Bonfire

Zalmon breathed heavily with each step of his hike. Both he and his Groyle, Zulu, had chosen to vacation in Kithiria. He had suggested the trip to Mel as a way to celebrate completing his medical training. The memory of proposing the idea to the light Nyanarr, he'd been filled with a sense of joy and excitement. Zalmon had always believed that his studies were the reason for the distance between them, but the Light Nyanarr's decision not to join hinted at a different story.

Zulu nudged Zalmon gently, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts and preventing a darkened mood. Zalmon looked up at the imposing feline creature and smiled warmly. Zulu was nearing his second birthday, and although Zalmon wasn't certain if he was fully grown, he was notably taller than the petite Fire Nyanarr. Zulu's features were striking: a feline face graced with two massive saber teeth and a body covered in gray-brown fur. Patches of orange-tan stood out on his head's crown, a fluffy mane encircling his neck, tufts on his elbows, behind his furry ears, and his softer underbelly. Below the Groyle’s deep red-orange eyes, which were set against a black sclera, flowed strips of a lighter orange hue. Teal eyebrows adorned Zulu's forehead, complementing his overall appearance.

Zalmon affectionately scratched behind Zulu’s ear, observing the black exterior and the same orange stripe as under his eyes on the inside. A pair of gold studs clipped onto Zulu's left ear, and a nose ring clung gently to his lion-like nose. As Zulu blinked slowly at Zalmon, a deep chuff of empathy emerged from his chest. Since his hatching, Zulu had showcased an almost supernatural ability to perceive Zalmon's emotions. It was evident now that he recognized Zalmon's underlying distress and insecurity.

Zulu's wings lazily stretched out, showcasing the teal webbing that matched the color of his eyebrows. The fur on the wings was a deep brown, almost black, fading to orange at the tips. His paws, stained by the forest's earth, had orange pads on the left and teal on the right. Zulu's tail, short and stubby, transitioned from the gray-brown of his body to black, then to teal, and finally ended in an orange tip. Zalmon gave Zulu a deep hug around his fluffy mane before continuing.

The forest seemed to hum with an age-old vitality. Massive trees reached skyward, their bark a rich reddish-brown that contrasted sharply with the leafy canopy above. Sunlight filtered through the dense treetops, casting dappled shadows on the ground and creating an mesmerizing play of light and darkness. Each tree stood like a natural monument, a testament to centuries, if not millennia, of growth. Their massive trunks, some wider than several people could span with outstretched arms, bore the marks of time – gnarled roots, twisted branches, and scars from past storms. The air was fresh and tinged with the scents of damp earth, decaying leaves, and the festive aroma of pine.

Below the towering giants, the forest floor was a patchwork of life. Ferns, mosses, and underbrush provided a lush green carpet, occasionally punctuated by vibrant wildflowers that peeked out, taking advantage of the spots where sunlight broke through. Birds flitted from branch to branch, their songs echoing through the vastness, while squirrels and other critters scurried about, playing their part in the forest's hierarchy. The deeper the pair ventured, the more the forest revealed – from the soft whisper of wind brushing the treetops to the distant sound of a babbling brook, each element adding layers to the rich story of the woodland landscape.

The pair trekked on through the vast forest. The massive trunks, wrapped in the soft embrace of moss and ferns, stood as silent witnesses to their journey. As Eiros began to dip low on the horizon, the physical activity helped keep Zalmon's spirits elevated, distracting him from his homebound concerns. All the while, Zulu remained attentive to his father, occasionally getting distracted by the unique and enticing scents the forest generously offered.

Zalmon dropped his pack, which contained all the necessary camping supplies, and quickly moved to help Zulu with his load. Training Zulu to accept anything on his back other than Zalmon himself had been a challenge. Zalmon had started with a gentle approach, fastening soft toys to Zulu's back. Gradually, they progressed to the custom-made packs that Zulu now wore with ease and confidence.

