In Their Jungle Home

Heart to heart.

Trees parted, a dark shape forged ahead, brushing away branches with simple ease. Nothing stood in the way, no one dared. Jungle dwellers felt the approach from the moment this presence entered the jungle and they long since scattered from its path. The leathery wings were tucked in, the stride was relaxed but swift, it was safe here after all and this moment posed no danger. The creature sped in between the ancient trees; the way was clear because every single twist in the road without any boundaries was in the blood, as was the jungle itself.
Mutual respect existed within the jungle, not at all lessened by some of the dwellers eating their neighbours. Everyone had to eat.  His kind was respected because of the respect they had for everyone else in the jungle even when feasting upon their animal flesh, but also because with their ferocity they kept the human kind at bay. They kept the two legged thumb possessing mammals somewhat further away from their jungle homes, from their young and food.  That distance was quickly closing; growing smaller but without them it would have probably faded long ago.

Within the denser, darker part of the jungle, within the rainforest itself the creature slightly slowed his pace, familiar footsteps filled the air, the elder one felt the approach of another, and he was no longer alone in this part of the forest. Somebody he well knew was coming straight for him. The scent, one he could distinguish from a hundred others, filled his nostrils. Yes, they were the kings of the jungle, born to be ferocious and superior; their scenes overpowered those of any other creature but yet the numbers of the two legged almost naked beasts, free of fur, were already overwhelming. A shadow appeared, sent from a muscled lion like body and then the all too human face, capable of millions of emotions; love, compassion, hate and fear, peered at him from underneath a wild mane at a face almost identical to his own. The manticore was joined by his brother Smehell, of no blood relation. With their front left paws the two manticores combed the earth, and then familiarly placed their heads side by side with the poisonous tips of their tails touching in greeting. Without any further words, or any ceremony they set off towards their home.

The two beasts, so called by the thumb yielding ones, moved side by side, possessing identical grace. They run confidently, but not overtly so, listening to the forest life with every footfall, watching the dancing shadows in the darkness with every heartbeat. Eronan given his age and status as a warrior and protector was slightly ahead of Smehell.
“We’ve tried everything and still nothing works.” The younger manticore continued the conversation they left off some hours ago.  “I’ve even tried those herby drinks, with the strange zingy after taste.” He opened, closed and opened his mouth, reliving the experience of drinking the strange mixture.
“Maybe you two are trying too hard?” Smehell asked, hoping he wasn’t being nosey; he wanted to be involved in the lives of his friends and family, but politely so. He looked at his friend; slightly gulping for breath, being too personal was difficult for him, there were invisible lines of civility guiding his step. “You know making your swimmers fall short” He blinked. “of the target.”
“It is stressful.” Smehell sighed agreeing. “It feels more like a job now, a duty to perform, no more romance or spontaneity.”
Eronan shook his head, young ones are always head butting their way into the future, everything comes in its own time, or so he hoped.
“Go away for the weekend, just the two of you. Enjoy each other’s company, don’t talk about making a baby, but have a romantic time. Laugh and love.”

Smehell nodded, chewing over the advice, at times trying too hard lead to not getting what you wanted in the first place because you want it too much. “How did it happen to you and your missus?”
“We were young, too young.” When Eronan realised how his answer wasn’t really enough and Smehell wanted to hear more he added; “It wasn’t the best of time for it to happen so it happened.” It always just happened, one thing lead to another, then to another, then a baby, and then it happened again and again, now it happened for the fourth time. Nobody knew yet, it was too early to tell about but he was already at a loss. He was a good hunter and a warrior, but somehow it was never enough to support his family. They never starved, but lacked a few things from time to time. It was difficult for him not being able to provide his children or wife with what they deserved, sometimes basic things.
“It wasn’t the best of time for it so it happened. And the second time it happened it was even more badly timed. But that’s how life goes sometimes; you only have to make it work.” Eronan didn’t want to sound like he didn’t want to have his kids so he stopped talking. He loved them dearly, they were his life and his whole world, but were they planned? No. But it didn’t matter, how many things were? He wished, day in and day out, to be more prepared for them when they came into this life.
Silence and heat grew, none were oppressing they were simply a fact of being. Eronan raised his head as he run and looked at the very tips of the enormous trees where the moon was piercing the cover of leaves; it was good to be warm. The warmth made all of the problems go away at least for a few seconds and so Eronan busked in its glory.
“The funniest thing about this whole situation is now I feel less of a man.” Smehell confided, breaking the silence. “Like I’m not meant to be a father because I’m not good enough to be a father.”
It was now becoming very personal, Eronan was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable but his friend needed to talk, to vent a little, and to pour his heart out, so he’d be there for him in this moment of need despite his own discomfort.
“Of course you are meant to be a father; you are caring and protective, children love you, a great sign for the potential you have.” Eronan was close to saying how passing on genes, making children in order not to completely die was the most natural thing. We are born, he thought, to reproduce and then to become food for the worms so they in turn reproduced too. But this wasn’t always true, many couldn’t have children, they’d possibly make great parents but for them it wasn’t meant to be.
Eronan saw this for one twisted situation, normality of life. Eronan was expecting another child, and afraid, not knowing how he was going to feed another mouth and here was Smehell, struggling to start a family. There was a way to solve both of their problems and at this thought Eronan nearly run into a tree. He stung himself with the tip of his tail to keep the dark thoughts at bay. His own poison had no effect on him but the sting hurt, a lesson for thinking such things. He was desperate but this was unspeakable. Now he’d never forgive himself for this fleeting thought. And it was an entirely silly thought, produced by his not coping mind; his wife would never agree to give the child for adoption and to tell the truth neither would he. It was his child and his responsibility.
Smehell’s pace slowed in the almost silent forest, only the birds remained above and the buzz of many insects. “Look, we’re home.”
Eronan looked ahead, indeed they were.

Smehell’s pace quickened in the almost silent forest, only the birds remained above in the ancient trees. The signs of their territory, one of their eternal homes was now visible, skulls were scattered about in precise and ordered manner. All skulls belonged to the trespassers and potential invaders of various kinds and species. Most heeded the warning but those dreaming of glory, of wealth not belonging to them always remained, and so has their greed. Manticores protected their home like so many others.
Smehell almost felt the comfort of his abode, the loving touch of his wife and Eronan felt the warmth of the cooling hearth, the loving regard of his wife and the laugher of his children. Life was life and so be it.