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The dense temperate forest was dim and cool with the shade of early autumn's late afternoon. An aesthetic, functional, self-sustaining, slowly-but-ever-changing wonder of the world, it teemed with life of every terrestrial category. And the young dragon now wandering the area was thirsty, itchy from insect bites, and lost. He paused for the hundredth time, surveyed his surroundings for the thousandth time, and cursed to himself for the millionth. In a way, he knew exactly where he was: four days from anything resembling a landmark. He'd had a flash of hope the previous day when he remembered moss grew on the north side of trees, but this place was so lush that the moss seemed to have settled anywhere it could take hold, irrespective of cardinal direction. And the foliage made sunlight diffuse and directionless, so that was out. If only dragons had wings. Not that it mattered what direction he was going; once he realized the extent of his disorientation he simply chose one direction to keep to until he died or ended up... somewhere. Anywhere. He'd been toying with the idea of not returning home since he'd set out.

Why not use this as an excuse to leave for good? he now thought. I'm not lost. Maybe I'm escaping. Ha! Renewed in purpose, the dragon took a defiant stomp forward--into mud. Damn.

So much for a positive attitude, thought the dragon, pulling his right foreleg out and sitting down to better rub the mud off on the forest floor's carpet of leaves. It was thick and tenacious, and he was about to give up, thinking Who out here cares if I have a muddy leg?, when he noticed something unusual. He returned to where the hole left by his leg was nearly closed and tentatively placed his left forepaw on the surface. It's... warm! Why? He thought. Hadn't he heard, from Uprights who came to teach school in his village, that there were pockets of hot gases deep below that could leak to the surface? An image of a volcano entered his mind, a mountain belching sinister smoke clouds. And a more innocuous and analogous thought: that of a hot springs, with bubbles and a sulfur smell. Had he found one of his very own, in such an unlikely place, simply by accident? No. This feels too cool for that. And there are no bubbles here, and no smell!

The dragon had an idea. He gathered some small branches and marked the edges of the mud patch. When he finished circumlocuting he was left with an approximately circular area, covered with leaves and indistinguishable from the ground around it, about four times his body length in diameter, and hock-deep, at least at the edge. Big enough to throw a party in, he thought.

He'd never played in the mud. Even as a young dragon he'd been fastidious, scolding his best friends like their mothers might if he came upon them rolling and wrestling in the dirt after a rainstorm. He knew many animals liked mud baths. Why? Could it get them clean? That seemed counterintuitive. To keep cool? Or warm, if the mud was like what he'd found? But cleanliness and temperature control were the furthest things from the dragon's mind right now. Right now he needed a way out of the forest. Or, failing that, something, just something, to for now keep the bugs away, the torturous itching-- and then it dawned on him.

Yes! Why didn't I think of it before? The mud pit now looked as welcoming as a lover's open arms. The dragon stepped cautiously just past the sticks he'd laid down. One by one his legs sank in. It was soft, wet, warm. It's dirty, but it feels kinda nice, he thought, wiggling his toes. He lifted his paws out and thrust them, squelch, back down in. He watched the dark earth slowly close over them. Almost hypnotic. But the itching bites drew him from this fascination. It was time for a bath. The dragon held his breath, knowing he would need to cast off some deeply held inhibitions if he really wanted to get the messiest he'd ever been in his life, and plopped down onto his belly.

"Oohmm!" He was surprised at his sudden vocalization. There was the immediate sensation of relief, though maybe not as much as if the mud had been cool. He wiggled his belly around experimentally, covering a bit more of him with the stuff and sinking a bit deeper. He was half-covered with mud but all-covered with itchy bites. With a grunt he rolled over onto his back. "Mmmmmmhah! Ahhhhh..." So good. He scooped up pawfuls of warm muck and slapped them onto his stomach. He massaged himself, spreading it all around. He nearly squealed as he even got it down between his thighs and over his groin. Perfection! Bliss! In ecstasy he closed his eyes and brought his muddy paws to his face. All over, ooh yes, no more itchies oh no moooore. He realized he was groaning these words aloud when he got a bit in his mouth, but he didn't care. Snout, chin, cheeks, neck, ears, forehead. Soon all was covered.

