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The air world was a fascinating place, with its clear views into the distance, and the unsettling way that everything was so still. Mudtail had felt almost sick the first time he noticed the way that the surface of the water flowed while all else was unmoving. It was very different up here, and when he had first emerged, he’d been captivated by it.
But now the novelty had worn off, and Mudtail was desperately homesick. He couldn’t swim here; he could only get from one place to another by scrabbling along like a bottom-feeder. It took forever to get anywhere, it was tiring, and he was all alone.
He had been late to develop, leaving the water at the end of the season with the crowd of breeders all but gone. And those few remaining partners wanted nothing to do with someone with a speech impediment.
Mudtail curled up on the rock, tucking his tail against his side, reflexively trying to hide its lack of voice-flesh. That tail had made conversation difficult his whole life, with some words and ideas impossible to express properly. It was almost a mercy that the females had turned him down before he attempted a mating dance. He surely would have humiliated himself.
With a deep sigh, Mudtail watched the water swirl past. This was a quiet area upstream, with little to see but also few people to urge him onward. The emergence area had been full of helpful sorts. All of the near-adults were spending time at the surface, both in their duty to improve the air-breathing experience of the adults, and also in preparation for their own turn next breeding season. Mudtail had already had enough of their forced optimism in the preceding weeks. It was a relief when his gills finally closed, sending him into the air with his ears full of encouragement and his heart full of doubt.
It didn’t take long for him to give up and sit staring aimlessly at the water. He knew that life was going on normally underneath without him — he caught a glimpse of a third-flood that he recognized, tending a garden in the clear shallows — and the thought that he would never swim there again made him shut his eyes tight and curl up closer.
I’m supposed to be brave, he thought miserably. Air time is meant for exploring, and adventure, and experiences that no one back home could ever know. Not sitting on a rock wishing. But he couldn’t bring himself to get up. There was no point.
He heard an echo from downstream, and he flinched at the alien sound. The mating ground wasn’t even safe now, whether or not there were females around. Not with those strange creatures harassing everyone. Before he had left home, there had been talk of the animals that the guards had seen, and now Mudtail had seen them too, from a safe distance. He had no desire to see them up close.
Not when the guards are warning everyone back, he thought. He was torn between wanting to leave for a safer area, and wanting to get closer in case there were any remaining females spying from the bushes. Hating himself, he did neither. He just sat on the rock and watched the third-flood harvest vegetables.
Then something caught his eye, and he turned to see a new animal looking back at him.
Mudtail leapt to his feet, ready to flee, but he stopped when it spoke to him. It talked in a double voice: one that he heard with his ears, and one that resonated in his head, meeting his thoughts at the source. Mudtail stared in confusion.
“Don’t run,” the creature said. “I won’t hurt you. Please, I need help.”
It was the last part that really caught his attention. Mudtail hesitated, taking in the sight of the tall animal colored like the reflection off a river. It wasn’t moving to attack, and didn’t seem threatening. But Mudtail had heard that one of the mysterious creatures harassing the town had coloration like this.
=What do you want?= Mudtail finally asked, not moving from the top of the rock.
“I need to know about the stutter-sleep,” it said. “How does it work?”
=Huh?= Mudtail was nonplussed. =Why do you want to know about that?=
“It’s hurting my people,” the creature said. “Can you tell me what causes it?”
=Well, sure, the invisible blue clouds do,= Mudtail said, shifting uneasily. =When a mating pair dances, the clouds cover them and help the eggs catch life.= He made an awkward gesture. =It’s intended. Why?=
The uncolor creature moved farther into the open, and Mudtail saw that it carried a mysterious object. “What happens when the clouds cover someone who’s not mating?” it pressed.
=They die early,= Mudtail said. =At the end of mating, people sleep and the clouds leave, but if they’re caught again later, they don’t sleep. The clouds eat their emotions until they don’t have any left, and their time is done.= It felt strange to be explaining this to someone now. He had passed on the wisdom to hatchlings before, but he’d never expected someone in the air to need it explained.
“That has been happening to my people,” the creature said. “How do we stop it? Is there a way to keep the clouds away from us?”
Mudtail thought. =They shouldn’t like you in the first place,= he said. =They are intended only for us. They usually ignore other animals. And they stay in the air, where the breeding adults are.=
“So we could swim to avoid them, but my people don’t breathe water,” the strange animal said. Then something seemed to occur to it. “Wait, what makes them go after the adults? Will they pass over non-breeding adults to get a mating pair?”
=Yes, all the time,= Mudtail said. =They are meant for mating.=
“Then there may be hope,” the creature said with excitement. “Do you know about pheromones?”
Mudtail didn’t, and the explanation that the animal gave was just this side of unbelievable, but these “pheromones” did sound like a logical way for the clouds to sense the breeders. Now that it was pointed out to him, the things did behave a lot like predators smelling blood in the water.
=So how does this help you?= Mudtail asked.
“Bait,” the animal said. “If we can collect some of the pheromones, we can make more, and use them to lure the clouds away from us.”
Mudtail realized that he wasn’t scared anymore, caught up in the conversation. =How do you collect them?= he asked.
“From mating adults,” was the answer. “I don’t suppose you can help with that?”
Mudtail hung his head. =No one will have me,= he said. =And there aren’t any females around anyway. The creatures at the breeding ground scared away the last of them — are they your people?=
“Not mine directly,” the creature said with obvious disapproval. “But I know them. Are they bothering everyone?”
=Yes. The guards called an alert, last I heard.= Mudtail looked downstream. =That was a while ago, though.=
“We’ll have to do something about that,” the creature said. “But do you know where we might find any other breeders?”
=They’re probably all scattered, exploring the air like you’re supposed to,= Mudtail said. =I don’t expect to see any more emerge, either.=
“Are there other mating grounds where they might gather?”
=No. Well...= Mudtail corrected himself. =None close enough that we could get there in my lifetime.=
“Really?” The creature sounded interested. “Where are the others?”
=There’s another village up the river.= Mudtail pointed with his snout. =But the distance is many days’ swim, so I’ll never see it.= He lowered his head.
“Want to bet?”
Mudtail looked up at the creature’s tone.
“Do you know what an aircar is?”