As Zalmon began unpacking and setting up their camp, Zulu, the large Groyle, took this as an opportunity to explore and play. He energetically chased squirrels, scratching and marking a fallen tree with his claws, and took to the skies to playfully harass the birds. Despite his adventurous spirit, Zulu always made sure to remain within shouting distance of Zalmon, ensuring his human companion's safety and comfort were always a priority.

When Zalmon had finally finished setting up camp the moon, Zana, had risen high in the sky. Even the towering canopy of the forest couldn’t block the moon’s radiant embers. The tent he'd pitched was expansive, originally designed for multiple compartments. However, after a series of modifications and patches, Zalmon had transformed it into a cozy shelter for both him and Zulu. He kept the expansive mesh windows open, allowing the invigorating and aromatic essence of the forest to fill their space.

At the camp's center, Zalmon meticulously cleared the forest floor of any combustibles. Using a spade, he dug a deep pit. Zulu, in his playful forays, fetched large stones—though not necessarily to aid Zalmon. The Groyle seemed more keen on collecting souvenirs for their return journey. Regardless of Zulu's intent, each stone he brought was strategically placed by Zalmon to line the pit. And as Zana shone brightly overhead, a robust circle of stones securely encased the pit.

With Zulu's diligent assistance, Zalmon meticulously gathered and trimmed firewood. To sustain a lasting blaze, they'd need a significant stockpile, and the two spent an entire day in a laborious dance of gathering, chopping, and scouting. By evening, Zalmon felt they'd amassed enough. Each twilight, they'd ignite a modest bonfire, with Zalmon conjuring his signature radiant, spectrum-hued flames. As the fire danced, he'd regale Zulu with tales of his audacious quest for the Groyle egg that would become his cherished companion. To protect their hard-won cache from the elements, Zalmon draped it with multiple tarps, ensuring the wood remained dry and ready. However, he always held a watchful eye on the sky, keen to avoid rain that might thwart their plans, but equally anxious about the risks of an uncontrollable inferno.

In his reckless youth, he'd unwittingly sparked such a disaster. After escaping the confines of an orphanage, he'd sought refuge in the dense woods near his hometown. There, survival was more challenging than the urban jungle he'd known, where his formidable rainbow fire often ensured dominance over others. The wilderness, in its stoic beauty, rewarded only the truly deserving. One fateful night, while hunting, Zalmon found himself encircled by an imposing pack of wolves, their eyes gleaming with predatory intent. In desperation, he hurled vibrant orbs of rainbow fire at them. While he staved off the immediate threat, the insatiable flames soon devoured the forest around him. Gasping for breath amidst the smoke, salvation arrived in the form of fire-fighting hotshots. Later, in the sanctuary of a hospital, it was the doctor, Mel's, tender care that nursed him back to vitality.

On the third evening of their getaway, Zalmon sensed it was the opportune moment. A tempest had roared through the previous night as they slumbered within their tent. The memory was vivid in Zalmon's mind. Despite Zulu's colossal and intimidating stature, rain transformed him into the most docile of kittens. Forced to abandon the coziness of his sleeping bag, Zalmon meticulously reinforced their shelter with additional tarps to keep the deluge at bay.

Reentering the tent, Zalmon rummaged through his bag, extracting a battery-powered star projector and a Bluetooth speaker. In Zulu's anxious eyes, Zalmon took an eternity to set up the soothing ambiance of campfire sounds and the mesmerizing dance of constellations. The Groyle's soft, plaintive whines punctuated the air until the tranquil setting was complete. Not stopping there, Zalmon fetched extra blankets from Zulu's pack, enveloping the Groyle in a warm embrace of fabric.

Once Zulu found the environment to his liking, he carefully unfurled a wing, fashioning a makeshift alcove for Zalmon. Slipping inside with his sleeping bag, Zalmon was soon encased in a gentle hug, cradled by Zulu's powerful paws.

Zalmon carefully spread a tarp adjacent to the tent, creating a comfortable resting spot for Zulu. He meticulously stacked the logs, ensuring good air circulation for a healthy blaze. Despite the earth's dampness, igniting the bonfire proved effortless for Zalmon. His innate fire and elemental prowess had always been potent, a primary reason the academy had recognized and cultivated his abilities.