There was only one place left to coat with the lovely stuff. The young dragon struggled back into a standing position. I must not even look so different, he thought, with his natural mottled coloring of dull green and brown like mossy earth. He raised his tail, and positioned it carefully. Then he shoved himself over backwards, and got a surprise.

The dragon's tail penetrated the muck as easily and quickly as lightning slides through the air. He found himself rump-deep in the ground. He wiggled his tail. It was even warmer deeper down! He leaned forward and wrenched his tail free. It made an oddly attractive shhhhhhlorp. He turned quickly and gazed down to watch the wet hole fill back in. He knew he was addicted now. He needed more mud. He put both hind legs into the opening made by his tail, leaned back, and began to slide in.

"Oh! Ah. Mmmmmmm." The muck heaved and made delicious squishing sounds as it was displaced by his body. Over his hind legs it went. It seemed to grasp at him. He wiggled until it swallowed his hips, his groin. He decided to stop when it was halfway up his stomach.

He felt around the surface with his paws. There were a few inches of mud, that he'd rolled around in earlier, but under it was a layer of dry, hard earth that he'd broken through with his tail. Like a membrane. Below it was the hot stuff currently molding itself to the lower half of his body. It felt wonderfully womb-like. Almost sexual. Could... could I? Why not? He hadn't played with himself since he'd set out. There was nobody around to bother him, and the forest swallowed sound. He'd be able to moan and talk dirty and scream out with how good it would feel to release the week of dragon seed his groin now seemed laden with. He didn't know if he could make it until he found home again.

He began to buck his hips slowly and carefully so as not to sink further. The lips of his genital slit parted and out came his erection into the mud. There, he thought, now I'm completely covered. He kept rolling and rocking, sliding his cock back and forth through the hot slick muck, hardening it further. He pulled a forepaw down below and gave himself a few experimental strokes in this new environment.

"Lonely, are we?" said a female voice.

The dragon yelped and thrashed but was stuck. His penis wilted rapidly. Where did that voice come from? He turned his head every which way but saw no one. "I-I'm not lonely! I was just enjoying the solitude. Relaxing with a mud bath." Play it cool. She might be pretty. "You're welcome to join me. Feels great! It's warm, even."

"Oh, I know," the voice said. "One might even say it is my mud."

Where is she?, the dragon thought. "What do you mean? Mud doesn't belong to anybody, especially this deep in the forest. And you're not even using it anyway! It's all covered over with leaves, and even starting to dry out! You call that maintenance? You should be thanking me for churning it up a little!"

The voice laughed a hearty yet knowing chuckle, and it was as though a wind gusted through the forest, making the sunbeams waver and wink through foliage of crimson and gold. The dragon started and shrank. What was that? How did she do that? "What was that? How did you do that?" he said. Then he had a thought. "You must just be some Upright with some kind of blowing machine, playing a trick on me."

"Unlikely," came the voice. "'Especially this deep in the forest,' in your words. I do love playing a good trick, though, at least once or twice a century. It reminds everyone just who is in charge."

"'A century'? 'In charge'? Come on. Come out! Stop hiding and lying. I want to see you. I haven't seen another dragon in a week!"

"Ah! So you are lonely, then?"

"No, not particularly. I told you."

"Forgive me. So that must not have been your manhood you were just now handling so wantonly."

Oh my God. The dragon's heart began to patter, and he blushed under the mud. "How-- no. You took a lucky guess, that's it. You saw my paw go under and assumed the worst, little-miss-dirty-mind."

"I saw nothing. I cannot see you so well at all, because of the trees. My eyes are in the clouds."

Well, that's it, the dragon thought. She's crazy. How far does it go, I wonder? "Really! Wow. So your tears are the rain, I suppose."

"Yes. The land is my body, the grass my hair, the trees my hands, the very air my voice, as you witnessed. The flowers are my ears and insects whisper secrets into them."

