Scott: Zaan

Despite the affectionate nickname that had been bestowed upon her, Zaan didn’t feel like a “Young Bride.” Apart from her age and the fact that she was shortly to be wed, Zaan didn’t feel like anything that resembled young or bride-like.

Militi, Zaan’s future sister-in-law and favorite member of the tribe, was put in charge of the ears. It was very important the ears be decorated exactly right, lest the union-to-be prove unfruitful. The trick was not to be too extravagant nor too plain. Militi, as expected, did a splendid job; deftly ordering around Mela and Farci who were to be Zaan’s step children. They crushed the blood-colored cherry stone with their feet and mixed it with water for paint. Yellow was not a hard color to come by but it took a good four moons of preparation to save up enough bug berries to yield that perfect night-blue.

The pattern was Zaan’s idea; the wings of a magical creature she had seen once as a young calf in a far away land. It was extremely brave considering its ridiculously small size; landing right on the tip of her trunk without so much as a buzz or a chirp. Zaan’s eyes were small enough then to focus on its delicate body, an event that for some reason struck her as a privilege. Her adult-eyes, now a good half-a-tusk farther apart, meant that her point of focus was now too far away to allow her reentry into this miniature world. Adulthood marked not only an anatomical transformation, but a shift into another dimension where only normal-sized things matter.

The ceremony was simple and beautiful. Trunks sprayed arches of water that framed the newly weds. Zaan blinked her dotted ears at the men who were probably making crude remarks about their size. They had no idea what they were looking at.