Joyce Frohn

Joyce Frohn is married with a teen-aged daughter. She has been published in "Page&Spine", "An Anthology of Hate," and many other places. She has two cats, a lizard, chickens, and a Patreon account.

A Good Trip With a Friend

Joyce Frohn

Issue 56, Spring 2019

I sniff noses with all my kin one last time. It’s time for me to take that long walk away. This last journey must be alone. Food doesn’t taste good and all my bones ache. The deer are too fast and the world has been getting fuzzy. Better to do it now before it gets colder.

I walk away from the pack. It isn’t good to die too close to the family. I’ll head into the woods.

My lungs feel like I’ve walked for miles when I’m a little way into the woods. With my vision fuzzy and even my hearing not like it used to be, I hope there aren’t any bears around. I want to go gently to the running ground and beyond. But it’s getting hard to lift my paws.

My nose isn’t half dead and I smell danger. One of those humans. I duck behind a tree and concentrate. Then I see it, against another tree. Those icky pink paws, the stiff hair on the head, the layers of that cover they keep changing and all of it full of smells of smoke, dead animals and --and it’s an old one. Maybe as old as I am, and hurt. I move closer. It can’t move well with that leg leaking blood.

“Wolf.” It barks. I freeze. It almost sounds like it’s trying talk to me. I turn my head so my good ear faces it. “If you’ve come to finish me off, hurry up. It hurts.”

I can’t understand it. But it doesn’t seem to have any weapons. I whine in confusion. I wish it could talk.

It tilts its head. “You want food. You must be as old as I am. You’re kin kick you out, too?” It paws through layers of stinky stuff and pulls out some bits of meat. Old dried meat. “You want this? I can’t eat it any more. Not enough teeth.” It holds out the meat in its paw.

I move close and suck a bit of dried meat out of the pink paw. The meat is really dry. I shift it around my mouth and chew it down. The wind shifts and blows cold. I shiver.

“Cold?” It barks again. “Me, too. Maybe we keep warm better together.” It opens up some of those layers. The smell is stronger but not too bad. Not worse than some things I’ve rolled in. I move closer. One leg over one of its legs and then I settle with my head on the other leg. It’s warm. It pulls some of those layers over my body and it’s almost like I’m in a small den.

One of his naked paws runs along my body. I shudder for a moment. The ends of those feel so strange. Then it reaches the back of my neck and oh, that feels good behind my ears. I reach out to lick a paw in thanks. For a while we just lie together.

I feel a cold settling inside of me and my feet twitch a bit. I feel the running ground coming close. The warmth seems to be leaking away from him, too.

I shut my eyes and see it. The flat stretch of the running ground that I go to every sleep and beyond, the rainbow bridge. It won’t be long now.

He makes another sound. “I don’t know where you’re going. Going to see all your old friends?” There’s a shiver. “Don’t know what’s worse. Some cloud and playing a damn harp all day or Hell with all my friends. Wish I could go somewhere with all the wild things. Stay in the woods forever.”

He smells afraid. Don’t humans go over the rainbow bridge, too? I reach out and grip his paw in my teeth; it’s skin and loose bones.

He moans a little. “Now, you’re going for me?” His body shudders for a moment.

Our spirits rise up from our bodies at the same time and I keep hold of his spirit as I lead him to the bridge. It’s good to go with a friend.