Unbreakable Chains

Stretching its amorphous self, its cilia undulate gracefully. It slides forward, quicker than anything else in the World. Tantalizing prey-signals caress its skin. It powers forward, intent on energy. 1

Its fellow microbe, grazing peacefully on plankton, never had a chance. A pseudopod strikes, its surface thick with gluey proteins. Immediately it flattens, a glassy mantle expanding, enveloping the hapless dinoflagellate. Another pseudopod connects, and another. All too soon, the prey is wholly engulfed. 2

It floats for a moment, cilia flicking lazily. It is full. Contentment.3

Suddenly, it feels a current, very localized. Cilia pump with frantic energy. Its single cell twists and struggles against the water molecules all around. But its recent meal weighs heavy in its digestive chamber, and the current is simply too powerful. 4

With a faintly audible zip, the predatory microbe disappears into a cavernous darkness which simply had not existed a few seconds ago.5

The minnow fry, recent-hatched and desperate for nutrients now that its yolk sac is depleted, gives hardly a thought to the meal it just consumed. It is already on the move, looking for the next one. Its siblings, thousands of them, swarm all around, doing exactly the same thing. 6

A microbial massacre commences, sparing nothing that would fit in their hungry mouths. The vacuum effect of their jaws opening is a devastating weapon which nothing in the World seems able to escape.7

The slaughter is abruptly interrupted, however, by the appearance of new things to the World, things the baby minnows had never before seen. Mindlessly hungry, the swarm as a whole keeps eating, pausing only to dodge the strikes of larger predators. Many are not fast or attentive enough, however. 8

A generous assortment of eyes, affixed to one arachnid head, peer in patient calculation into the water. She rests comfortably upon a long, spear-like leaf as it arcs into the water, just above the submerged tip. The glittering bedlam of darting newborns below tickles her irresistibly. She leans forward, pedipalpi poised.9

A tiny minnow fry, gorged careless, drifts toward the surface. The moment it comes within reach, she launches. A bare instant later, her front legs seize the baby fish, drawing it into waiting pedipalpi before it has a chance to escape. Like tiny darts, her fangs sink deep into the little fish. Neurotoxin flows. Paralysis ensues.10

Without retracting her fangs, the fishing spider swims back to her verdant perch, carrying her catch securely in her front legs. Digestive fluids flow from her fangs as she swims, into her catch. Unconscious and luckily unaware, the hapless minnow begins to liquefy within its skin. 11

The fishing spider herself is not so lucky when the frog's tongue smashed her rudely from her perch. She was still busy sipping pre-digested minnow fluid when the immense, sticky abomination had materialized, first bowling her down, then dragging her irresistibly away. She is aware only of moving at impossible speed through the air, landing roughly in a cold, wet darkness. After the jaws close, her awareness is mercifully released.12

The little frog crunches its catch once, twice, three times, orienting the dead spider just so in his mouth before swallowing with several great gulps. After a moment, he blinks. His buff-pink tongue flicks out again, licking each eye in turn. After blinking twice more, then winking the left eye again, Nine-Spots finally feels sufficiently moistened. With a deft hop, he lands lightly upon the very foliage from which his recent meal had hunted. Nine-Spots turns this way and that, in short alternating motions, scanning the immediate area. 13

Experimentally, he inflates his throat. Kr-ik! 14

Feeling cautious, he does not cry as loudly as he can. When no challenging male reply answers his feeble test-call, Nine-Spots feels bolder. He stands a bit taller and inflates his throat again, more confidently. Kr-ii-ik! Kr-ii-ik!15

Then, Nine-Spots notices eyes in the water. A female hops with enchanting grace onto the shore, deliberately turning her back to him. Nine-Spots, knowing he is being enticed, stands as tall as he can, inflating his throat-sac as large as possible. Kr-ii-ii-iiii-ik'k! Krr-krr-ii-ii-ik'k!16

Thus begins an intricate courtship which lasts quite a long time, by frog standards. They sing and dance by moonlight, very romantic-seeming. Really, each is testing the other, evaluating strength, health, enthusiasm, and general fitness. Nine-Spots is young and strong, and gives his all. He is determined.17

Her name is Golden Back. 18

Finally, they dive into the water together. Muscular legs kick out, webbed toes flaring, as they swim through the pond. They ignore prey they would normally snap at, searching only for a suitable place to make a nest.19

Golden Back is quite choosy. It takes some time, but she finally approves of a spot, nestled deep within feathery water weeds, not too close to shore, but not too far from it either. Not too deep, but not too shallow. Hidden, but not buried so far that the tadpoles would have trouble getting out. It has large rocks and abundant water-weeds, and many small places for small frogs-to-be to hide. It is as good a place as could be found in the pond.20

Golden Back nestles herself into the feathery pond weeds, lying down. Nine-Spots, trembling with excitement, climbs onto her back.21

After the eggs are laid and fertilized, they part ways, each swimming in a different direction.22

