I rewrote a story I’d jotted down long ago. It’s strange how, with more life experience, I find it harder to dream up tales like this.

Our family lined up, facing the sunset, the air thick with a dull solemnity. I glanced at Mom beside me and quietly slipped back. The line of Thomson’s gazelles seemed endless. How long would it take Seto, our clan’s fastest, to run its length? Not that he’d be chosen; he was too quick, too wild. One accidental horn-poke to an elder’s rear, and he’d be in for it. Not my problem, really, but I dreaded his howl. It always triggered a response from the warthog herds. I’d considered trying the run myself, but… I wasn’t even grown. How could I manage that distance?

The grassland summer evening was still bright. I turned my back on the setting sun, my faint shadow trailing me. I saw my silhouette on a smooth rock, mimicking my chewing motions. Up a grassy slope I went, my shadow stretching to a distant tree, then more trees – the forest the adults spoke of. I hadn’t realized our grassland ended, but this dense, dark forest was clearly not our territory. The clan leader warned us away from it. I eyed the tall trees warily. If each was a blade of our grass, the gazelles within must be giants.

“Mia!” Mom’s gentle foot-stamp called me back. “Look this way. Respect the sun. Learn survival. Be devout, and you’ll hear the grassland’s song.”

“Or else? And what good is that song?” I rejoined the line reluctantly, hearing only insects, not songs. I studied Mom’s horns; one was chipped, shorter. She’d told the story: as a calf, she’d snagged it in a rock crevice while drinking, breaking it on the pull.

“Sun… song…” I nudged the dry grass with my horn. Grasshoppers scattered. One landed on my face. We stared at each other, oblivious to Mom’s nagging.

“Mia, are you listening?”

“Uh-huh!” I shook my head, sending the grasshopper sunward, its reddish wings flashing. I nuzzled Mom’s neck, leaning against her. Good, the sun was setting. This ritual would end, and the stars would appear.

Only a sliver of gold remained on the horizon – the grassland’s other end, perhaps. Baboons' returning roars, though unpleasant, might scare off wandering hyenas. Hyenas couldn’t catch us, not even youngsters. But the spotted big cats could. Mom warned me about cheetahs, the only animals matching our speed. Annoying, really, chasing us from perfectly good grass. What was their point?

Midnight was my favorite. The grassland slept, and another world, mine alone, emerged. Mom would fan mosquitoes in her sleep, but my day began. The night sky mesmerized me. I’d tilt my head back, spin until dizzy, and collapse. Any other gazelle awake would see this odd, solitary dance.

“Ow!” A deafening howl. I feared the moon would be startled away. Horns rose in the herd. Unfair! I looked down. My foot was on Seto’s stubby tail. He glared, his handsome face twisted. The adults' gossip made sense: Seto was timid, hence the loud voice; afraid of death, hence the speed. His expression shifting from fierce to horrified, I couldn’t help but laugh. The adults, feigning sleep, turned away. I met Seto’s mother’s gaze; she peeked from behind another, smiled knowingly, and lay back down.

“So quiet.”

“Your foot!” Seto gritted his teeth.

I was still on his tail. Stepping on a gazelle’s tail was like winning the lottery. “Oh… sorry.”

I lifted my foot, and Seto sprang up like a bullfrog after insects, dashing out of the herd, leaping in pain. I followed, glancing at the silent grassland.

Outside the herd, the grass rustled, mixed with adult whispers. I turned; silence. What game were they playing?

“Cheetahs don’t eat grass?”

“Of course not. They eat us!”

“Mom never said that!” I abandoned any thought of reclaiming grazing ground.

“No mistake…” Seto hung his head.

“What is it?” I circled him, about to bend down. A tear slipped from his cheek, flashing, disappearing into the grass.

“I saw it catch my mom, bite her neck…” His face was ashen. “I hid behind a rock. My current mom raised me.”

If true… well, it was true. I fell silent. The vast grassland, the cool breeze. We walked uphill. The dark forest was even quieter than the night sky. I changed the subject. “Ever been to that distant forest?”

“It’s dangerous. Humans live there.”

“Humans? Do they eat grass?”

“Some adults have seen them. They’re not sure what humans eat; they’ve never seen them eat. But they kill other animals, including us.”

“Uh… what’s that?” A dim firelight flickered in the forest.

“Let’s go back. It must be humans. They can make wood burn without thunder.”

