The Game of Gentle Arms — Under the orchid trellis, where damp bark smelled faintly of rain and vanilla, Elian invented a game for one: lift a fallen petal with both forearms, pass it to a leaf, and make no sound at all. Read the full story →
Under the orchid trellis, where damp bark smelled faintly of rain and vanilla, Elian invented a game for one: lift a fallen petal with both forearms, pass it to a leaf, and make no sound at all. He wanted the night moths to wake to a perfect path of petals, though no one would know who arranged it. A breeze slipped through the greenhouse ribs, cool as glass, and the heaviest orchid bells began to nod.
Elian held out his arms to catch them. One bell, then two, then a whole trembling spray leaned into his small green grasp, soft and living against his spines. “Easy,” he whispered, though there was no one to hear. All night he stood that way, giving his strength to flowers that would never thank him, while the petals below stayed unbruised.
By morning, the orchid bells had settled safely, and Elian’s arms had learned the shape of holding. Ever since, mantises keep their forearms folded close, as if ready for the quiet game of catching what might fall under the orchid trellis.
