Of the Wild

by Elizabeth Wambheim

“So you’ve adopted all of these kids? None of them are yours by-- by blood?” ​“Not by blood, no.” Aeris knew what he referenced: tumbling and heated caresses—a life-creating ritual older than any of them, human or Wild. He shrugged, dismissive. “What that would require, I do not care for,” he replied. “I have no interest in or love for any part of that process.” ​“Oh?” “But,” Aeris went on, not your kin an unwelcome echo in his thoughts, “they are no less my children for that. I am their guardian, and they have my heart—the whole of it.”

“I am dying,”

“You do not find me charming?” ​“No.” A brighter crack of a smile. “You're trouble.” ​“Trouble? Me? Surely not.” ​“With a smile like that? Yeah, you are.” ​“How unjust.” Aeris recoiled, mock-offended. “My children get to be charming, yet all I am is trouble.”

Family,” he began, sharply aware, even with his eyes closed, of William's drawn attention, “is the garden that grows you before you realize you are growing. It is the dirt and the sun and the air, and you take root where you can, even if all you have is stone and shade. ​“And if that first planting does not take, we try again.” He blinked, found William's eyes on him, their green and brown as dark as deep water in the gathering night. “In a different garden, we try again.”

But a kid's inside space is all for food. Grown-ups have to leave space for other stuff. Like math and remembering the laundry.”

​“Yes.” Likewise without letting go, Aeris flashed an arch smile in William's direction. “And you ought to call me Aeris.” ​“What? Why?” ​“’Tis my name.” ​“Is it?” William blinked, turned his head to study him, almost suspicious, from the corner of one eye. “But your kids call you Dani.” ​“That is title and endearment.” Aeris lifted one shoulder in a gesture of playful nonchalance. “They have never agreed on whether I am mother or father or older sibling, so they gave me a name which is like-but-not all three.” ​“Oh. So it's like... a family nickname.” ​“Yes, and though you are part of my family, with you, I would prefer to be Aeris.”

William was a burning sun, and he a waning moon, and such a fire ought not be for him.

This fire was not for him, this light was not for him, but he wanted—so dearly wanted—to stay close, to stay warm, to dissolve into someone else's care and kindness.

You don’t pick and choose. You just love. That’s beautiful.

“He said you gave so much of yourself away that you didn't have any left for you.”

“Just keep a piece of your heart for yourself next time.” ​“Certainly.” Aeris tilted his head again, ducked to catch William's newly-averted gaze. “But giving it to you was no mistake.”