"Uh huh. So what's all this then?" said Oak, gesturing with a muck-caked forepaw. "Your butthole?"

Without warning the mud lurched and yanked the dragon under, into the blackness of earth. He clawed for the surface, but knew it was futile. The exertion made agony of his lungs. With the last of his air he got out only a racking sob of apology to this bigger thing than himself he'd dared to doubt, and then gave up, hanging still and waiting for oblivion to claim him.

But before the last ember of his consciousness could cool, the dragon felt the mud move around him, and then the distinct sense of emerging, miraculously, reborn. Reflexively, he inhaled, and the air hurt the lungs he thought had been emptied for the final time. He was alive and aware. But how? He heaved several times, waiting for the pain to fade, and then spoke in a voice that cracked like it was new.

"You're... who... you did that. Oh my god. Why did you-- I mean-- sorry. Thank you. For not killing me. I... I want to know who you are. What you are. If it's not too much trouble."

"You may call me Mother."

"Ha! Some mother you are, almost killing me like that!"

"I have been known to kill, it's true," the voice admitted, a touch gloomily.

"Well, don't. Please! And you didn't answer my question. I already have a mother. Who are you really?"

"I told you the truth. I am Mother, not your mother. I am the mother of all things. I am the world."

The dragon was silent.

"Do you not believe me?" Mother said, and the dragon felt a coiling motion around his hind legs.

"Ah! No! Nonononono don't! I do believe! I believe and I love you!" The motion stopped. "Oh. Okay. Okay. Th-thank you. It's just, it's a lot to take in. That's... that's good actually. Really good, in fact! If you're who you say you are, then you probably know the way out of here."

"This forest is finite; any direction taken long enough will lead you out of it."

"Uh, Mother? Again, not helpful. I need to get back to my tribe. We're at the southernmost point of the forest. And I'll starve before long."

Mother rumbled of what might have been gentle contempt. "What predator could starve in a place such as this? The birds may be out of your reach and the deer may outmatch your stamina, but there are all manner of little rabbits, rodents, and lizards to be had."

"I can't catch them. I mean, I might be able to," the dragon explained, "but I won't. I don't want to. It's too cruel, to cause pain and fear and death just so I have something to eat. I've eaten a couple dead birds and rats, and leaves and grass, but that's it."

"I understand. Some simply cannot stomach certain aspects of my creation. Such is the purpose of civilizations like the Uprights'. I do not hold it against them. But then tell me, child, why are you so deep in the forest if you are not prepared to survive?"

"I'm looking for a mushroom."

"Oh? Something rare, for medicinal purposes perhaps?"

"No." The dragon sighed heavily. "Ritual."

"Ah! A fascinating thing; can you describe it?"

"I guess. Every male in my tribe, when they come of age, is sent into the forest, or if they're reluctant like I was, chased into it by the strongest adults. There's a mushroom that grows, in a location kept secret by the males, a few days along a faint but distinct beaten road we call Our Path. Like everyone else for thousands of years, I'm supposed to find two mushrooms, purple ones with yellow warty spots, and bring them back. Then everyone votes on a female, and then that night they light fires and gather around her and me, and we take a mushroom each. It'll make us desire each other above all else, and give a better chance of conception. So we... mate... while everyone we know... watches..." The dragon's voice faltered. The mud had begun to move about him a bit, pushing against his shoulders and back, almost like some kind of massage. It was not unpleasant, but it was unwarranted attention of uncertain intention from a source he did not quite trust. "Mother?"

The mud stopped, too suddenly, as if Mother knew she'd been caught. "Ahem. What-- what is your name, child?" she asked.

"It's... well, it's Oak. But I don't like it much."

"Oh, but the oak is among the noblest of trees! Sturdy, stately, enduring. Oak, you are on a rite of passage. All cultures have them. They can be dangerous and pointless; yours is neither. You should consider--"

"I wasn't finished! It is dangerous! Some of the-- some of the mushrooms, or, or some of the dragons, or sometimes when a dragon eats a mushroom, something happens. Other than getting horny and fertile. Sometimes you see things. And think things. Things that don't make any sense. Horrible things. Sometimes, not even one out of ten times but sometimes, someone gets hurt. They'll even hurt themselves. I've seen a male throw himself on a fire after he ate the mushroom. Another time a female disemboweled herself."