Soon, Nine-Spots climbs back onto shore. He is a little tired from mating, but not exhausted. He intends to rest, perhaps hunt a bit, and then begin to call again.23

However, Nine-Spots is tired. A faint rustle in the brush ahead fails to arouse his defenses...24

Nests-Under-Rocks waits. Her tongue, long and slim and split-ended, darts serpent-quick from her mouth, tasting the air. She feels the fat male frog, so close, almost within reach. His pheromones season the air, revealing that he has recently mated.25

The frog lies still, resting. The snake makes an experimental motion, gliding forward just far enough to put herself within a quick lunge's reach of the frog. He fails to react.26

Nests-Under-Rocks strikes. Too late, the frog senses danger and tries to escape, but her bear-trap jaws slam shut around the rear half of his body. Immediately she begins to wind, wrapping herself around and around and around the struggling amphibian. Her sleek muscles contract, constricting her prey with crushing force. At the same time, her jaws lock ever-tighter, her small back-pointing teeth preventing escape. Minutes later, the small frog is dead. Still, Nests-Under-Rocks continues to squeeze for a minute or two yet, just to be certain. 27

The snake's long, variegated body uncoils, allowing the limp form of the dead frog to fall to the ground. She nudges it with her muzzle once, twice. When this elicits no response, Nests-Under-Rocks gapes wide her jaws, unhinging the mandible to allow the plump little amphibian to slide past her skull and down her throat. 28

It takes almost an hour for Nests-Under-Rocks to completely ingest the frog. She takes it in a little at a time, at first 'crawling' forward with her jaws, then with undulating alternating pressure from special muscles in her throat made for the job. With the whole animal finally on its way to her stomach, the young snake turns, sliding into the brush with somewhat less grace than is usual for her. 29

Not only is she full, she is pregnant.30

---31

Restriction. Unending coiled captivity.32

He is tired of it. He wants out, out, out!33

Somehow, he knows that he must push, push as hard as he can against the soft, leathery walls of his prison if he wishes to be free. At the moment, nothing at all could possibly be more important than exerting all his might toward that goal. He struggles and pushes, shoving his muzzle again and again against the resisting, creamy walls. Slowly but surely he begins to tire, and he becomes afraid. Finally, however, a crack appears. Light floods in.34

Nests-Under-Rocks' son recoils at first, having never seen anything before, particularly nothing so bright. Still, the urgent imperative to be free overwhelms his shock at the intense new stimulus. He attacks the new weakness, striking at it with his nose, until finally the hole tears wider and he slips out and away, free!35

The newborn snake wants to pause, to rest after his long ordeal. Suddenly, he feels heavy vibrations rumbling in the ground beneath him. He cannot hear, but he can feel the movement of larger animals in the air and the ground. The same primal source of knowledge which told him to push at the shell now tells him he must not stop moving, must in fact move faster, faster, must find a place to hide.36

He obeys his instincts, fleeing the hungry coyote devouring the eggs of his siblings even as they hatch.37

---38

Nightsky burps. The old coyote reflects on the rarefied flavor of snake eggs as he trots away from the raided nest. His joints creak as he moves, and his gait is not as smooth or graceful as once it had been. He has seen nine seasons, and does not expect to see a tenth.39

In fact, he does not expect to see another sunrise, even. But that is all right with him. He has always known that he would die, just like all other things do. He has made many other animals die in his own life, so why should he be any different?40

Then again, he is different from other coyotes. It is not unheard-of for a coyote to be born with a black pelt rather than the usual series of dusty reds, yellows, browns, and grays, but it is quite uncommon. Nightsky is named for his black-phase pelt, though he is not pure raven-black, but grizzled with a whole spectrum of grays. His muzzle has whitened with age, but the small white patch on his chest has always been there. 41

Feeling a need for dessert, Nightsky lifts his head slowly. His muzzle wrinkles in annoyance at the arthritic creak of his neck. His small black button-like nose quivers as he sniffs, sniffs, sniffs, drawing in data from the wind's information network.42

A sweet odor catches his attention, and he follows it, tail wagging gently at the thought of getting fruit or some other treat.43

As it turns out, the smell is from a pear tree, with fruit lying rotting on the ground beneath it. Happily, Nightsky eats his fill of the fallen fruit, deftly separating and spitting out the stems, cores, and seeds. He has fewer teeth now than he did as a pup, but soft fruit like fallen pears remain easy to consume.44

The aging black coyote trots away, leaving behind the remains of his feast. Over time, they rot. 45

Buzzing zooming diving he lands on the Food, sweet shining sugar-scent overwhelming his senses. He lands, walking on the Food, tasting it -- sugar confirmed! Immediately his tongue goes down, sipping, consuming. This is abundant Food indeed, and he manages to fill himself here. 46

Inside the fly's stomach, his gut-microbes sense a sudden influx of food into the World. Delighted, they go to work breaking it down, feeding and transmuting, passing nutrients back to their host as they do. 47

They are full. Contentment.