. They would look for their next meal elsewhere.

Darkness passed over the sky, and Shadow’s heart sped. “Get back to the trees!” she called at the hatchling, fear making her chirps into high-pitched croaks. The hatchling turned at once, the salt water brushing her knees. She trilled back confusion just as the dark silhouette plunged from the sky, diving fast toward Shadow’s hatchling.

Shadow shrieked alarm and anger both and charged as the large winged creature arced toward her young. Her hatchling threw herself into the waves, and the flying creature missed its grab. It had to swoop upward, circling to try again. The creature was huge, all massive wings and beak and a huge head with a long red crest.

Fast as a lightning strike, the beast plunged again, the stabbing sharp beak angled straight for Shadow’s hatchling.

“No.” Shadow threw herself at the creature as it plunged, and knocked into its side. She sank her long sickle claw into its neck. The beast flapped and cawed, churning the water. It’s massive leathery wings beat Shadow all about her body until she couldn’t catch her breath. She’d lost her mate, and all her last clutch of eggs but this one bright, beautiful girl. She wouldn’t let some monstrous set of wings take this child too.

The beast rolled, its massive body knocking her backwards into the water with a shock of cold that made her gasp and then gag. She flailed, trying to free herself, but the creature was too heavy. It moved to shake her off its neck then to peck sideways at her. The waves washed over her snout, making her hack and cough, but she didn’t let go of her talons or her foreclaws. Another wave rolled over, and panic gripped Shadow as she tried to surface and found she couldn’t. The beast atop her was slowing down, sluggish from loss of blood, but it was too heavy for her to shift.

A sharp-pitched shriek filled the air, and the weight above her shifted. Shadow flung herself out of the water in time to see her beautiful daughter perched atop the giant wings, snapping and slashing at the thing. Great sprays of blood gushed forth to mingle with the salt water. Finally, the winged beast stopped moving.

Shadow fumbled forward and rubbed her snout against her daughter’s. The two of them leaned on each other for support, with Shadow twittering comfort in a low tone.

Once both their heartbeats had slowed, they worked together using their jaws to drag the winged beast out of the water and onto the soft sand. They couldn’t leave the bleeding carcass in the sea or they’d risk attracting one of the great animals of the deep. And those creatures were all snapping jaws and quick strikes. A dark shadow of death hiding under calm water.

Shadow and her child ate their fill of the dead winged creature. It had recently feasted so it’s belly was full of strange oily fish with crunching bones and slimy skin that easily slid down Shadow’s famished gullet.

Once their bellies were distended from their kill, they sat in the shade and groomed the blood and sand out of their feathers.

“You did well,” Shadow said.

Her daughter butted her head against Shadow’s neck. “I was taught well.”

Shadow snorted. “I think the time for your Naming has come. Any child who can save their parent from certain death deserves a name.”

Her hatchling swallowed and sat on her haunches, breathing fast, and her brown feathers half-puffed up in anticipation.

Shadow cocked her head to the side. A proper name would be something like Scourge of the Sea or Wing Killer. But the tenderness in her heart for her last chick made her say something far different than the usual Name. “Solace,” Shadow murmured. “Your name shall be Solace.”

“Thank you. It’s a good name, Mother.” Solace huffed a breath out and stood, tiptoeing closer until she could lean her haunches against Shadow and hum comfort.

Swift Shadow leaned back and closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, her heart felt lighter. The crushing heaviness of her grief lifted as if she and Solace were sharing the weight between them.

All things end and all things are eaten by the earth, but for now Swift Shadow had her solace.

 

* * *

About the Author

E.D. Walker, a native of Los Angeles, is the author of The Fairy Tales of Lyond Series that begins with Enchanting the King. E.D.’s short fiction has previously appeared in the USA Today bestselling anthologies Pets in Space 3 and Pets in Space 4. You can find her online at www.edwalkerauthor.com and on Twitter @AuthorEDW.

by Jordan Kurella

“Kitrita, queen of the wake, watched me as I watched the crow. Her hungry eyes (ever vigilant, always searching) cast disapproval over me.”

The crow was beautiful when she ate: all black sheen and viscera. Her beak slick with spoils as it tilted back, neck bulging, bulging with her quarry. The quarry meant for us. We vultures.

I watched her. We all watched her. This solitary crow, separated from her friends, her loved ones, her family. Her murder.

I wondered sometimes, if she were lonely. Solitary as she was. As I was lonely. Perched on this stone ledge, high above a narrow street with my own friends, my own loved ones, my own family. My wake.

