Page 41 of Wild Life

The lack of technology would be a challenge, but I could certainly observe bats in their natural habitat and file details away in my head for later when I returned home.

IfI ever returned home.

Luckily, I stumbled upon a spool of string in Cryptid’s cupboards. Typically, mist nets were made of very fine material, making them difficult to be detected by the ultrasonic radar that bats were capable of. The string wasn’t quite that fine, slightly thicker than sewing thread, but it was better than nothing. The most important thing was that it wouldn’t hurt them in any way.

I’d had a hell of a time weaving the strands together, nearly going cross-eyed. The pig had almost ruined all my hard work when he’d trampled through it to chase a bird.

Thankfully, the net was alright and safely tucked under my arm as I trekked to the nearest still-water source, a pond not too far from the hut. The waterfall would’ve been a larger reservoir for the bats to drink from, but they weren’t fans of getting sprayed with liquid. Nocturnal bats typically liked to dip down quickly during flight for a sip on their way to search for food. The pond was less threatening for the little winged creatures.

I set my net down, searching around for the best trees to use to hang my net. There was still ample time left before they’d wake up, so I could set everything up and then come back right before sunset to check for visitors.

I had found some twist ties to tag their feet. Cryptid’s shelves had proved to be a hoarder’s dream because I’d also found rubber gloves which I had sterilized in hot water to keep from introducing any bacteria when I touched the critters.

Two large trees looked ideal. Each had lots of low-lying branches that I could easily reach without help. When the bats flew from wherever their roosts were, they’d close in for a drink first before hitting the net. I would be hiding in the bushes nearby, keeping careful watch. Tagging would be quick, and then I’d free them right after. The tags would help me keep track of them, if by chance I saw them again. I could note their locations in hopes of finding their roosts.

I was about to hang the contraption when a sound in the distance froze me in my tracks.

A melody.

From a song.

Witha voice.

It was distant, but I could hear it. How could that be?

Unless…someone was here. Another person! To rescue me!

Abandoning my project, I hurried in the direction of the singing.

“Close your eyes, child.”

The song grew louder. The voice that sang it was deep and carried a husky rasp, yet it was beautiful. Like a beacon, I was drawn to it. It was like the North Star and I was a lost ship coming home.

“Let the winds be and the stars shine.”

My feet pelted the ground as I ran toward freedom.

“In your dream, your hand will find mine.”

As quickly as I’d let my hopes soar, it all came crashing down.

I stood in shock, peering at the source from behind a branch.

Cryptid was kneeling in front of the pig, de-seeding a papaya while singing him a lullaby.A lullaby!

The words flowed out of his mouth with as much familiarity as a routine—like it was something he’d been doing for years. And judging from the pig’s reaction, this was nothing new for him, either.

That little traitor. I should have barbecued his ass when I first saw him.

Betrayal stung in my chest. I was going to roast Tweedledee and Tweedledum for this.

“Hey, can I have some?” I asked, my voice high-pitched and shaky, effectively halting their little campfire song.

Cryptid’s eyes bulged like they would fall out of their sockets as he shot to his feet. The pig fidgeted in his spot.

I stalked up to them. “You can fucking speak?!” I shouted at him. The pig jumped at the crack of my voice.

Cryptid didn’t utter a word.

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