As the first spark caught the kindling, the flames danced hesitantly before surging with confidence, consuming the logs with a voracious appetite. The fire painted the surroundings with a warm, colored hue, and its crackling harmonized with the nocturnal sounds of the forest. The bonfire's majestic display cast elongated shadows, and the heat radiated outwards, creating a comforting barrier against the chill of the night.

Zulu, intrigued by the rising flames, moved closer. The gentle roar and rhythmic crackling of the fire resonated with him deeply. It reminded him of Zalmon—both the warmth of his presence and the comforting cadence of his voice. The Groyle nestled down on the tarp, eyes half-closed, lulled into a state of contentment by the fire's lullaby.

Zalmon settled beside the roaring blaze, the crackling flames casting a colored, quivering light onto a small photo album cradled in his hands. This moment, steeped in introspection, marked the culmination of his retreat. With tender fingers, he leafed through the album, each photograph a stark window into a past that once tethered him to ceaseless torment. However, years of healing had morphed these once painful memories into mere chapters of a saga he was on the cusp of concluding. With a deep breath, he embarked on recounting the stories behind each photo to Zulu, the weight of his words making the air between them thick with emotion.

"These photographs capture moments with one of the families I've known," Zalmon began, his voice wavering slightly. "You see, Zulu, I was forsaken by my birth parents around the time I was your current age. No memories remain of them in my mind; these images are all that tether me to that time. This one," he held up a particular photo with a slight smile, "'Zal’s first steps' it's titled. It depicts me, barely a toddler, navigating stairs while gripping the railing. I recall, as a young boy, staring at these images, seething with bitterness. My biological parents left no pictures of themselves, a void that I interpreted as their disdain, their wish for me to never trace them back. But now, with the wisdom of years, I wonder if they did it out of a different sentiment. If I were ever in a position to leave you, Zulu, it'd likely be under similar circumstances. Not out of hate, but out of overwhelming sadness and shame. For only in my darkest hours would the thought of leaving you ever cloud my mind."

As he finished, Zalmon, with a ceremonial gravity, took each photo, holding it for a brief moment, allowing the weight of the memory to wash over him one last time, before surrendering it to the consuming embrace of the flames.

Bathed in the gentle, flickering luminescence of the rainbow fire, Zalmon painstakingly narrated the tales behind each photograph. Every image was a moment, an emotion, a story he unburdened himself of, offering it to the purifying embrace of the fire. The light from the flames would catch the gleam of a tear here, the furrow of a brow there, as the weight of each memory was acknowledged and then released.

When he reached the photographs taken during his hospitalization, a perceptible hesitation took hold. Zalmon's hand wavered as he traced the contours of a younger self, broken and isolated, certain that the only means of self-preservation was to sever emotional ties, even with his own sentiments. Yet among those bleak snapshots was an image that stood out — his first photo with Mel.

Gulping down the lump in his throat, he tenderly caressed the photo, as if hoping to glean some sense of clarity from it. "Zulu," he started, voice quivering with vulnerability, "this was a time when I felt truly fractured, where I believed my own emotions were the enemy. Mel was there when I felt least deserving of any compassion. And now... now that I've found my strength, my purpose, and my footing, I fear that very transformation might be why he seems distant."

He took a deep, steadying breath, collecting himself. "This chapter with Mel, it's one I'm not quite prepared to conclude. My heart yearns to rekindle the warmth we once had. Yet, whatever the outcome, whatever turns the pages of our stories may take, I know one thing remains constant — you, my loyal Zulu, will always be by my side."

Drawing the photo book closed, a silent testament to a past revisited, he moved closer to Zulu. The two of them snuggled, finding solace in each other's presence against the backdrop of the dying embers.

As dawn broke and the night's catharsis settled in, Zalmon began packing. A newfound sense of liberation and determination filled him. Though he was returning home, he carried with him not just his belongings, but also a rejuvenated spirit, ready to face the challenges of the chapters yet to be written.