"Oak, isn't that something you owe to your tribe? To take that chance? Thousands have before you."

"I was willing! I set out really scared but got up my courage and decided I was ready to gamble. Three days along Our Path I found a beautiful little copse, with a pond and some bushes... and the mushrooms. I picked two, held them in my teeth, and started back home. But I was so proud of myself I wasn't watching the forest floor, and I tripped on a tree root. I fell down hard and the mushrooms went in my mouth and I swallowed automatically. In minutes I could feel them acting like I feared they would. I lost control of my mind and ran off the path. When the effects wore off I tried to find my way back but there's nothing! I can't even find my way by the sun in here! After days wandering around I was just considering running off, but you know what? The second I had that thought I fell in this mud! You'd have done me a favor to smother me. I'm no use to anyone, even myself."

"Oh, Oak, my child, no no no." Mother tightened the mud around him as if she were cradling him. "I understand. If you feel of no use to your tribe, it's your right to seek another people. Tell me this: what is your coloring, under all that mud?"

"Green and brown mottle, like moss on a tree. Many of us are named for trees."

"Ah. What excellent camouflage," said Mother. "Most other tribes of these woods are brightly colored. You would make an invaluable scout for any of them."

"Ugh! Never! I don't want to be part of their squabbles. I can't even stand to kill a squirrel. My tribe's relative peace and isolation is the only reason I didn't run off years ago."

"Very well. I suppose I could point you in the direction of the nearest Upright settlement."

"Are you kidding? I'd be enslaved on sight. 'Free four-legged labor,' they call it."

"So war and servitude are out. What is there left, Oak?"

"I know, I know. Home. To the waking nightmares. And possibly death." Oak, a dragon hopelessly lost, tried to hold the mud as it held him, and rocked silently back and forth. Mother responded, flowing around him to turn him this way and that, as though trying to discern his form. He was comforted. He wanted to keep talking to Mother, because since they'd met she'd done nothing but avoid his questions and assail him with rhetoric, and he was certain she could direct him home if he skirted that issue in the same way. She'd created this forest, after all.

"Mother? What is this that I'm sitting in? I understand it's mud, but how is it warm? Why is there hard dirt over it? And why did you wait until I was in here to speak to me?"

"Insightful questions, and closely related ones. You've answered mine, so I suppose they're only fair. But you may find the answers strange. What you've stumbled into, Oak, is something ancient and increasingly rare. It is an essential part of me. I gave it no name, but early Uprights did. They called it a life-gate."

"No!" Oak gasped. Could it be true? His heart beat fast, and Mother slid mud over his ribs, as though to soothe it.

"Calm yourself, child. You know of these?"

"S-sort of! When the Uprights came to teach us about creation, they told us the first pair of dragons were made underground and crawled to the surface through something called a 'life-gate.' But they didn't know exactly what that was, because the book they taught out of had been translated from dead languages and a lot of it was missing."

"Well, now you know. But it wasn't only dragons who came from a life-gate. I created the first male and female of every animal species, from the lowliest worm to the towering mammoth, in life-gates, out of the earth itself, and then sent them to go forth and multiply."

"Wow! That explains a lot. But wait. You said 'life-gates'. There are others?"

