THOTH LAY STILL after another long night doing his best to stay warm, though the nights were never very cold. He was nestled snug atop a makeshift bed of matted down ferns and grass, beneath a layer of bedding composed of cloth. This time he had isolated himself just outside of Den, for two nights, on the eastern side of a gentle hill facing away from his hidden village. He had not been feeling himself lately and reconciled on seclusion. The shadows of the passing night were overwhelmed by the sun’s rising grandeur, which caressed Thoth’s eyelids out of a heavenly slumber. He shooed away the lingering images, shut them off like fleeting lifetimes that had instantaneously dissipated as the first vestige of consciousness transformed itself upon his view. The canopy of the jungle swayed slightly with a westward breeze and the dew-dripped shrubbery began to rustle as the larger diurnal mammals began their routines. Thoth continued to lie still however, enveloped by the vivid scenery that revived once more before his drowsy mind. He shut his eyes and tried to recollect the dream he just awoke from, and as he tried he grew sad as he remembered that it was not of the girl—the nameless beauty he had never seen in real life. Although it had been almost a month, he was still somewhat surprised that she had not yet returned to the realm of his dreams, as he wished. He sat up and carefully positioned his head between the thin shadows of a few distant palm trees and the sunbeams that grew in tropical intensity by the minute. The dull morning air brought small beads of condensation onto the fragrant orchids which lay in wait for the day to begin. Thoth yawned and sluggishly looked up and noticed a small lizard delicately grasping the thin limb of a nearby twig with its suction-cupped hands. It patiently waited for one of the many insects to draw near enough. He thought on how nature was always patient and hardly ever anxious. The lizard had a peculiar red crown about its darting eyes that went down its smooth neck. It reminded him of his brother and the way that he dyed his hair every now and then.
Djer and Abar were back safely behind the gush of the waterfall and their parents were still asleep. Little did Thoth realize that they all had been worried exhaustibly over his whereabouts, because he failed to mention to anyone his intentions whatsoever; they all had been out the night before to search for him. Abar took to the trees, naturally, since she was an avid climber, to look for her oldest brother; and the youngest male sibling of the family held long pieces of wood and poked the ground in attempts to rouse him awake. They looked for hours, but in vain, and upon returning to Den spread the word to the rest of the villagers whom also grew very concerned. Most of the residents of Den considered Thoth as a son of their own and as a person who required more attention than any other occupant of their cavern because he was the only one with a disability—being deaf since the age of nine. Every Den dweller had his or her own way to communicate with Thoth, most by means of facial expressions, hand gestures and movements of the mouth, which was inevitable. Thoth had learned to read lips, to some extent, and remembered certain sounds and how they looked when spoken. He would talk sometimes, loudly, but for the most part he would keep to his quiet self. Other Den dwellers his age laughed at him or teased him and those images were forever etched in his memory. It was these things that haunted his dreams for so many years and forced him into involuntary seclusion amongst his peers. Being the only Den dweller that was vitiated and unmistakably unique made him despise himself, but it also brought to attention two questions in his mind: the purpose of his handicap, and to what extent it could make him a better person—if it were possible. His earlier days were full of ineffective attempts to fit in; and he grew paranoid of laughter since whenever someone would do so it was usually accompanied by finger-pointing, followed by immediate isolation there afterward. Feeling completely enervated was one of the reasons he repeatedly secluded himself. The other being that he spent so much time alone that he eventually developed solace in it, a solitary peace of mind, and he would rather bide his lonesome hours admiring creatures that had neither the capacity to ridicule nor the desire to. Those were the reasons, ultimately, for his reclusive nature, which hardly shed light as to why he had not been feeling himself lately.
