As it turned out, apparently he could, and X hadn’t just been speaking metaphorically about the whole time travel thing.
This was an exciting development.
Fyki had reached one webbed paw unassumingly out to touch the carved fish’s face, and rested his fingers against the sun-warmed, weathered stone of its nose, gently, reverently.
“...It’s a shame,” Fyki murmured aloud, “That you don’t live in the sea, with the other fish. Away from the sun and the plants. You’d never dry out and crack, and you’d be free to swim as you pleased…” He brushed at the stone, pawing away at the dust and dirt caked into the grooves of the carving, and letting it fall away into the dirty water below.
When he stopped, he saw that the newly visible surface was surprisingly clean beneath its grime coating. There was something there that seemed to almost have a shine to it.
“...X told me to watch over my island.” Fyki said to the statue, staring into its eyes, “And you’re a part of my island, too.”
Fyki watched the grass sway where X had soon recently stood, and the world seems very still. He was alone, now. Again. It didn’t bother him, exactly… Or did it? He wasn’t sure, and the unsettled feeling it left him with made Fyki all the more eager to walk back down the hillside to his boundary, eager for the familiar rush of the surf against the rocks, and the familiar faces of the crabs and snails that he’d grown so attached to since he’d woken up, floating in the water of the pool. And yet...
Part of him was pulling just as strongly to keep exploring, to keep sifting through the memories that the
“What are we?” is the first thing that Fyki can say, because he knows, he knows that this stranger, tall and dark, is the same thing as him.
It towered over him, its body balanced on long, elegant legs, head held high on a slender neck, framed by a wide ruff of thick fur. It looks almost like a heart, rimmed with golden ears of wheat that rustle gently in the sea breeze, not unlike the tail, which, like Fyki’s own, is a smooth plume of hair so long that it cascades down onto the stones of the garden, spilling out behind them like a waterfall.
Fyki stared imploringly into the new being’s eyes. Eyes he found to be v
A delicate balance, a ritual dance
Of give and take, of push and pull
While green and gray steal the other one’s chance
From the high noon sun to the bright moon full
Always shifting, never still
Built up and breaking down
Neither side can seem to eat their fill
From the mountains high, to the seas far down
But in this quarrel, between each bite
Each swipe at the other’s face
There may be found a curious sight
That asserts itself with grace
Between two extremes of lush overgrowth
And gleaming expanses of metal
There is, interplayed, a smooth overcoat
Of wonder, with stones and with petals
While cities conquer and forests recla