"This is the only one left active on this continent, and it's very small. There were dozens. They were in mountains and prairies and swamps and deserts and forests, the veldt and the steppe and the tundra, and even on the ocean floor, and I produced creatures suited to those environments. I was very good at it, I should say. But then I created dragons. Dragons are unique, Oak. I wanted something that would be intelligent enough to be grateful for having been created, and appreciative of the creation around them. It was among my most difficult undertakings, but it worked. The dragons were nearly as wise as I. They made me happy by simply observing my world, speaking of it fondly and singing its praises. But then something happened. Some of the dragons began to change ever so slightly. Before I knew it it was millions of years later and they were doing more than just observing the world. They were redefining it, bending my rules. I'd made your kind too much like me, and paid the price. These dragons had evolved to walk on two legs, and use tools. They banded together and established the first permanent Upright settlements. Many of these were set up intentionally very near life-gates. The Uprights were obsessed with the gates; they worshiped the act of creation, not what was created. All the new life forms I sent them through these gates were simply captured, exhibited, and then slaughtered when their novelty had worn off. I'd never been more insulted! Oh, I tried to defend myself. I indulged my darkest side and conjured up the most horrible, monstrous beings I could to drive them off. It was no use; they were all slain easily with increasingly sophisticated weaponry. They survive only as mythology. When it became clear I had no other choice, I let the compromised life-gates dry up. Nearly all major Upright cities still mark their sites. Like scars."

More than anything he'd ever known in his life, more than Upright slavery and tribal conflict, more than the ritual he was expected to perform, and more than being lost in the forest, Oak hated how sad Mother sounded. That a people could be given so much and be so ungrateful in response... it made his eyes sting and his stomach churn. How could they? he thought.

"Mother, can't you do something? What about wildfires, storms, floods, quakes? Those are you, right? Teach them a lesson! Send them back to square one!"

"By the time they became a serious threat they were spread far and wide. Punishing Uprights would mean punishing all of creation, and I would not perpetrate such injustice. Nowadays I am content to simply let my elements do as they will. I believe, child Oak, you had another question for me?"

He'd almost forgotten in his anger. "Yes. Right." Oak recomposed himself as best he could. "So you're talking to me. Why don't you just tell the Uprights what's going on? They value reason; if they all start hearing a voice telling them to back off, they can't deny it!"

"If only it were that simple," Mother sighed. "I do speak, to all living things, and constantly, but usually I do not talk to them. What I can do is influence their actions, to an extent. Most creatures, who live their lives with me all around them, I have some influence on. But Uprights, with their civilized ways, have divorced themselves from me. They can act against their instincts; this is how they achieved such great and terrible things. I can no longer speak to them."

"So how are you speaking to me, and with words?"

"Because you have worshipped me. I was alerted to your presence when your tail broke through my membrane, the thin layer of dry, hard soil over the life-gate. This is among the most arcane of pagan rituals; it has not been performed in millennia. Traditionally a hole would be dug into which would be dropped a sacrificed deer or wolf, or among the more extreme sects, another dragon. But you broke with tradition and did something that was rare even long ago; it was foolhardy, polarizing, and potentially suicidal. You decided to take me as a lover."

"No! But-- but-- I didn't know--"

"You need not be ashamed, darling. In fact, had you not been enjoying yourself so, I may have simply sent you on your way, or completed the ancient rite and consumed you. Instead, we spoke, rather at length, and now I have an ally. Tell me... Oak... would you like to make an old woman happy?" The hard life-gate membrane had begun to dissolve, darkening the mud.

"I-- if it's--" Oak stammered, having made his decision, but afraid to speak. "Yes. Yes, Mother."

"Very well," Mother said. "Then just let me do as I please."

Oak was not so much gripped as encased. Mother drew him down until only his head and neck were above the mud, and moved him to the center of the life-gate. And then she began to flow. Oak could hear the churning. Every square inch of him was subject to one endless, slick caress. He whimpered in bliss. He had twin fires now, in his chest and loins.

"Let's see that pride of yours," Mother crooned. The muck thickened near Oak's bottom and cradled his rump. She slid wetly, coaxingly, across his slit. His cock sprang to attention and eagerly parted the lips that had hidden it, sliding forth into warmth that Mother then made snug around it, molding herself perfectly to its complex shape. Oak's breath caught as she began rubbing, tugging at the head. He felt a dollop of pre-come trickle through his shaft. Mother squeezed it out from the base and a tendril of mud like a licking tongue bore the fluid away. "So lovely the way my boy drips for me," she said. Oak moaned. "I remember this," Mother mused, continuing to work her sopping earth across his body, "making this. Making your kind. You are as beautiful to me as the first ones, Oak."