My loneliness crushed my hollow bones. The pain of it echoed in the wail of the wind, the wind between the tall and huddled buildings. I felt it as I watched the crow, preening her feathers over the humans we’d intended to take as ours. The humans spilling out of the vehicles hemming either side of this narrow street; the humans scattered across the sidewalks, once warm in their winter coats, now strangled by their own scarves.

Kitrita, queen of the wake, watched me as I watched the crow. Her hungry eyes (ever vigilant, always searching) cast disapproval over me. So I shuddered. I shuddered to shake the wind away, the pain away, the loneliness away.

Was it possible to be lonely?  To be so shaken when shadowed by Kitrita. She who once called me her sister? Her favorite? Who told me she’d never let me go?

My heart told me it was.

As it ached for the crow.

* * *

“The world belongs to us now,” Kitrita said to me the next day as we fed on a once bustling city street, now strewn with corpses and bullet casings. This city we traveled to, when we heard the feeding was good. “It is our responsibility.”

On either side of us, buildings loomed with windows. Windows like mirrors. They echoed back to us the riches of the street below. Echoed back to us, us. Me, Kitrita, the rest of the wake, listening, listening. Coyotes some distance away, howling, howling. Crows in conversation above, cawing, cawing.

A single solitary crow once again captured my attention.

Kitrita once again watched me watching her.

But it was time to feed. My attention was now captured by the rip of fabric as Kitrita’s talons gripped firm around a human arm. She tore free cloth and cloth and cloth. Pieces of coat and patterned shirt. Then, the exposed human skin. A signal for the rest of us to eat. We would all follow her lead, all of us. Her bald head shining in the winter sun, red and glorious. Its sheen unmatched among the rest of us.

Kitrita would eat last, as she always did.

Even that day.

When I moved in to feed, Kitrita moved her great black body in front of me. Her white wing feathers marred by street filth. “No, Takrata,” she said. “None for you today.”

She looked to the crow, and then held her wings wide, blocking me from my quarry. My feeding. Blocking me from what she had won for me, for us, for all of us. What we had won together, she and I; what we had scouted. It would not be the last time she cast me out.

But I still had hope.

The feeding was good in this city, which it had not been in our travels here. The smaller towns we passed had been barren. Dotted by boarded up houses that smelled of delicious decay (but we could not get inside). Roads with vehicles on them with open doors, but the bodies too far gone for feeding. Destroyed by highway sunlight. Destroyed by coyote bitemarks, and others who’d come before.

This city was flush with corpses. Littered with carrion eaters. Littered now with Kitrita and her ire for me. I saw it in her eyes, in the way her body blocked me. Blocked me from feeding.

I heard it in the wail of the wind beyond.

Kitrita and I had once been one, together. She welcomed me into the wake. Called me her sister, her friend. But no more. Now the crow called out to me. She called once, before she left. Her voice a new music over the slash of beak against bone.

Kitrita had a cruel desire. One that’d become familiar; now taken from me. Her proud hisses and talon-like hold on my attention were gone. I was no longer welcome as her shadow.

All my affection tossed aside, for a few glances at a crow.

My reflection echoed back to me in a window now. A window beckoning me to the image of the wake feeding. Feeding to such finery. Their eyes sparkled. Sparkled as their necks tipped back with their spoils. But my eyes were not the same. They were dull, deadened by loneliness, by grief.

In the reflection, I was a filthy, discarded thing. Rotten and spoiled, as the wake fed. My red head hung low, its sheen cracked and dusty. The wake? With their slick beaks and hungry eyes? Jewels in comparison.

Takrata? Me? I crouched counterfeit to the side.

* * *

Winter sun arrived late and left early, but it was warmer now than it should be, so said Kitrita. This she knew from the stories. Stories passed down from wake to wake, from queen to queen. She was our guide and our keeper, and she had shut me out.

I had not eaten in two days.

The stories said that the city fell slowly, so slowly. Fell by lies told and believed, until one day, the world’s people could not feed each other any longer. So they fought. The world wanted to breathe, so said Kitrita. So it made the people angry. It gave itself back to us: its scavengers.

On the first day I saw the crow, she was listening to our stories. Her head tilted to one side, black eyes shining, blinking, curious. She was perched on a window sill with curtains still shut.

The details of a life so human, they remain. Long after those human lives are gone.

* * *

“Takrata.”

I heard my name whispered through Kitrita’s rasp of a throat. Through the carrion taste of her breath. Untucking my head from my wing, Kitrita was so close. Her beak could scrape mine in the sunlight. My own wing was no protection. I was now marred from street filth. Three days of scouting. Three days of not eating. Three days of Kitrita’s ire reflecting back, back at me.

