by catt dahman
She immediately forgot what that meant. The idea slipped away like mist.
The adults stalked out of the last door and into a cave. Their noses told them humans had been there once, and there were still bodies, lying in a corner under rocks: humans, and a creature like them, a female. A man smelled familiar as well.
The young ones, more troodon than human, followed. They were ill-behaved children, not as intelligent and curious as were the failed experiments that combined human DNA with troodons. The adults ignored the small ones as they sniffed around, chittering with interest and the giddiness of freedom.
The female looked at daylight for the first time in scores of years, savoring a genetic memory of the cave they were in and being different many years ago. She thought of pain. She gazed at the sun; against its bright light, Audrina squinted her green eyes closed and walked out of the cave.
With the rest, the creature chose a path, fortunately away from the humans living in Asgard’s cave, but she would later examine memories and scents that told of history and adventure. Later, she would remember a man, and while she wouldn’t remember his name was Shimei, she would recall his face.
Later, she would find him again.
(Fort Worth 2013)