"Y-yes, Mother. Thank--a-ah!--thank you, oooooh." Mother focused her attention on his rump, lifting it and turning him. The slippery sounds the muck made as Oak slid through it were so sensual, so teasing. Like a giant licking its lips. Like swimming in all the love ever made.

"Remember, young one, you are in the hands of your master. I know the secrets of your body."

"Oh, yes, Mother."

"Say you--love only me, boy!" The command was a halting, lust-soaked snarl.

"I--I do! Oh Mother, more than life itself!" She was tugging his prick with herself, and pulsing on his rump with endemic perfection.

"Now move with me, child. Give in and let yourself use me."

Oak wasted no time. He gasped and groaned and humped the mud lustily, stirring the matter of his quivering lover with legs, arms, and tail. It was slick hot bliss. A warm thrill accompanied each squelching thrust through her, with every withdrawal a little electric shiver. It was as though magic itself danced up and down his spine. And in his bowels built a yearning tension. "Mother, I'm close!" He felt his peak scrambling behind his shaft, like a mink trapped in a sack.

"Let me have it all! Deep as you can, Oak! I'll need lots of it!"

A climax stormed through him before he had time to wonder what she meant. His mind spilled over with emotion and it ran warm and tingly down his shoulders and back. Spurting seed met sloshing soil, carving tunnels like worms through the soft earth. Then, the radiating ache, from his groin up into his belly, and down, making him weak in the knees. He yelped with how absurdly good it felt. The entire life-gate quivered and quaked briefly, and then was still.

Neither Mother nor Oak spoke for minutes. The sun was nearly down now. Lightning bugs floated and flashed low to the ground. Eventually cognizance returned to the dragon's briefly obliterated brain. But it was Mother who spoke first.

"Thank you, Oak."

"Ha. I should be thanking you."

"I'm sincere. That was remarkably rejuvenating. Tell me something. Were you a virgin?"

"What? I mean, um... yes."

"Ah. No wonder. It's been so long."

More silence then. Until the crickets. Mother spoke again. "Tomorrow I can point you in the right direction. I owe you it. But can I trust you, Oak, not to divulge the location of this life-gate?"

"Of course."

"A good answer. Otherwise I would have to kill you."

Another pleasant pause.

"It is well into night now. You should sleep. You may spend the night in the mud if you wish."

"Thank you." Oak closed his eyes and drifted off immediately. He dreamt he was flying.

When his breathing became slow and regular, Mother set to work.

--

The next morning the dragon woke, greeted Mother, and crawled out of the life-gate.

"Travel one mile in the direction you are facing," said Mother, "and you'll find a good-sized pond in which to wash off, drink, and fish."

"Really? I was that close?"

"Not necessarily," said Mother.

So the mud-covered Oak set off. There was something strange about the way the ground moved beneath his feet. The movement of the multitudes of tree trunks as he passed them seemed not to fit proper notions of parallax. On the way he spoke with Mother further, on life-gates, Uprights, and other aspects of her creation. And then they arrived. It was a clearing, with a pond full of fish, as Mother had said, that the sun shone down on. It was...

"This...! This is where I was! There's the mushrooms! And there's the end of Our Path! How did you-- oh, I can't thank you enough!"

"It was nothing, child. So you are returning to your tribe?"

"Yes. I miss them. And I don't feel like a coward anymore. I'm ready to eat the mushroom, to take that chance. And after last night I'm eager to have a female more my type under me."

"Well, I'm glad of that. If you change your mind, we are on the very edge of the forest. Head east and in mere minutes you'll find meadowland. Either way, this is where we part, Oak."

"I... I know." He waded a bit into the water, and sniffled. "I'll try to find the life-gate, or another one, again someday. To meet you again."

"I will watch and wait."

"Goodbye," Oak said, and submerged. And swam deep. And felt the mud slough off him. Felt pounds lighter. Felt cleaner than he'd ever been in his life. He saw a slow, fat fish. Lunged, snapped, caught it. It flapped and struggled in his maw. Oak surfaced, brought his prize to the shore, held it down and tore at it orgiastically, devouring it alive with grunts of satisfaction, and never fearing this act as he had before. He thanked Mother when he was done.

