FINTAIL

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

CORA WAS a rather fascinating creature to study. She wasn't like most of her kin — the shrewd males who regularly bumped heads with one another, or those needy females — like her dear sister, Ripple — who relentlessly sought other longsnouts in the blazing heat of the swamp. Still, any male would see Cora to be a physical wonder, no less; her bright turquoise splotches and black web-like markings made her glisten in the dark, alongside a few small specks of pink dredged above her massive sail. Added with her build — from the muscular bulk of her torso to her rounded hips — no male longsnout would resist taking the leap to impress her. But, oddly enough, it was her imagination that outweighed her instincts, so much so that embracing nature was no longer her passion.

It was art.

She didn't know it had a name. Nor did she care if she had an audience — though I begged to differ whenever I came across the humble longsnout at work. Yes, it wasn't as extraordinary as humanity would soon show millions of years ahead of her time, but it was still entertaining.

At the moment, Cora was drawing strange lines with a pointed stick in the mud, rounding backwards and forwards, slashing high strikes, then waving low. Her sapphire eyes would widen and wane, a deep purr emanating from her throat as the painting grew in size. Soon the cut extended further, longer, splitting into systems, channels turning into tendrils, tendrils into thinner lines until she could no longer draw. Once her arm settled, the female longsnout took a step back and lifted to two hind legs, admiring her work from above.

It looked like a dead tree. Perhaps one that overgrew its roots or tumbled over in a rainstorm? It looked eerie, especially with the weird rounded oval she marked at its base. Cora scoffed, lowering back down and wiping her design away with one quick swish of her tail. She then planted both claws into the mud. It was cool to the touch, squishing and popping like the bubbles of a lava pit, yet smooth against her scales. No wonder most mammals enjoyed bathing in this treatment — she would've done the same had the summer sun been relentless.

But what mud offered more than just the freshness of its flesh were signs. The warming of the earth, the cooling of the air, the changes in pressures, seasons, and scent.

Even the warning of predators.

The mud began to tremble not long after this thought came to show. She felt it; the heavy thuds of a giant lumbering oaf rippled through her fin. But it didn't bring about fear — for one, her enormous size would make any predator turn away. And, for two, she could identify this predator by heart, and snorted in appraisal once his scent caught onto her nostrils.

"If you're looking for me, I am over here!"

"Oh!" Riptide, her eldest brother, suddenly poked his green head through the ferns and gawked proudly at the female. "Cora! I didn't expect to find you here!"

"I come and go," she smiled, noticing a strange set of injuries marked on his hide. "You seem to be busy."

"And you seem to be enjoying yourself," he purred back, quick to notice her muddy claws. "Not that I'm here to interrupt your... whatever you're doing."

"I am still not so sure what to call it yet," Cora said, licking her chops as she waded back to the rockier grounds where Riptide stood. "I will make up something when enough time has passed. But, you're not here for me, are you?"

"No." Riptide's tail twitched from behind. "Have you seen Speck? I've been following his scent for a while. He definitely strolled through here, but I have yet to see a trail."

"Not that I know of..." Cora's head whirled around in circles; the forest looked the same in every direction. It even smelled the same: the rich overturned earth, the dead leafy residue in the mud, and the sour streaks of yellow tree sap polluted the surrounding air. Not to mention the bugs, too — they nagged at her neck, those bloodthirsty vermin.