“Takrata,” she said. “Go scout the northern end of the city, away from the water.”

She said, “I give this task to you, and you alone.”

Alone.

We do not scout alone.

I could see by the lack of hunger in her eyes that she did not want me anymore. She was banishing me from our balcony. Our balcony with trees that still held their leaves so deep in winter. Our balcony covered in our own down and other treasures we could carry.

It was done.

I would leave this place to find my own, if I could survive that long.

Setting to the sky, I saw the sun cresting just over the wide, wide river. It lit up the ripples in such brilliance. The sight set my heart rippling, rippling alongside it. The taste of the air on my tongue, the feel of the wind on my feathers. I was alone. Alone. I was no longer a shadow of Kitrita. The once fluttering beat I had felt in my throat for so long was now gone.

My heart had returned to my chest. It beat in tandem with my breathing. My wings took on a new steadiness. A steadiness as I soared, soared high over the river. Taking in the beauty, the beauty of what I had claimed: such calm, and such silence.

Such silence but for one solitary cry.

A crow’s.

* * *

Her name was Rak, and when she brought me to the train station (in the northern part of the island), we settled on a bench. We chatted until darkness. When the night grew cold, she curled against my wing. That first night, she tucked her beak into my feathers. Settled this way, she ran the crest of her head against the baldness of my own.

“I like this,” Rak said. “I like this. I was curious about this; about you.”

As the winter wind set in around us, I heard doves cooing together. Rak brought her smaller body close to me, her beak up to mine. They touched, our beaks. Hers black and beautiful and glorious. Clean, because she always kept it clean. Mine white and hooked. I ran it over the edge of hers for the feel of the smoothness of it.

It set my feathers to shuddering.

Shuddering now not to shake away this moment with Rak. But to keep it. To keep it close (with the wail of the wind singing in the hollow of my bones).

“I wanted this,” she said, her eyes closed. “I wanted this so much.”

We kept at it. We kept at it as the doves cooed, as the wind sang. As the night continued on despite us.

* * *

The world belongs to us now, Kitrita once said. Said to us on that city street. Before she cast me out. Before she denied me so much. But there is a weight to the words still. In my dreams, in my memory. She said, standing upon that human’s back, she said, It is our responsibility, yours and mine.

And it was, then. It was, at that time. But how, but how.

* * *

The train station was a sanctuary. To not only Rak and myself, to not only the doves and the sparrows, but to more. The station itself was a strangeness: Rak and I were a pair; mourning doves were mated in threes and fives; sparrows nested in their down with their pigeon partners. And most oddly, a coyote run had made its home inside the abandoned train cars. They offered their yawning doors to more than just themselves.

Among the motley tucked inside were two dogs. One, a golden retriever with a coat like copper, whose muzzle had long ago gone white. He limped up the stairs each evening, carrying food for the day, but not only for himself. For his friend, the three-legged basset hound. A basset hound with white-dotted spots and red-rimmed eyes. He had a howl so sad he made the mourning doves sing.

The groups of doves cooed together every night. Every morning a sparrow hopped alongside their pigeon partner. We were a home, all of us together. We misfits of the north.

And each night, Rak and I would return to our bench. Our bellies full of spoils, our talons full of treasures. Rak would curl her black body under my wings, both of us cleaned from winter rain and one-another’s grooming. We were no longer marred from the city; no longer marred from neglect.

We had one another.

We all had one another.

Mismatched as we were; loved as we were.

* * *

Winter continued. Seven times, the sun rose and set; for seven days the bodies lay in their slow, cold decay. We would have to move west, this I knew without the help of Kitrita, without the help of my wake. My knowing crept up on me; like the longer days had; like my happiness had. The things I’d learned from watching Kitrita, from being a part of the wake had transferred to me, to Rak and I as a pair.

I no longer needed those who no longer needed me.

Rak ate beside me, always beside me. She flew beside me, always beside me. She collected small treasures and returned with them to our bench at night: a plastic jewel here, a pretty stone there. Once, a ring. For me, all for me.

She wanted to be with me. And that want, that desire to be with me was greater than any false kindness that Kitrita had ever given. Ever once, ever ever.

On an afternoon where the sun shone bright and bold, Rak and I fed at a large park in the city, around a still pond. A still pond surrounded by concrete and abandoned food carts (the ground tacky with melt and rot). Toy boats lapped against the pond’s concrete embankment. Their white hulls and sails waving, waving, in the breeze. My talons pulled cloth and cloth and cloth away from a human leg, and Rak dove her beak to the flesh.

