' Even the most stable of environments can be corrupted with a push in the right place. And the ripples,' she said, touching a paw to the still surface of the puddle, 'are spreading.'

I looked at her, confused, and then peered at the water. Its skin shuddered and roiled in circles away as she lifted her paw from its liquid flesh. Droplets fell from her pawpads and claws, splattering down and creating their own disturbances.

'You'll feel it very soon, Mikra.' She was watching me as I looked up again. I tried to scrutinize her face, but it was foreign to me, as always-- the long fangs deceptively hidden, the antlers that dropped towards the earth and twisted like kelp and coral, the wise eyes glossed with a clear secondary eyelid. She might have been my kin, but she was not someone I could ever understand.

'You'll feel it soon,' she repeated to me, and her short muzzle stretched to seemingly smile at me. Then, she turned, and walked away.

I watched her go. What could I say? Nyra was honored for her wisdom; I couldn't exactly call her crazy and not feel heavy repercussions from my fellows.

I glanced back down at the puddle. The ripples had faded, but the silt and tiny rocks on its miniature shores had shifted. The mud at the very bottom hadn't moved.

I knew what Nyra expected; I knew she wanted me to find some meaning in her crypticism, some revelation in this puddle. All I could think of was that she would be unperturbed at the bottom of it all, like the mud, but the rest of us would feel it. Whatever 'it' was.

I must have spent an hour staring at that puddle, wracking my brain for what I was supposed to be seeing. The sun began to set, casting orange rays out across the forest that filtered through the limbs of the trees, and the puddle seemed to glow when the light touched it. It almost looked molten, and the very color appealed to me.

With the light glittering off the water's skin, it became evident that the ripples were not gone. They were very small, almost invisible, but with the soft breeze, they did not die, not even after they stopped moving grains of earth.

It occurred to me that this puddle combined all of us. The water, the earth, the wind, the light-- the fire. The fire was what lit the rest, and the wind moved it, and the earth held it, and the water... what, filled it? -was- it? sustained it? I felt I was on the right track...

...but then the sun descended too far, and the light left the puddle. It appeared placid and still once more, even though I sought out the ripples. There was nothing visible.

I got up, listening to my body come alive after sitting still for far too long. I stretched, and arched my neck and back, and then shook off. I stole one more glance at the motionless puddle, but there was no hidden wisdom there; the sunlight had left, and with it, all possible meaning.

I pushed myself into an easy lope and took the trail back home.