And then he felt a little sting. Somewhere toward his back. Damn bugs, he thought. He lifted a hind leg to scratch-- and scratched something he'd never scratched before.

What? Oak craned his neck this way and that, trying to see what was on his flank. He strained every muscle trying to look-- and strained a new muscle. There was no mistaking that feeling.

No. No. It's not... Oak tried again, to move every part of him, to find where it was... there. He flexed it experimentally. Something expanded. Something unfurled.

Oak looked back once more, to his left, and saw it. No, no, no no no it can't be, it's impossible. And looked to his right, and saw another one. And sobbed in disbelief.

Wings.

It all came down now. The dragon's eyes watered and he threw back his head and fell to his knees and wailed hoarsely at the sun. Because there was no going home now. He couldn't. It would be a slap in Mother's face. Everything they had said the day before came together and made it impossible to deny her intent. "I love a good trick." "Teach them a lesson!" "Make an old woman happy." "Can I trust you?" "If you change your mind." Her gift, an undeniable miracle, was like a dead weight now. And he hated himself for feeling that way.

He stood. And paced. The wings, big skeletal limbs with skin stretched thin across them like those of a bat, were still weak and dragged on the ground. I'll find the life-gate again, Oak thought. I'll dive right back in the mud and say Mother I love you but I won't be your prophet no matter how much you need me because you had the nerve to rebuild my body against my will now take these damn things off or I'll tell everyone right where to find you.

But he couldn't. He remembered the walk to the pond. Mother had obfuscated her location from him. He briefly considered eating more mushrooms, to see if it brought him to her again, and laughed bitterly at his own desperation. Even if he did find her, and tell her thanks but no thanks, what would she do? Just suck him down again, for good. Reclaim her investment. Damn it all. Oak wept.

When there were no more tears left he lay down, curled into a fetal position, and wrapped his new wings around himself. He had a clear view of the sky here, and could see the sun. It would be shortly after noon. A single cloud scudded into view, cottony and opaque, what Uprights called a cumulus. Was mother speaking figuratively when she said the clouds were her eyes? Or was she really, as she had said, watching? And waiting. Is this a disapproving cloud? A shaming one? Why shouldn't it be? he thought. Less than twenty-four hours ago he'd disowned his tribe without a second thought. Then he'd been given a cause to fight for, and it was the ultimate cause, from the ultimate authority. And, thanks to Mother and presumably his own seed, he had a way to fight, an immutable edge in this battle, that would cause mass conversion on sight! Oak imagined soaring over a city, impossible to ignore, preaching, shouting "Stop! You are stunting the growth of this world! Dismantle this place and rebuild elsewhere so Nature can create again!"

The dragon leapt to his feet. He would change the world; how could the arranged and drugged mating he'd looked forward to compare to such a thing? His tribe had no use for him, and the feeling was mutual. Oak tucked in his wings, which still ached with newness, and gauged where east should be. He turned to face the forest again, took a deep breath, and ran as fast as he could. This was the scampering of a child no longer; it was pure kinetic purpose. The trees themselves seemed to dodge Oak as he roared past them. The forest grew less dense, and sunnier as he ran. And then, bursting through a crop of bushes and sending sparrows scattering, he broke into the open. And it was beautiful. He was still just as lost as he had been in the trees, but the horizon was as good a destination as any.

Concentrating now, preferring the soft short grass to the forest's cold dead leaves, Oak let out his wings again, bit by bit. When they spread fully, the span impossibly huge to him, the sensation of lift was as thrilling as the last night's orgasm. Then, steeling himself against every new future he can imagine, he closed his eyes.

And jumped. And, to his awe, flew. But as he looked down, to see that he was only a foot in the air, a wing caught the air some wrong way, and he tumbled, and plowed hard into the ground.

After a moment he staggered to his four feet, feeling bruises but nothing serious. Still he laughed and cried together, thinking about all he had yet to learn and who he'd be when he learned it.