I always let her eat first.

The ghost of Kitrita only haunted me. I had banished her to memory; turned her into a phantom. A phantom held only in memory. A phantom that haunted me in my dreams, accompanied by the beating of so many wings, accompanied by her wake (my wake). I thought, I thought as I heard the hiss of her voice above me, calling out to me, from the blinding light.

A phantom. Only a phantom said, “Takrata.”

The phantom Kitrita said, “Takrata, you did not report back.”

But Rak looked up, black eyes blinking, blinking, blinking. Curious as ever. Not a phantom. Kitrita was here, surrounded by so many like her (my other brothers and sisters, my family, my wake). Her red bald head more glorious than ever, but her black feathers were dusty, unkempt. Her white feathers long ago gone grey and tattered.

She even looked like a haunted version of herself.

“We were waiting for you,” Kitrita said. A lie, her eyes not hungry, not wanting me. The wake loomed, watching us, wanting us. “We could have died. Selfish, Takrata. You’ll never change.”

And yet they were all hale from the bodies of the southern and central city.

Kitrita’s own eyes may not have been hungry, may not have been wanting me, but they burned with something else. Something I recognized in my own reflection in that fated window.

Kitrita’s eyes burned hot. Hot with jealousy.

* * *

The world belongs to us now, I remembered Kitrita saying. We scavengers, we cast offs, we carrion eaters. Those of us who pick up the leavings of those left behind. Those of us who were left behind.

Abandoned. Discarded. Cast aside.

It is our responsibility, she said then.

No. No.

It was mine. It was Rak’s. It was hers and mine.

* * *

One night as Rak was tucked beside me on our bench, I watched as the copper-furred golden retriever brought food for the basset hound, and the two curled up together. The basset hound’s back against the golden retriever’s belly. Then I watched as the coyote run returned for the night. As the last one went in, a younger one, an adolescent, I stopped her.

“Why do you allow the dogs to stay with you?”

The coyote shrugged, glancing at me, glancing at Rak.

“Why do you allow her to stay with you?” she asked back.

A fair question. One that deserved a fair answer.

“We’re stronger together, she and I,” I told the coyote. “She makes me better than I am alone, than I was before.”

The coyote grinned at me.

“Same,” she said. “Big same.”

* * *

The toy boats continued their undulant sway against the concrete embankment. Like them, Kitrita spread her wings and sent her shadow over us as she soared, circling us both. As if Rak and I were decaying things. As if we were already dead, or dead to her. Long cast out. Long forgotten.

But we were not.

Kitrita desired us both.

When she landed, she spread her wings wide. Dark, dark wings against the concrete. Against the waning sun. She was queen of the wake. She held the power here. Kitrita, my former sister, the one I looked up to, was now looking down at me. Her eyes once again hungry, wanting, desiring. Jealous.

“You did not return,” she said again. She hissed, and the wake hissed along with her.

Black tongues visible in their white, white beaks.

“You took up on your own,” she said. “You abandoned us. You abandoned me.”

The hissing stopped suddenly. Abrupt. Bringing with it a silence so thick with the smell of decay and pond muck that I could not quiet my mind. All I thought of was Kitrita. How she fed me, how she protected me. How she once told me that all she did (all she ever did) was for me.

But at a price.

I had not noticed (I did not notice) that Rak, in all her defiance, had walked up to Kitrita. Her sheen now black as rot in Kitrita’s forced shadow. Her beak was tilted up, head tilted to the side.

“But,” Rak said, “but Takrata didn’t abandon you. Did she? Did she?”

All attention was on Rak now. Kitrita’s and mine. She did not seem to mind. She stood as if the attention was what she wanted, what she sought out. She looked Kitrita over: the filthy white feathers, the cracked beak, the red sheen of her head. The wake became silent; they became shadows of themselves.

“You were the one who cast her out,” Rak said. “You. She did not leave on her own. You, you, Kitrita. You made her leave. You abandoned her. I took her in, we took her in.”

It was Kitrita’s turn to tilt her head now.

“We?”

“Yes,” Rak said. “Yes. We.”

* * *

“The world belongs to us now,” Kitrita had said once, as the humans had only begun to fight. “You and me, Takrata. It is our responsibility.”

Then, her eyes lit upon me with that same cruel desire I’d come to know as familiar. They’d been that way since she brought me into the wake with an outstretched wing and proud hiss. I was hers; I would always be hers.

And she made sure of that.

