Cuauhtemoc: A Short Story

Cuauhtemoc the cat sprinted alongside the Spirit of the forest, and his tail flapped behind him like a flag. Occasionally he would stumble--not just because the ground was uneven but because things kept erupting out of it. A fleet of deer, a flight of squirrels, mounds of loamy soil, mazes of dewy grass, a kitten crying out at the first light of the sun, a lion exulting over a meal. All the while, a chorus of golden birds followed them and sang a dizzy tune to the beat of their Mother. The Spirit. The charging wolf. A glorious chaos to witness? Absolutely. Just like a volcano exploding. As someone who had raced through both, Cuahtemoc felt about the same in regards to each. He kept his paws to his face, wincing as he charged through the cloud of in-sync feather dusters. “Out of my face. Please. Guys, I won’t stop for any birds in the wrong mouth at the wrong time.”
“And they genuinely cannot stop. Do your people sing, Kallun?” The idea of singing while his chest heaved like bellows made Cuauhtemoc’s eyes water. “Well, some of us, sometimes. Not me...specifically, but, Ma’am, I-I have a question…” Cranking his legs faster, burning heat, forcing himself to pull up alongside the wolf. “You know the Frostbird,