Big shadows. Fleeting light. The moon and a few torches. Someone coughs in the distance and a cold anger controls my limbs like a flesh puppet. I pass through a door into a low-ceilinged room. Smell of mold, smoke and burnt oil. I grab a shadow on the floor and lift it by the neck. A warm, thin, struggling neck. I slam it against the wall. I open my mouth to speak, but all I hear are distorted scrambles. I'm not sure what I'm saying. A streak of moonlight flashes over a wisp of red fur. I let it fall to the ground. The shadow yelps. I scream. Regret and spite. I spit on the ground. The moon's reflection decomposes into a fractal and my thought deconstructs with it. I... Big shadows. Fleeting light. The moon and a few torches. Someone coughs in the distance and... a great cold comes over me. I'm no longer afraid, but I'm tired. I'm back where I started, but I'm not the same.

  ***

  Pastel wakes up in the morning shadows. The river shimmers with the rising sun's bouncing reflections. He sees Yeen, naked and tiny, cooling off in the water. Pastel gets up and joins him."We're arriving at a trading post tomorrow." Yeen said to Pastel, who was walking beside him towards their rough camp. Shaking off the ants that had gotten into the tunic he'd left on the ground, he continued: "I've got a few things to sort out there, then I'm going to take a boat down the index to Ternoulie. It'll be quicker and safer than on foot. You can come aboard with me if you still want to go... continue your quest. Afterwards, though, we'll have to say goodbye because, well, I've got other things to do."

  "Going down the index?"

  "That's the river we're going along today, the ash index. It's the northern branch of the river called the ash hand, which is over there, remember? It comes down from the white ash mountains... "

  "Ah! That's nice. We call them the ivory swaths. Because they're the fossilized vertebrae of the World Creature. But then, that's what the elders say."

  "Hmmm hmmm" Yeen replied simply, casting an oblique glance.

  They walked on a narrow path along the tumultuous index. Yeen explained to Pastel that the index was navigable only from the trading post. "In fact, the trading post is there precisely because it's the furthest west of the index where we can navigate. We're going to start seeing people, so you... don't touch that!"

  Pastel had brought his hand close to a strange pattern on the smooth bark of a tree. It looked like veins running from the ground up to a branch where you could see a kind of red bulb, like the earth at her feet.

  "Watch out, dammit! Those are termite ducts! If you disturb them they'll climb on you and eat you from the inside as they enter through your holes."

  "I thought the tree had veins or something."

  "This is the jungle, boy. You'll have to learn that life here is a bit more dangerous than on your little steppes. What would you have done if I hadn't found you? I feel like I'm chaperoning a child. A hunter, he says... I would have heard everything."

  Yeen finished speaking, resuming his walk at a faster pace. Pastel continued on his way, striving to walk in the center of the path with renewed awareness. The vegetation around him was nothing like that of the steppes. He'd seen forests before, but they were little more than thickets of stubby trees. As they made their way down the river and away from the mountains, the vegetation quickly became impressive. The canopy grew higher and higher, and the flora became denser and denser. To the night crickets were now added the howling of beasts and the tangled song of thousands of birds, whose appearance Pastel could only imagine.

  He remembered the whistling his clan used on the steppes to communicate over long distances. In the clamor of the jungle, his whistle wouldn't carry very far. Pastel was both amazed and aware that this density of life made him almost claustrophobic, a sensation he'd never felt before. Even in the narrow valleys of the ivory swaths.

  From the cold escarpments of the mountains, his mind suddenly drifted back to the long shadows of his dream, which he had hitherto forgotten. He looked at the gnoll's back as he walked nimbly ahead, dodging vines and adventurous ferns with agility. Why did he have the feeling that, like the dream of the burning houses, he'd been dreaming again... being Yeen.

  "It was only a dream." Pastel thought as he thought of the stone, answering a concern he didn't even want to verbalize with his inner voice.

  They walked in relative silence, occasionally exchanging a few words. Ever since Pastel had come so close to discovering a forced intimacy with termites, Yeen had been pointing at dangerous elements and mumbling.

  "Spider hole", 'Electric mouse', 'Poisonous snake', 'Flying needles', and so on.

  They slept on the bank again, and the next day Pastel began to notice that the trail was widening. Suddenly, an opening appeared in the trees, revealing large rectangles of water from which young plants with thin green stems were emerging at regular intervals. Rice paddies. The clearing, made just upstream of a greater difference in altitude, opened up a viewpoint towards the immensity of the forest and, a few kilometers further on, a small agglomeration of tents, small wooden buildings and rectangular rice paddies that reflected the sky, as if windows had been carved out of the forest towards a second azure. Pastel stopped walking, amazed. "This is incredible!"