I did what she wanted, when she wanted. I was forbidden to do anything else. The wake followed in her stead; in our stead. As she and I soared high above the trees, high above the farmlands, she marveled at the beauty of our shadows.

“We will cut through this world like talons,” she said. “You and me, Takrata. You and me.”

But I was never such a thing: a talon, her destroying thing. My heart was never so sharp. My shadow always broken by a tree branch, by a sun shaft, by the reflection of a thousand windows.

I could never be what Kitrita wanted me to be. I had found another who matched me (not in size or feathers or beak) in generosity and spirit. But Kitrita had seen how my heart beat in my throat with Rak’s curiosity so near, so she had no choice but to cast me out. Now, as her own heartbeat did the same, standing so close to me, she remembered. She remembered why she kept me so close at all.

* * *

A howl pierced my concentration, one so sad it set a cote of doves to singing. Then, a cacophony of wings as birds surrounded Rak, surrounded me. The mourning doves, the sparrows, the pigeons, all of them. All of them coming to us, joining us. The familiar sound of the golden retriever’s heavy panting, the basset hound’s three-legged plodding, and the click-clack-click of the coyote run’s claws on concrete coming toward us.

We are stronger together.

We misfits of the north.

“What is this?” Kitrita asked. Jealous eyes now alight with fear. “What have you done?”

“Once,” I said, “I had a wake. You shut me out of it, banished me, tossed me aside. I was alone within it, but now? Now I am not.”

The wake shuddered: clattering of talons on their perch; a collective shudder of disapproval. Kitrita was also not alone, but her posture betrayed her: she spread her wings wide once more and hissed. Her hissing borne of fear and spite, her eyes pinned to the heartbeat I could see fluttering in her throat.

“They don’t want to attack you,” Rak said. “We don’t want to attack you.”

“Then what do you want?”

“To let us be,” I said. “To let us be and never come back.”

The undulant sway of the boat sails now danced to the coyote howls, the barking of dogs, the cooing of doves, the singing of sparrows. Kitrita did not wait. Her throat fluttered a dozen more times before she took wing. She soared off into the park’s trees, her once crisp shadow muted by dappled sunlight, cast into a thousand pieces by the winter sun.

With a second cacophony of wings, the wake, too, took flight.

Rak tipped her beak up to mine, so I brought mine down to meet it. This was what I wanted, this was where I belonged. Rak and I did this together, we all did this together. All of us.

But it was Rak, most of all, who was strongest.

* * *

That night after I brought back food for the coyote run as a gift (for the golden retriever, for the basset hound) Rak also brought me a gift. A coin with an eagle on it. Its wings were spread while it held arrows in one of its talons, a branch in the other. We sat close together on the bench, so close. Still, she nudged the coin to me closing the small space left between us.

“That’s you,” she said. “That’s you.”

“No,” I said.

I said running my beak along the crest of her black feathers. Running the hook of my beak across her sheen, through her down.

“No,” I said. “It’s both of us.”

 

* * *

About the Author

Jordan Kurella is a queer and disabled author who has lived all over the world (including Moscow and Manhattan). In their past lives, they were a barista, radio DJ, and social worker. Their work can be found in Apex, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and Strange Horizons. Jordan currently lives and writes in Ohio with their service dog.

Dear Papa Bear,

Ever since I started school, I always focused on the work more then anything. I always wanted to make my parents proud for all that they ever gave me. I didn’t even have that many good friends until high school, when I finally met a group. I was happy, but for college I decided to follow a full ride scholarship to a university states away. I thought it would be an easy adaptation and I would get many friends and good experiences here. But even without COVID-19, things have been rough.

With my experience here so far, I’ve struggled to make any friends in anything I thought I’d be remotely interested in, with me even joining a furry club. I haven’t felt a connection even close to the one I had with my friends back home, and at times even feel unwanted. While I can call my friends, I feel much more alienated to them the before, especially with me being the only one to go out of state for college. This feeling is starting to affect my drive for my grades, which is possibly a disaster, since I need to maintain a 3.5 to even keep my scholarship. Do you have any advice for not feeling so lonely when you’re having a really difficult time making connections?

Drew (age 20; live in Lincoln, NE for school; San Antonio, TX and Atlanta, GA for family)

* * *

Dear Drew,

Different states, cities, countries have different cultures. One might think there would not be a big difference, culturally between Texas and Nebraska, but it kinda depends on the part of Texas. Now, you are from San Antonio, which is a pretty happening city. You also mention Atlanta, Georgia, which is very different as well. Nebraska is very rural, for the most part. Now, if you were from the Texas panhandle, for example, you might have a closer cultural tie to Nebraska. Lincoln, Nebraska, is very much a "college town," which also has a different feel from, say, a big city like Atlanta.