I witnessed Seto’s speed firsthand. The scaredy-cat vanished in steps. What about being a gentleman? Fearful of pursuit, I didn’t look back, startling insects. I recalled Mom’s lessons: jump flexibly, turn to shake off fast, straight-running cheetahs. It should work for humans. I twisted, jumped. A glance back showed only the slowly rotating stars. No human pursuit.

Back with the herd, the stars seemed dimmer, though it wasn’t yet dawn. The adults were awake, smiling and nodding at me. Timid Seto slept behind his mother.

“Mia, don’t drink here!”

“Mom, I’m thirsty. I can’t walk.”

“Crocodiles. We cross upstream for new grazing.”

“Wildebeests and zebras are drinking here.” I neared the bank. The gazelle family streamed past.

“Mia, don’t!” Mom blocked me. “Mom loves you.” I was near the bank; Mom’s leg was in the river.

“Let’s go, Mia.” Mom’s serious face, always ordering. Her broken horn swayed. I was lost in thought, forgetting to answer.

The river exploded. Logs surged to the bank. Wildebeests and zebras cried their last, leaving only the churning water. Crocodiles' bloody mouths dripped, dragging them under. The prey stilled.

I felt like stone.

Mom retreated, her asymmetrical horns swaying. “Run, Mia!”

I was petrified.

She became a splash. I backed away, watching the calm return. The river was fiery red. Mom surfaced briefly, her broken horn visible, then was dragged under. Blood splattered my face.

I couldn’t speak. My vision blurred, my face wet.

“Mia, get up. Thank the sun.” A tongue licked my face. Wet.

Wet.

I jumped up. Mom stood before me. I pressed my face to her back. The morning sun rose between her horns.

“Remember where you ran from yesterday?”

How could I? I’d returned by chance, frightened by unseen humans.

“The benevolent sun saved you, Mia.” Mom pointed left, where I’d passed. Thomson’s gazelles have good eyesight. I saw a pride of lions.

“Thank you, sun!” Louder than ever. Mom smiled. But I meant, thank you for returning my mom.

The withered grass was unappetizing; tender grass was scarce. I looked up. The family huddled together, a defense. Cheetahs usually targeted solitary gazelles.

Following the scent of tender grass, gazelle horns retreated on either side. I turned, saw Mom chatting with Seto’s mother, and bumped my head on a rock. Three young groundhogs popped out, ignoring me, standing, looking into the distance. Their three-lobed mouths twitched, whiskers swaying. The middle one wiped its face, then licked its paws.

I was close to these little guys. Their dark eyes reflected a bright light. Following their gaze – the sun had risen fully. Were they listening to the grassland’s song?

“What does the song sing?” I lay down before them.

They froze, then vanished into the rock crevices.

Even more timid than Seto. I was suddenly happy. Behind the rock was a burrow, a small stone blocking the entrance. I pushed it with my horns. It was deeply embedded, stubborn. Finally, I pried it open.

The cave was dim. The sunset slowly rose, brightening it. A mother groundhog lay in the center, startled but not defensive, only twitching her whiskers. The three little ones huddled behind her, trembling, pleading.

Other things lived in the cave. I found a scorpion in a dark corner, its tail and body severed, one claw twitching. Its dark red carapace was a death contract, reflecting a cold light. The mother groundhog tried to rise, fell back stiffly. Her neck was swollen.

“Mom!” I headed for the herd, hoping Mom could help.

Mom heard my call, raised her head. I saw the broken horn, but her eyes were strange. She froze, then knocked Seto’s mother aside, leaping towards me.

“Run, Mia, run!”

I didn’t dare look back. Far from the group, I leaped. A spotted paw slammed down!

“Oh my god! Where did this monster come from? Silent!” My heart pounded, limbs trembling, but I ran. Survival instinct. How would the cheetah eat? Like we eat grass? Like Seto’s mother? These thoughts, at this critical moment. For them, a missed meal. For me, maybe never seeing the starry sky again. Mom’s teachings: run straight, jump, turn, land, run…

Pale clouds and yellow grass blurred. Spots, yellow and black, claws, whistling wind. I thought I heard something. Mom calling? What?

Mom’s voice faded, ethereal. A dream? Like last night? Mom, wake me.

No relaxing. Practiced movements, a whirlwind underfoot. The sharp claws never touched. Hold on; the cheetah’s stamina was nearing its limit. Jump, turn, jump…

Violently shaking vision, darkening. The grassland’s end. The terrifying forest, but I’d rather believe the claw’s airflow was still behind me. I stomped on the familiar slope, horns brushing a branch. I plunged into the unknown.

