Page 57 of Claim the Light
Her eyes are wide and her nostrils flair as she watches me approach.
It’s her fear that could be most dangerous to me.
If she kicks or tries to ram me with her antlers, she could hurt me, and I have no guarantees that my scales will protect me from her.
Between her antlers and her hooves, there isn’t really a safe direction to approach her. I could circle around to her back, but then she wouldn’t be able to see me and could panic even more.
I veer to the left, crouching low and taking it very slowly, as I approach in the direction of her forelegs—aiming for the spot between her head and chest.
Holding my left hand out as I move, I make shushing noises. “It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
She won’t be able to understand me—well, I assume she can’t—and hell, I could recite times tables and it probably wouldn’t make a difference to her, but she seems to respond to the calm tone of my voice.
She watches me with a little less panic.
In the next moment, her body writhes again, and whatever fear she feels for me appears to be overtaken by her distress.
“How can I help you?” Again, I don’t expect an answer or for the answer to magically appear to me, but it makes me feel better.
I consider her body from my current distance, but it’s impossible to see from the outside what might be wrong. It’s not like I trained as a vet or grew up on a ranch to understand how a horse-deer-creature might give birth or what sorts of complications could arise.
Making contact with her body is my first step—and certainly the most dangerous for me.
Reaching forward, I ready myself in case I need to leap back or spread my wings and fly.
Inch by slow inch, my arm extends toward her upper foreleg.
Her hide is softer than I was expecting. It feels like green grass warmed in the sun, and I’m instantly flooded with the scent and feel of summer. Early mornings before it gets too hot and the sunlight is gentle. Glimmers on my cheeks. Earth beneath my feet.
For a long moment, I stay there, my arm extended and my eyelids drooping with the heady sensation of beingalive.
It’s only when the deer moves a little that I realize how close I’ve leaned in to her body.
It’s reckless, but she hasn’t attacked me, so I lower myself further, my hand stroking along her side as far as I can reach, my fingertips brushing the edge of her belly.
The movement brings my chest to hers and my head to her neck. I rest there lightly, using my stomach muscles to stop myself from becoming a weight on her neck and side.
It’s like resting on a grassy meadow.
I’m aware of the way Micah has frozen nearby, seeming caught between the need to surveil our surroundings and keep watch over me.
I want to reassure him, but I can’t break this connection with the deer.
She hasn’t fought me or tried to shake me off. She hasn’t panicked. The longer I maintain contact with her, the calmer my heart grows.
I can hear her heartbeat, steady and strong, and sense the way her muscles are working hard to deliver her baby into the world…
No, make thatbabies.
There are two of them, surrounded in fluid, but both are positioned butt-first. I don’t know a lot about giving birth, but I know that butt-first is bad news.
I close my eyes and listen to her body, the same way I expanded my senses to dispel the water from Micah’s and Beatrix’s chests, distinguishing the different liquids within her. Blood, powerful and strong. Fluid, life-giving and now… potentially life-saving.
This water, like the river water, will obey me.
I’m sure of it.
Swirl, I tell it.Churn gently but firmly. Turn the babies around.
