a story about a camel, lion, and child

there was once a mouse who lived at the edge of the world. he lived alone on a small island, and the water cascaded all around him. on this island grew rushes, and the mouse chewed them through and made his home. it was a nest dug into the soft mud of the island, and padded with the rushes. the mouse had to be very watchful, because the water would well up inside his home if he did not fight it out. he was constantly patching the floors. he also tended a small field of grain. there were no seasons, and with hard work, some was ready for harvest every day. he did not remember how he came to the island, nor did he wonder. he simply had lived there always.

if the mouse climbed to the top of the rushes and looked, he could see where the world ended, and the water fell. he could also see the fogged outlines of other rushes, and perhaps other islands. birds flew overhead, but never stopped. sometimes, things which were not rushes floated by. the mouse usually ignored them. he was busy patching and turning the soil.

once, he heard the sound of something that was not water or the cries of birds. he dropped his grain, and went into his house, which was still very dry from the morning’s labor. it was a lamenting sound, and for the first time the mouse felt a fear deeper than that of wet feet. it sprang from the sudden knowledge that his hard work would not save him.

a fox was being pulled to the edge of the world. she had fallen into the river and the current had almost drowned her. her red fur had been coated all in mud, and the mud was in her nostrils and mouth. she was screaming the song that wild things know to mourn their own mortality. with her last strength, she pushed herself to the mouse’s island. the land was not much larger than her. as she lay panting on the shore, the mouse came out of his home. she regarded him for a moment, and then snapped him shut in her jaws.

the fox knew other foxes and so knew loneliness. days passed at the edge of the world, and she grew thinner, pacing. birds flew overhead, but never stopped. she would snap at them, falling short always. the fox did not wish to live at the edge of the world, but could find no way to escape. fighting, she screamed for her life. the wind and water split around her shape, and formed again undisturbed on the other side. she grew weaker, and screamed.

on the 6th day, the fox could not get up. she watched the birds overhead, and for the first time did not try to catch them. she watched them as they flew over the edge of the world. they hung suspended on the rift, darting below the horizon and back again. the fox realized that she was not poised on the end of the world, but only the end of her world. she watched the mist form into clouds and dissolve again, and the water turn up murk. she watched the sun dip below the edge and the moon take its place. at the moon, she said, ‘yes’.

in the morning, the fox dragged herself back into the current. she could not keep her head above the water, and swallowed the river until she stopped trying to breathe. she hurtled over the edge of the world. her body separated from the water, and, for a moment, parted the birds and the mist. and then they closed back around her wake, with the sound of birds and water.

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