After a while, I realized the cheetah couldn’t catch me here. No straight paths. My legs weakened, I collapsed. No spots. Reassuring. Maybe it hadn’t chased me this far. Grass everywhere; why eat Thomson’s gazelles?

Gasping, I saw only patches of sky. Noon, the sun blocked by thick clouds. Grassland storms. Without the sun, getting lost here would be terrifying.

Staggering up, the forest seemed as vast as the grassland, maybe bigger. I was just a gazelle.

I thought of Mom. The cheetah chased me far. Mom and the herd, and Seto, must have run far.

I wanted to go home.

The rainstorm didn’t scare me. Thunderstorms on the grassland, lightning flashing, rumbling shaking the earth. I’d hide under Mom, horns poking her belly. She’d lick my forehead. Warm tongue, cold rain, I’d always remember.

Would Mom feel the absence of my body heat now? I shook my wet fur, useless. Rain hammered my back, determined to penetrate. What now? Dangerous humans. Would they pounce silently, with no warning? The raindrops, hitting the soil, dissolving. Would I disappear like that? Silently? Rain flowed from my horns, into my eyes, to my cheeks. Warm rain.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” I shouted desperately, my voice weakening. Swallowed by this rainy hell. Damp chill from the ground. I closed my eyes. A dream. I wanted to wake.

“Mia…”

Faint, familiar, near, far.

Mom, I’ll be good. No more crocodile rivers.

Mom, I’ll be good. One day, I’ll hear the grassland’s song.

“Mia…”

Not a dream. Mom’s murmur, right at my ear!

I rushed into Mom’s arms. Her breath, weak, like burned dry grass, turning to ash at a touch. My neck pressed against her ice-cold belly.

I screamed, jumped away. Mom collapsed. Her hind leg, bleeding profusely. A hideous claw wound. Mom had fought the cheetah. Rain fell into the wound, bringing more blood. Blood-stained footprints in the heavy rain. A raindrop knocked a leaf onto Mom’s cheek. Her other horn was broken too.

Yes, I should have known.

From the bloody footprints, a fast figure approached. If the cheetah dared return, I wouldn’t leave.

The shadow neared. Horns.

“Come, I’ll take you out!” Seto.

“Mom, get up.” Thunder drowned my voice.

Seto shook his head. “Mia, follow me. I know the way.”

“I’m not leaving.” I lay beside Mom, unconscious.

“Do you know how loud you screamed? I saw wolves.”

“I’m not leaving!”

“The wolves can’t catch us. We can’t wait!” Seto vanished. Coward or not, I didn’t know.

Wolves… would they come? Two hearts wouldn’t be enough. I looked around, no wolves. Dark clouds, a starless sky. Wolves or not, what difference?

A thunderclap, nearby, but wrong. Grassland thunder was deep, thick; this was sharp, piercing. Firelight startled me. A moving flame.

How terrifying were humans? And the wolves, I smelled their stench. It made no difference. What could be more terrifying? Come, all. I’ll stay!

The broken horn flashed, no, a pair of broken horns.

He approached. The strangest animal. Hair only on their heads, bodies wrapped in loose skin, not their own. Standing on hind legs, like groundhogs, walking. And the terrifying thing, a stick with a jumping flame, dancing like fighting hippos. A dead wolf on his shoulder, pupils reflecting flames, teeth dripping blood.

This creature, walking towards us.

He waved the fire stick. I screamed, hid behind a tree. Mom, unconscious. Humans controlled fire!

Mom at his feet. I tried to get behind him, forced back by fire. He bent, reaching into his skin bag. I kicked, pounced, but another stick on his body made the deafening, piercing thunder. I retreated. What was this?

He took out a wooden object, poured cloudy liquid on Mom’s leg. Ripe fruit aroma. He held the torch, Mom’s leg caught fire.

I rushed, ignoring flames, thunder. Mom twitched, eyes struggling open. The human didn’t stop me. Nothing mattered. What to do with the fire? I poked it with my horn. Heat stung, but the flame weakened, went out.

I saved Mom! The human, walking away.

Frantic rain. Nothing visible beyond ten trees. Wolf howls, echoing, desperate cries from hell. I licked Mom’s ear. She listened, raised her neck, her voice thread-thin: “Mia! Run, back to the grassland.”