So, a guess I have is that there is a bit of a cultural difference going on here that might be interfering a bit with your efforts to make friends. Also, just in general, it can be a challenge to make new friends in a new town compared to a place in which you grew up. One suggestion would be to see if you could find some fellow students who are from San Antonio or Georgia. Might be a bit easier to connect.

While having a healthy social life is important, the main reason you are in Lincoln is for school--and congrats on your scholarship, by the way. I'm also guessing that, once you complete your degree, you're not going to stay in Lincoln. I could be wrong, of course. But even if you do stay where you are now, your peers will change once you get a job. You will be switching from college buddies to coworkers, and by then (4 or more years from now) you may have adjusted more to being a Nebraskan.

Big adjustments such as the one you're making take time to acclimate to.  I remember my first year of college being rather lonely, but it got better in my sophomore year. Now, you're 20, so have you been in college a couple years? Or did you get a late start? If the former, you can tough it out for another year or two and then you will likely move when you find a job; if the latter, give yourself some time. Such big changes take a while to settle into.

Hugs,
Papabear

Dragget Show & Megaplex Online 2020! by Xander & Alkali Dragget Show & Megaplex Online 2020! - Dragget Show & Megaplex Online 2020! by Xander & …

八月轉眼間也進入尾聲了。不過別擔心，我們的夏日祭典還會一路持續到九月多，讓各獸在逐漸轉涼的夏日尾巴中也能繼續欣賞繪師們的作品！說到夏日祭典，許多獸的印象無非就是夏夜中熱鬧的祭典，然而祭典中怎麼能少的了精采的煙火呢？今天要帶給各獸的，正是 Rat Nako （慵懶日常） 筆下的《煙火》！ 看著絢麗的煙火以及畫中的主角們，不知道各獸是否也感覺自己正置身於夏日祭典當中。就讓我們一起欣賞 慵懶日常 的作品吧！

作者：Rat Nako （慵懶日常）

作品名稱：煙火

今天又回到海灘主題囉，跟昨天的圖一樣悠閒地躺著，只不過是今天是在烈日下的遮陽傘，閉上眼享受海浪跟戲水人群的聲音也是一種樂趣呢！這張圖是由小黑（Kyoupanneko）帶來的《夏之躺-四角》，讓我們再次回到海邊享受陽光沙灘帶來的氛圍吧！

作者：小黑（Kyoupanneko）

作品名稱：夏之躺-四角

Two stories this week are an antidote to a year full of doom, gloom, fire, fury, and not nearly enough hugs and smiles.

First: Possibly some of the peak publicity furry music has ever gotten! Then, a scaly monster stalks the streets of Portland… here’s hoping he does a Q&A for us.

As Portland cops stood around in their brawly-boy uniforms, a loudspeaker blasted them with a song about horse cock.https://t.co/DZxeeHGPJm

— The Stranger (@TheStranger) August 28, 2020

Let it be known, my song may be be blasted to support pro BLM, anti- police brutality purposes. I give permission.

Bonus points if played to cover up LRAD announcements. https://t.co/iSAUttCHdS

— PepperCoyote (@peppercoyote) August 27, 2020

Gorgeous moldmaking! @editorswindler @Oregonian @Oregonlive does the Sleestak have a Twitter? MORE MONSTERS IN FURRY FANDOM PLEASE :3 #PortlandSleestak #sleestakrocks #monsters #furries #furry #rawr https://t.co/aXHUmr20OL

— Dogpatch Press (@DogpatchPress) August 29, 2020

I found the mysterious creature’s email and reached out to learn more for furry news.

DEAR SLEESTAK:

Rawr. I saw and tweeted about you. Here’s what my news site does: https://dogpatch.press/about

If you’re interested, want to do a Q&A? You might enjoy one I did recently: “Very surprised and very grateful”: fursuit maker Beauty of the Bass talks about a $14,000 sale.

Here’s some of what I’m curious about:

• Can you talk about your background and your art influences?
• How does becoming the Sleestak feel when you’re in the moment doing a Sleestak Attack on the street?
• Do you have a monster family (like helpers, people you will go with, hosts for events, bands you go on stage with) and what are they like?
• Can you talk about the process of making him (and do you have any documenting, photo/video besides the short Oregonion video?) I thought it was especially creative to use the security camera domes for eyes.
• I have a few articles about advanced creature making. I think your work could really inspire some furry fans who stick to a colorful cartoon aesthetic. Could you say anything to them about making different or more monstrous creatures than their usual kind?
• Are you content being the Sleestak or will you do more creatures … or want to talk about other art you do for hire?
• Lastly, I’m curious about your place in Portland… the weirdness, the protests, and the troubled times we’re living in. How do you feel about being part of it?

