Ethien, for Rebecca. Or, Gender Binary Dissolution.

This warrior is an animal with fur. If it exposes its underbelly, it trusts you, because you could kill it instantly. You could kill it from above, too. That's the same for many animals on our planet. But this animal knows it. It runs a lot and it can sing across several octaves. It has breakfast at very different times each day, just to learn how the sun refracts in the individual grapefruit pulps at different times of day throughout the year. Every night, without fail, it climbs into bed with you, next to your cheek. Even if you are sleeping on something hard. Or next to someone else. It is called Ethien. If you sing it a lullaby, it will go to sleep before you. It does not snore. It does not speak in its sleep. But it will transmit the most incredible dreams of flying. Of sailing. Of speaking new languages and playing all the instruments you want. It does not know how to cook bacon. Or how to make tea when you are ill. But Ethien will stroke the underside of your feet like they are touching a cool stone floor. Like you are touching every surface all over the Earth. So you can breathe all the way down to saltwater, where the angler fish and translucent, semi-catalogued animals swim. Where the spaces between your fingers and the next thing all extend farther than they did before.