“Mom!” I shouted hoarsely. Wolves surrounded us, following the blood scent. No need for quiet.

A clear sound in the rain. Gazelle hooves. Approaching. I shook off rain, mud, blood. Seto. How could he still come?

“Still can’t go?” Seto stared warily.

He jumped, crossed Mom, ran deep into the forest.

“What are you doing!”

Seto disappeared. No echo, but the wolf sounds faded, mixed with light, rhythmic footsteps.

“Mom, get up!” I tried to lift her. Futile, but I had to try.

Howling again. Smart wolves. The offensive. Rustling, wolves and bushes, a death symphony. Those faces, teeth, I shuddered. Mom, paralyzed. The fire, her pain. My eyes, dry. No tears. Only watching myself torn.

Another thunderclap! Piercing. A wolf howled. The hunting order? Despair, I screamed. Miserable, sad. Mom trembled. I pushed her. Mom, don’t worry, I’ll push you out.

Waiting, no wolves. Thunderclaps, wolf howls receding. I looked back. A wolf, in a pool of blood, mouth open, eyes staring.

Flickering firelight.

Heavy rain washed wolf blood to us. Carnivore blood, a strong fishy smell. His companions gone. Was the human helping?

Peace.

Tenacious, persistent wolves. Gathering again. Creepy throat sounds. Exhausted Mom, couldn’t stand. Clouds pressing on my neck. Hard to breathe. Bloody footprints washed away. No sun, no direction, no escape.

“Mom…”

What next? Mom couldn’t move. Respect the sun, you said, for reward. Where was the sun?

Suddenly, dizzy. Color in the forest. I shook my head, looked towards the grassland – the sun! Dazzling! A crack in the clouds, thousands of rays surging. My body warmed. Abruptly, the rain stopped. Crystal clear forest, droplets on leaves.

Mom struggled, slipped. Her injured leg trembled. I bit a leaf, wiped the wound. The leaf absorbed blood, withered, a dark red ball. But the bleeding stopped. The burn sealed the skin. I spit the leaf, licked carefully. Mom kicked the leg, stood. Stable, like the towering trees.

Mom stood.

Dark clouds, blown away by sunlight, shrinking, disappearing. Sunset glow, transparent beams of light. Lingering mist drifted. Ancient trees, orange-red, like autumn water reflections, warm, peaceful. Birds flapping. Droplets tapping bushes, tinkling. Sunshine, tender, transparent leaves, glittering sequins. Branches creaking. The forest waking, stretching.

Mom’s face, pale, but she could move.

“Mia, let’s go home.” Faint, but powerful.

Wolves moving to the forest edge, cutting us off. Apprehensive, but Mom ignored them, leading me towards the grassland. Brighter light, flickering. Those faces increased. We crashed into the wolves' pocket.

“Follow me closely!”

Mom, unfazed, rushed the wolves. A gray-spotted alpha wolf blocked the way, howling. Wolves pounced. It leaped, aiming for Mom’s neck! Mom hummed softly, jumped, front feet smashing the alpha’s head. Skull cracking, my body numb. Mom stepped on the twitching body, galloping. I followed. Breaking through. Short, dirty figures left behind. The forest border. Wolves, no match in speed, let alone leaving their territory.

Heavy throat sounds pursued. Running, jumping, flashing between trees. Jumping out, sunlight lifting me. Never so light, full of life. I heard the grassland’s song. Two lines, distant, deep, gentle:

“Mia, let’s go home.”

The other, unheard before.

“Mom, let’s go home.”

The night sky, full of stars. Seto lay alone, resting. A tooth mark on his calf. I’d never really known him.

Mom slept soundly, back rising, falling.

Seto’s mother, awake, observing the stars with me.

“What is little Mia looking at?”

“Are there more stars than gazelles?”

“Knowledge. Every star is a gazelle’s soul.”

“Which is yours?”

“That empty area? The second brightest.”

“Huh? The first?”

“Seto,” she said excitedly. “His star is bright these days.”

“Which is my mom’s?”

“Little Mia must find it. A hint.”

Blinking elves. How to find it? Random star connections, strange shapes. Suddenly, several bright stars formed a gazelle’s head, thin horns. Mom’s star must be among them.

“That one, with blue?” The gazelle’s left eye, brightest in the constellation.

“No, brighter.”

“That one!” The brightest in the whole sky.

“Even brighter, but little Mia can’t see that star yet.”

Brighter… can’t see… I know, Mom’s star is the sun!

It must be.