  "Don't stop walking or you'll get noticed." Yeen said without stopping. A little further on he turned back to Pastel and said in a low voice: "Listen. I understand you're not used to this sort of thing, but please try to be discreet. Here. Here's enough change to buy you something to eat and a hammock somewhere. Okay? Always ask the price and negotiate, okay? God, I feel like I'm with a child."

  Yeen, nervous, looked over his shoulder.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yes, yes. I've got stuff to do, okay? I'll meet you at the dock tomorrow at dawn." He started walking again, clearly annoyed.

  Pastel, for his part, felt vexed at having been so cavalierly abandoned, but as the intuition that Yeen was hiding things from him grew inside him, so did a worry. Perhaps he shouldn't go with him to Ternoulie. The small protuberance of the stone under his arm became more noticeable. He started walking again. He had been trying to talk to the stone for months. But more and more, he was getting stranger and stranger impressions and, above all, dreams... Was this the voice of the stone? Impressions? If so, it was hardly good news, for it inspired nothing but confusion and contradictory feelings. Dreams in which he felt sometimes good and sometimes bad, anxious, in love...

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  "But who wouldn't be confused in such a situation, Pastel?" He thought as he approached the trading post, whose bustle was growing. "Mamalou, perhaps... a true steppe priest would know how to talk to the stone." Yeen, ahead of him, turned briefly, winked and gave him a nervous smile before disappearing behind a stall.

  "At least he deigned to smile at me before running off." Pastel thought as he continued to approach, suddenly intimidated by the crowd in front of him. Here was the equivalent of several times his clan. The atmosphere was comparable to the trading ceremonies where, a few times a decade, the clans of the steppes gather to exchange, discuss and celebrate.

  Jars of all sizes, crackling cauldrons, children begging and stealing, dancers, baskets overflowing with fruit, spices, nuts, grains and, of course, rice. Pastel was captivated not only by everything around him, but also by those around him. Deer, monkeys, wolves, dogs, panthers, cats, tigers and even fowl, large silhouettes with shimmering plumage moving among the stalls. He walked down what appeared to be the main aisle of the trading post. Hanging animal carcasses, covered with swirling flies. Some of them were of similar proportions to conscious creatures, which greatly disturbed Pastel. He approached. "Excuse me, what's that?"

  "Slotho?d, primed this morning. 15 pieces for a flank!" Answered the butcher, a boar with glossy black pellage.

  "Slotho?d?"

  "It's a local specialty! It's all the rage in Siranopolis! You won't find it any cheaper than here! It's the bestial and very distant cousin of the sloth. They're even the ones who hunt it!"Pastel stepped back, confused. He imagined a fox killing another fox, hardly more bestial, with a spear, yelping in pain. "It's nightmarish," he murmured.

  The butcher burst out laughing. "Welcome to the jungle, pal hahaha!"

  Pastel set off again, his stomach suddenly weak. On the plains, fox clans lived with herds of animals radically different from themselves. Sure, they had wool, fur, limbs and a muzzle, but not much more. They'd been living together on the plains since the dawn of time, respecting each other, and the foxes hunted them to survive, with strict respect for the necessities and dignity of the beast. But would they have deigned to eat... foxo?ds?

  Just then, in the crowd, he met the gaze of a fox. A real female fox. Pastel yelled, his heart pounding. She disappeared. "Wait!" Pastel ran as best he could through the crowd, despite the exasperated stares. Narrowly avoiding a caravan of large green vegetable, he stopped, out of breath.

  "Be careful! My cabbages! You spoil them, you pay!" Shouted a little old dog."Leave the little one alone, old Melouzo, he hardly breathed over your cabbages." shouted a voice. Pastel turned his head and saw a dark-furred dog standing in the doorway of a wooden building.

  "How are you? Do you look troubled. You're not from around here, come on." She entered the building, disappearing into the gloom.

  "I..." said Pastel, not bothering to finish his sentence. In the middle of the road, as the cabbage merchant walked away, he put his hands on his hips, looking around. There was no trace of the fox. Finally, he entered the building.

