Summary: Growing old together can be one of the best things in life.
(c) 2005, Nathan Ryan
Note: All the characters in this story are lutrids, basically, otter-morphs.

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The air hardly moved over the tall gold and green grass. He could hear only the slightest rustle as the finches and flycatchers flitted from place to place, feasts on this early spring day. Today was the day. From the moment he awoke he knew that it would be. The sky was clear, even above his modest coastal home. The air was warm. He arose from his soft mattress to discover his mate, Churena, was already up. Churena. The very thought of his beloved still made his heart glow, even after all these years. Now, as the sun began to rise high into the sky, he lay back in the tall grass and gazed at the Lutrid woman beside him. Her age was starting to show on her face. Her fur had lost its luster a few years back. Now, traces of lightly discolored fur started to creep in on her face. Yes, she was getting old, but she was still younger than he was. What she ever saw in him to ask him to marry her he would never truly understand. He didn't want to. The look of love on her face for the Lutrid she'd given her life to was enough for him.

She smiled again, pointing to the cobalt sky. With that invitation he reluctantly pried his gaze away from her and toward their reason for being there. The contented sigh of his lover graced his ears. "It'll start soon," she said. He had every confidence she was right.

A light breeze passed overhead, rustling in the grasses. The sound brought him back 43 years. 'Was I ever that young,' he asked himself, but indeed he had been - back when the woman beside him was like a fantasy. Then he met her, and she was no more a fantasy, but still a dream. He would have asked for her paw in marriage, but he didn't dare break with tradition for such a traditional girl. Even back then she smelled of the salty bay she called home, while he smelled of sage. They were united two years after his rite of adulthood was completed, to the day. 'And they said it wouldn't last.'

"Do you remember," he asked, "That year?" Her hand reached out and took his as they lay there in the morning sun. 'Of course she remembers,' he thought. That year he had woken up just like he did this day. He came and met her on this same hill every morning for a week. That year their visitors didn't come - at least, not on time. They came on the seventh day, but there were so few of them. It had gotten him down. Though he tried to hide it, he could tell by her expression that she saw right through his facade.

"You come out here every year?" she had asked.

"Without fail," he replied. "Something about it - it's just so different. I lay back and watch. . . It's like they love to fly as much as we love to swim." A silence fell between them as the tension seemed to melt off of him and mount onto her. "I wonder if flying feels like swimming."

Then she sat up, blocking the sunlight from his face. The gentle breeze made her long whiskers sway as she leaned down toward him. He felt his heart leap and butterflies in his nervous stomach at the same time, vying for his attention. Her kiss told his heart what to feel. The stiffness of the fur around her mouth, the softness of her tongue, the sharpness of her teeth, and the power of her kiss weakened him and banished the nervousness he felt. Slowly she broke off their lingering kiss, and silence filled the space. A single fluttering butterfly lighted on her shoulder, a traveling monarch butterfly. "Will you marry me," she'd asked.

"Of course I remember," she answered, bringing him out of his dreamy memory.

"They were late, but right on time. After I kissed you back. . . ."

"After you said yes. We stood up to leave. . . ."

"They were flying in waves. It was like a cloud."

She chuckled. "I was afraid if I opened my mouth I would have swallowed one of those monarchs."

"Hmm," he mused. "I probably would have kissed that mouth first." He smiled, then blinked. Something had just landed on his snout, blocking his vision. He crossed his eyes to get a better look at it, and grinned ever wider at the sight.

"Looks like the butterfly migration is late again, but right on time."