The cranes mate before spring has fully arrived. In the northern cove, drifts of snow still melt through the eelgrass. For the longest time, Mie remains with the birds, borrows the crane’s body: day after day she lets herself be mounted. Afterward, she caresses her belly, her arms, the hard tips of her breasts; she gives herself over to the gentle touch of her own hands.
When the migration resumes, she looks for other beasts — a wolf, wolverine, vole, mallard, hare, muskrat, buzzard — all of them rutting or in heat.
Three weeks after the cranes’ departure, Sevastian comes upon her sitting on a log where the pebble-bedded river, swollen by spring melt, overflows and floods its banks. Around her, squirrels frolic from one tree to the next. Her father calls out her name. She doesn’t respond. She sees neither Sevastian nor other creatures.
She is an otter.
She’s held underwater by a male, his jaw clamped tight around her neck.
She struggles, her legs thrashing, her fur sliding against the male’s slick body. At times, she surfaces, takes a breath, cries out, whistles; then she’s dragged to the bottom again, the other beast has her by the neck, his fat digits around her pelvis. He doesn’t let go. Her heart beats, weak but quick. She stalls, he holds on, she fights and fights — lashing out with her whole body, her paws, head, claws, teeth — then all of a sudden, the tension subsides. Water envelops her and muffles all sound. Around them fish are spawning, tadpoles swarming. Air bubbles everywhere brush against her fur. Mie swishes her tail to one side, revealing her nymphae. The male is ready, he thrusts, she lets him, she gasps for air but doesn’t fight, the male moves quickly, she lets herself sink. A to and fro carried by the current. The moment of grace lasting less than a minute. Soon she shakes her head, wanting the other otter to release the pressure on the nape of her neck. She’s had enough and covers her sex with her tail. He’s done his part, their two bodies separate and she resurfaces, swims quickly, climbs onto shore, snorts.
The other follows.
She tries to bite him. He retreats and now she chases him; he runs; he pulls too far ahead, starts to slow down, pretends to flee but always waits for her; at times, he lets her catch up; at others she passes him by and he chases her. They gambol along the riverbank, slide in the mud, run away from and toward each other, clutching and tumbling down the sand to the river, belly against belly, their fur mingling. They lick each other, rub their muzzles, wash their heads, their bodies; cuddle, embrace. Finally, they return to the water, she feels the other’s firm jaws around her neck, she thrashes, he takes a firm hold of her pelvis with his paws.