Thanks,
Patch O’Furr

The Sleestak’s habit of popping out in the wild reminds me of why Street Fursuiting is my favorite thing. I’ve written about it often, and hope the creature speaks out (or hisses, or whatever) to brighten up these wild times.

Like the article? These take hard work. For more free furry news, please follow on Twitter or support not-for-profit Dogpatch Press on Patreon. Want to get involved? Use these subreddits: r/furrydiscuss for anything — or r/waginheaven for the best of the community. Or send guest writing here. (Content Policy.)

There is much excitement over at Animation World Network about the upcoming We Bare Bears: The Movie. “Cartoon Network will stage its biggest multi-platform movie premiere ever on September 12, debuting We Bare Bears: The Movie across eight WarnerMedia channels and apps in Asia Pacific, including Cartoon Network, Boomerang, HBO, HBO Family, Warner TV, as well as Korean channel Oh!K, which is also screening last year’s famous K-pop episode starring boy-band MONSTA X… In the run-up to the movie release, a three-week on-channel stunt with We Bare Bears episodes will see the spotlight fall on one bear a week; specially-curated episodes will celebrate the unique story, origin, and qualities of the furry trio.” As for the movie itself, it goes like this: “Life is good for this lovable trio. But when their love of food trucks and viral videos get out of hand, it catches the attention of the menacing Agent Trout from the National Wildlife Control, who pledges to restore the “natural order” by separating them forever. Chased from their home, Grizz decides there’s only one thing they can do to find refuge: move to Canada! The Bears embark on an epic road-trip filled with new friends, dangerous obstacles, and massive parties. But most importantly, the perilous journey will force the Bears to face how they first met and became brothers, to keep their family from splitting apart.” There’s a trailer at AWN, too.

image c. 2020 Cartoon Network

This week on Southpaws, we're still here, yay!? The world still sucks but there's a few good bits of news. LINKS FurryLife-  https://furrylife.online/ Deo's First Aid Kit thread -  https://twitter.com/DeoTasDevil/status/1298833586930348032   Telegram fan chat- https://t.me/joinchat/CGL2Zj9oiYOXuQPOJXOrsg 

Episode 472 - The Unknown - This week on Southpaws, we're still here, yay!?The world still sucks but there's a few good bits of news.LINKSFurryLife-  https://furrylife.online/Deo's First Aid Kit thread -  https://twitter.com/DeoTasDevil/status/12988335869

MOOBARKFLUFF! Click here to send us a comment or message about the show!

This week we welcome guest Patch O'Furr from Dogpatch Press, Taebyn graces us with his newest song, Bearly and Taebyn trade jokes and puns, and what does a ham sandwich have to do with math? Spend an hour with Bearly and Taebyn. It's the Furryest thing you can do today!

Support the show

Thanks to all our listeners and to our staff: Bearly Normal, Rayne Raccoon, Taebyn, Cheetaro, TickTock, and Ziggy the Meme Weasel.

You can send us a message on Telegram at BFFT Chat, or via email at: bearlyfurcasting@gmail.com

Bearly Furcasting #18 - Patch O'Furr, Taebyn's New Song, Ham Sandwich, Bad Puns

PBS has a new science and learning animated series set to premier soon. “This Labor Day, PBS Kids will debut their newest series, Elinor Wonders Why, giving families a chance to ‘travel’ coast-to-coast in Animal Town. The animated show encourages children’s curiosity, promoting science inquiry skills while kids learn about the natural world around them. The multiplatform series, created by cartoonist and robotics engineer, Jorge Cham, and physicist and educator, Daniel Whiteson, will debut nationwide on PBS stations, the PBS KIDS 24/7 channel and PBS KIDS digital platforms, Monday, September 7, with a special one-hour premiere that kicks off a week of new episodes. In the premiere, Elinor, the most curious and observant bunny rabbit in Animal Town, plays hide-and-go-seek with her friends and learns how animals hide in nature; she investigates a strange nighttime sound made by an owl and discovers what fascinating creatures do at night; she makes “Backyard Soup” with vegetables from her family’s garden; and sells lots of cupcakes by learning how flowers attract bees, through color and smell, and applying those concepts to baking.” Learn more and read about the creators over at Animation World Network.

