Safety and sanctuary

Her past dogging her every step, Gloria hopes to find a place she is loved, somewhere she belongs. Perhaps she can find solace at the Hamelin Sanctuary, where lost and broken creatures gather.

No-one knew about the Hamelin Sanctuary, or at least no-one talked about it. Gloria stumbled upon it quite by accident, her fur matted and dirty, paws aching, stomach growling. She’d never known there was anyone living in the forest.

The human who ran it had the biggest smile she’d ever seen, bigger even than Matthew’s when he’d first seen her. It made her feel warm inside when this new human smiled at her - she hadn’t seen a smile in so long. Her tail waved, and then drooped - she’d thought about Matthew again. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. It was a terrible thing, to be ambushed by her own thoughts. And they fought dirty.

The new human crooned at her, and the promise of food, shelter - safety - drew her in through the doors. Love kept her inside.

It was an oasis of peace in a world that felt fractured and unsteady. Warm, soft beds, plentiful food, someone to groom her fur and pet her head, and no familiar smells at all. The Sanctuary was as clean and bright as the sun, and in the evenings when shadows lapped at the windowsills, the human - Gregor - would play his fipple flute out in the courtyard. She could sleep happily, listening to the gentle strains of his music wafting on the night breeze.

Soft Colour of the Dawn Clouds was a parakeet, who said she hailed from far-off places, but didn’t seem to ever name the same one. Gloria heard her name Angourie, Nebraska, Tippleton Creek and Lapland. They all sounded big. Except maybe Tippleton Creek - Gloria had swum in creeks with Matthew, and they weren’t very wide. Long, though, and mostly fully of fish and bugs. She’d never seen a parakeet swimming in one.

Gloria asked Buster, the big draughthorse with a missing ear and scars all down his back, about it. He said Dawn would start repeating names once Gloria had been here long enough. There didn’t seem to be any question about whether she would stay. Everyone did.

“After all”, he’d mused, flicking his tail to catch a troublesome sandfly midflight, “what’s out there for any of us?”

It seemed to Gloria that there might be a lot - runs to the shops, summer days in the rivers, winter nights by the fire, scraps under the table - but the spectre of Matthew haunted the shadows beneath the trees, so she stayed in safety. Every time she looked out the door, she thought of him, and turned back into the Sanctuary.

Gregor the human was different. He cared, and he listened. He seemed to know what was in everybody’s hearts - he called her beautiful, and said it was so sad anyone would throw her away like that.

The bunnies under the porch crowded around his feet, clamouring for treats and affection, and he fed them baby corn and carrots and reminded them not to stray too far out into the forest, in case they fell into a hunter’s snare, like their grandma had.

He encouraged Flute, the nightingale, to sing along when he played of an evening, even though the poor bird was tone-deaf and thought a tune was a type of fish. Gregor smiled kindly at the attempt, stroking Flute’s head with a finger, and told him that even if everyone else in the world thought he couldn’t sing, his voice was always welcome here. Flute puffed up under the praise, and croaked a thanks.

It seemed to Gloria that everyone who came here was running from something, and Gregor welcomed them all with open arms. She loved him for it. She loved him more than... No, she couldn’t even think it.

As summer bled into fall and winter reached frosty fingers through the trees, Gloria lived her days in a haze of praise and warmth and slept the nights away cocooned in Gregor’s song. There was no judgement here, no-one here would throw her away, abandon her like trash - Gregor told her so, with a reassuring smile on his face.

One icy winter morning, Dawn snuggled up to Gloria for the comfort of her fur, and told her the secret. She wasn’t from any of those far-off places, not really. Dawn had seen them in an atlas from her cage, her owner turning the pages with rapt attention, and Dawn had resolved there and then to see them all for herself. She’d set out, she said, on a morning like this when her mistress left the cage door open, but the wind - the freezing wind! - had sent her plummeting, and through a miracle she had found herself here.

“Gregor’s helping me get stronger,” she whispered reverentially. “One day, I’ll be strong enough. I’ll see all those places.”

Gloria nodded. “Perhaps next year?” she suggested. 

“Oh, no, no. Gregor says I’m not strong enough yet. But I will be, with his help.”

Spring arrived with the easterly breeze, flowers unfurling in brilliant hues and filling the air with life. Gregor’s tunes changed to a slower, calmer pace - he’d played upbeat, lively songs over the winter months - as if he was a counterpoint to the wild riot of new life.

The smell of the outside drove Gloria crazy. She wanted to run out, dive into the meadow flowers, race through the grass and tumble down hillsides. There were rivers and streams out there to splash in, sights to see and new things to smell. Her tail swished in the dust as she sat by the stable, ears pricked towards the Sanctuary’s boundary and beyond.

Buster clomped over to her, snorting irritably. He wanted to know what she was looking at, and seemed less than pleased when she answered “everything”.

“There’s nothing worthwhile out there,” he opined, scratching in the dirt with one dinner-plate-sized hoof. “Just humans. And where humans are, the fences and whips aren’t far behind.”

It sounded too awful, the picture he painted. Untrue. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, tell him about walks with Matthew, curling up under bedcovers, eating carefully misplaced homework. But then he moved, and she saw his scars, all across his back like latticework. How could she say anything against his words, when they were written so clearly in his flesh? She settled for a half-hearted murmur of agreement, and watched the forest.

When Buster had at last retreated in a cloud of disgust, Gloria heard other footsteps approaching, and the quiet lilt of a fipple flute. Gregor wanted to know if she was leaving. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Squirmed on the spot and whined. But he listened, as he always did, and she knew he knew her answer.

“You can go if you want. It’ll be lonely without you, but I won’t stop you.”

Shock made her ears prick, and this time she did meet his eyes. A small smile and the creases around his eyes said he understood, and he loved her enough to let her go. She bounced to her feet and barked happily at Gregor, licking his hand for good measure before racing towards the fence-line.

Gloria stopped at the boundary, the forest calling her with everything it had to offer. Intriguing scents. Riotous colour. She could even hear, somewhere out of sight, a playful creek burbling to itself, beckoning her to come and play. Matthew had loved spring most of all. And she had loved him, until he hadn’t loved her anymore.

No, she has loved him even after that.

That was what had hurt the most, the fact that he had left her and she hadn’t been able to stop him or follow him. She had been alone, and she had still loved him. Gloria had waited, had hoped, until she could wait no more and had found her way here, where she was wanted. And now she was leaving.

Gloria whined.

Turned away from the forest.

Slunk back into the cool embrace of the Hamelin Sanctuary, where music accompanied the night and she squandered the days away, for love.

Gregor smiled, played his fipple flute, and watched his captives tighten their own chains.