Rio del Cor rested her head against the tree branch in front of her. Night had fallen, and it had the perfect conditions for dancing. There was little to no wind, only the faintest of breezes ruffling her dark black fur. The air was not too dry and not too humid. It wasn’t so cold that toes and paw pads would grow numb despite the rigorous movements of dancing, and not too hot that the dancer would overhear and find their breaths heavily labored, their movements sluggish. The moon, though only half-full, bathed the grasslands in a pale blue light, and the stars were sparkling like a thousand gemstones. And yet, Rio did not feel like dancing one bit. She could no longer feel the rhythm in the wind, hear the songs of nature in the night-chirpers and songbirds. The music of the world around her was silent, leaving the female to stare up at the stars somberly. Her mother had always said that each star was the spirit of a past ancestor looking down upon those still living, watching them, guiding them. Her mother was up there amongst those stars now. Rio wondered what the ancient dancer would say to her if she were still alive. The leopard did not think it could be anything good.
A few short weeks ago, her son, Lume Flanco, had run away from the family. Normally this was not something to be alarmed about. Young and hot-headed, Rio was used to her son taking off for a day or two to let off the energy that came with youth, and no doubt the blood from his cheetah father. He would always return after his adventures, much more calm and ready to practice his dancing. But in the weeks before his departure, the male had been more restless, more angry. He had been just as short-tempered as Rio was, and even snapped at his own dear sister. It was Pintala that had noticed the changes first. She had been the one to alert Rio to the fact that Lume was not calming down, was not cooling off, that his anger was burning up and bubbling inside of him like a volcano ready to explode.
But Rio had not listened. She had not taken her daughter’s advice to let the young male be. Instead, the mother had heckled him, scorned him, rebuked him. But how else had she been expected to react? Her son had been taking off to engage in dangerous activities and to seek out violence, always limping home with wounds and blood-soaked fur. Rio had not raised a warrior. She raised artists and entertainers! Those who brought beauty and joy to the world with their art, not those who took it away with petty violence and destruction. Her son had been heading down a dark path, and it was the love and worry of a mother that fueled her words.
So when Lume came limping back into their camp that one night, blood dripping down his neck, ear torn, cuts and bites and scratches everywhere, woozy from blood loss, Rio had lost it. She’d made the mistake of giving her son and ultimatum. She had asked him to choose between his family and his games, to choose between dancing and fighting. She had forbid him from ever engaging in such activities ever again, thinking that Lume would choose his family.
But he hadn’t.
The male had declared that he was no longer part of the family and fled. And Rio had only stared dumbfounded as he disappeared. And she had refused to believe that Lume was truly gone. Pinta had wanted to go after him, wanted to stop him in his madness. But no, Rio had to restrain, told her she was wrong, told her to stay back. She was always holding Pinta back, always under the impression that her young daughter was nowhere near as wise as herself. Now Rio was beginning to realize how foolish that line of thinking was. Pinta had been right all along, about everything. And three days later, when it became clear that Lume was indeed not returning, she let Pinta fly as well, pursuing her brother to change his mind.
And now Rio was alone. She followed, heavy-hearted and downcast, the tracks and symbols her daughter left her. The trunk of the tree beneath her had a crude arrow scratched into it, signaling the direction Pinta had taken. Rio was mostly using her daughter’s scent to track her, but it was always a good idea to have a back-up plan. Her daughter was so smart. Why hadn’t Rio listened to her? Why did she have to be so stubborn? Why did she only way to see things the way she wanted to instead of seeing them for what they really were.
Her mother’s star would not be twinkling brightly tonight. Nor would it tomorrow night, nor the night after that. Rio had broken her family apart, and she was to blame. She had failed. Her mother had always said that family was the most important thing in the world. Not food or hunger or death or disease was more important than staying loyal to family. And now she had no family. Her mother would be so disappointed in her.
Rio was disappointed in herself. If she ever got her children back, she swore that she would not make the same mistakes. Lume could go off and do whatever he wanted if it made him happy. She would no longer force Pinta to practice dancing, instead she would let her daughter sing, using her beautiful voice to accompany Rio’s graceful movements. She would never force her family to do anything they didn’t want to again.
The dancer lifted her head and shut her eyes tight. She pleaded for her ancestors to guide her daughter’s quest in finding Lume. She prayed that her wayward son would find his way back to their family, that his anger would cool and he would find it in his heart to forgive Rio for her mistakes. She knew that her daughter was determined enough to follow Lume to the ends of the earth, but she also knew that Lume was stubborn enough to run there in the first place.
It was in the hands of the gods now. Rio put her head back down and settled in for a night of fitful sleep, dreaming of younger days when her cubs were by her side.
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