image c. 2020 PBS Kids

最近清一色都是海灘或是日式祭典的圖，不知道大家會不會看膩了呢XD？那今天的圖可能會令大家耳目一新哦，是由萊米帶來的《漂流》。雖然不見強烈的夏日元素，但清涼的池塘、飄浮的荷葉與悠游的小魚們，以及圖中身著短袖短褲的角色，也讓人彷彿身臨現場，體驗到四周空氣的炎熱以及下方池塘不斷冒出的清涼氣息呢！一起在池塘中央的小船度過一個恬靜的午後時光吧～

作者：萊米

作品名稱：漂流

Lofi for falling in love with wolves and seducing queens. FOXES ONLY. Non-vulpines may be subject to hypnotism that reveals their true desires. Playlist by Ivic Wulfe, Editing&Mixing by Arrkay THE ARTISTS & TRACKS: Fox Amoore "Talking With Ghosts" https://foxamoore.bandcamp.com/track/talking-with-ghosts-rescuing-ghosts-edition Kevin North "The Crystal Caverns" https://soundcloud.com/audiblade/tracks Soundtrack from "La Roman de Renard" 1930 (public domain) Pepper Coyote "At Lease Not Yet" https://peppercoyote.bandcamp.com/track/at-least-not-yet-instrumental Teddy Wyinton "Timely Indecisive" https://www.furaffinity.net/view/12077432/ Sho Jinpa "Until Another Time" https://shojinpa.bandcamp.com/track/007-until-another-time Fox Amoore "City of Azure Light" https://foxamoore.bandcamp.com/track/city-of-azure-lights Watch the unedited original 1930 film (in french) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9y1a2gl2OM Merch, Sweet Tees and stuff: http://www.culturallyfd.com https://teespring.com/stores/culturally-fd-merchandise Support Culturally F'd: https://www.patreon.com/culturallyfd Plus a Newsletter: http://tinyurl.com/gsz8us7 Listen in on TEMPO TALKS with Tempe O'Kun https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIPk-itLl1jPyIK2c7mK-LpbvfDNqfcSW Check out Tempe O'Kun's books "Sixes Wild" and "Windfall" here: http://furplanet.com/shop/?affillink=YOUTU2907 Here's a playlist of his other Culturally F'd videos: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIPk-itLl1jPS7tnT4hdJwBI-CeLF8Kb_

Sábado, 22 de Agosto, 2020 de Nuestro Salvador Jesucristo, Guayaquil, Ecuador-Iberoamérica (Cartas del cielo son escritas por Iván Valarezo) Isaac’s SACRED-FLESH was born from our FATHER for you to see eternal life without sin on earth forever: Really: Our heavenly Father was

這幾天幾乎是全臺暴雨呢，望著灰濛濛的天空以及忽大忽小的雨，好像又沒有夏天的感覺了。沒關係，今天帶來了FancxyFox的作品，烈日與沙灘、搖曳的風鈴與清涼的冰品，絕對會讓大家回到那個眾所熟悉的夏天！

作者：FancxyFox

作品名稱：Foxy’s Summertime

On Sun, 23 Aug 2020 00:59:37 +0000 (UTC) Eli the Bearded <*@eli.users.panix.com> wrote: > Over in comp.sys.raspberry-pi a few days ago someone mentioned the > Andalusian Video Snail animation, but lamented he couldn't find it. I > found it, and a player called slowcat.c, but it didn't play

連續兩張圖都是日式風格的作品呢，今天的圖是由Attism Ender帶來，名為《深川八幡祭》的作品，嗯……光是聽作品名稱就非常的和風呢～那麼今天也繼續享受夏季夜晚的涼風以及人群的熱鬧吧！這種看似平常的畫面其實也非常幸福的呢uwu

作者：Attism Ender

作品名稱：深川八幡祭

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On August 25th I sat down with FuzziMutt! A most peculiar black woman born in Okinawa, Japan and sacrificed to a Shisa. Her fursona, in fact, is a Shisa, and given this is the official 10th episode of the show we've been blessed with her luck! 

As a former industry artist, she tells all about her experiences breaking her back in the industry. It's no surprise she went independent after hearing her story. She's also a jack of all trades not limited to just plushies or art. 

Needless to say we get into a discussion of how black women are treated in the industry as well. Implicit biases find ways to sneak their way down from systems into our everyday lives. 

Tune in to find out if black women can really save The United States of America!

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Interview With FuzziMutt - Black Women, Animation Industry, & Stuffed Plush