  It looked much more spacious from the inside. Wooden shutters filtered the incoming light, casting a cool half-light over the space. The floor was made of woven ferns and small tables were scattered around, in front of a counter. Around twenty people were drinking from small clay goblets, eating and chatting in hushed tones. In a shady corner, a young dog was laughing while petting a huge black panther. Behind a half-open curtain could be seen a series of hammocks perched in the shadows, some of them looking occupied.

  "Come on, sit down" invited the warm woman as she took a seat on the floor near a small table. She glanced towards the counter and a few seconds later, a young boar placed two goblets containing a clear liquid on the table.

  "Thank you very much!"

  "I'm Mezran, hostess of this inn, who sees those who venture into these lands come and go... but I've never seen you..."

  "I am Pastel, son of Batto and Marrinelle of the firefly clan..."

  She interrupted him. "A refugee from the steppes, right?" Her gaze slid quickly over his facial features and down his body. "A fox... but not quite, is it? I know dog's blood when I see it, especially when it manifests itself in such a lovely way."

  Pastel had barely caught the compliment, so focused was his attention on the two words "steppe refugee."

  "Do you know any? Can you help me? I'm looking for my clan. I was going to Ternoulie because it was a rendezvous point we'd given each other and..."

  "Calm down, and have a drink." The woman took a sip from her cup. Pastel imitated her before choking.

  "It's sugarcane alcohol. The region's specialty. Tell me, what do we drink on the steppes?"Pastel hesitated. He looked into Mezran's grey eyes. He didn't understand her intention. There was something feigned in his friendliness and evasive answers. He decided to play along."No, we... we drink honey wine. There are lots of flowers in the steppes and lots of bees."

  "Ah I've got a bottle of honey wine! Would you like some?"

  "Really? That would be... it's been a very long time since I tasted any!"

  The dog smiled with all her white fangs. "It's a pleasure, Pastel, but I have a small favor to ask of you." The boar placed a small clay container covered in dust on the table, accompanied by a small packet of sticky rice, squeezed into a large green leaf. "You see, here... this is a place of exchange. It's a trading post, after all. We exchange goods, food and often much more.... "She winked at the young fox, who blushed wordlessly.

  "And here, we exchange another kind of thing: information. Look around you. This is what people have come to exchange. I'm sure it's similar on the steppes, isn't it? Information is sometimes very valuable." She uncorked the opaque bottle with one hand and filled the small cup with Pastel. The liquid was amber and gave off a sweet, floral scent.

  "So, here's what I propose. I'll offer you this honey wine and rice, and I'll share with you some information about the steppe refugees, and in exchange you tell me a little about yourself. Quite simply. Is that okay?" She noticed Pastel's hesitant gaze and laid a hand on his own."I can hardly imagine all you've been through, and I am incredibly curious. But to help you properly, there are several things I need to understand."

  "Okay." Pastel replied, looking around. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. He was settled in the cool shade of a small local tavern with a drink and a meal. He could probably trust this female dog. Besides, the stone hadn't given him any bad... impressions so far.

  "What... are you interested in?"

  "You can start by answering my first question. You've got some dog in you, don't you? It's subtle but undeniable."

  "Yes... I've always been told I'm more like my mother than my father.... My father is a dog. He was a merchant from these parts. A long time ago, he came with others, but they were caught in a storm and his companions drowned in a passing stream... Streams of water that appear for the duration of a shower, before disappearing. It's very dangerous if you don't recognize the patterns. Anyway, he survived - my father, that is - and my clan nursed him back to health, and he never left. He says it was as if the clouds had called to him.... "

  The dog listened intently. "It's an incredible story. And here you are now... and where's your father now?"

  Pastel looked down at his cup and replied laconically, "He's dead."

  He didn't see Mezran's lips tighten, as if in frustration, before she gave him a sympathetic look and patted him on the shoulder.

  "I'm so sorry... and how did he die? If you don't mind my asking, you don't have to answer if it's still sensitive..."

  "Drowned. In the mountains. there was a passage that was only practicable by pirogue. It was a mistake. I'm the only survivor. There were also..." Pastel showed his fangs, expressing his pain."There was also my uncle and other members of my clan and the High Grass clan."

  "Oh, and the rest of your family... wait. Excuse me, but could you tell me all about it? I've only heard rumors about what forced your people into exile. It's quite... hard to believe. Would you?"Pastel sighed and nodded. Since he wanted to avoid talking about the stone, he decided to start his story after the solstice ceremony.

  "At first, it was only rumors... The buffalo hordes had changed their course. Representatives of the western clans had come to warn us. This confirmed an intuition... among our elders. An intuition that something terrible was about to happen. Then came the first raid."