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288 pages, Paperback
Published February 22, 2019
"Jimmy was a Bushchild. The Eastern Bushchildren were tall and lean, and Jimmy had meticulous bronze-colored fur and fiery, golden eyes. His mane was long and flowing. Akela thought he looked like an angel. (...)
Akela rose, suspicious. Jimmy put out a paw, but Akela didn’t take it—not to be rude, but to keep from staining the angel with his grubby grip. A nearly-forgotten fragment of Milton ran through his head: “Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely, and pined his loss.” Jimmy was too beautiful for a crawling maggot like him to touch. (...)
That night, they lay side by side in Akela’s den. He’d chosen a place that was small and well-defended. One almost had to be on top of them to see them. As Jimmy slept, Akela held him, and in holding him felt lonelier than ever. He heard a heartbeat that wasn’t his. He inhaled the scent of fur that didn’t belong to him. He listened to the even breathing of a Bushchild at peace. I could have this, he thought. I could follow him, and be with other people, every day. I could talk to them. Walk with them. Lie with them on cold nights, sing with them to while away the heat of the day. He’d been lonely a long time, hadn’t noticed the loneliness in his grief, and had wound up feeling sorry for himself. Having a pack would have made rough living a lot more tolerable, but he’d neglected himself these past few years. This wasn’t mourning. It was stagnation.
As he rested, he felt his loneliness ebb. It was like the stars emerging from behind the clouds, water flowing through a dry riverbed, the sound of thunder on a silent night."