Does it perform for you? Or is this just how it behaves? The salamander has no fear of you anymore. Has seen you run from the pale men. Seen you hide. Heard your low barked warning that one time, submerged before the pale men saw it. Warning that said, We’re on the same side of things.

You tried speaking words to bring the salamander, in a rash moment. And then other words, with your finger in the water to form the words. Only to make it mad, smash its tail against the water and retreat. Then from the safety of the opposite bank reconsider you with those large, luminous eyes. Seemed to forgive you. I know not what I say. I know not what to say.

The salamander from safety opened its mouth and out came fluid singsong speech that covered and coated you. Soothed and lit a fire inside. Enraptured. The most beautiful, indescribable words ever heard.

Caught by that. Frightened by it.

Full retreat, quick strides back to the tunnel. Back to the wall, clutching a blanket like an old half-remembered stuffed toy. Heart pounding. Still feeling the embrace of that secret language. Feeling like the river runs into and through you. Out of your eyes your mouth. The salamander’s message pouring out of you. So much information incoming to a receiver inadequate to receive it.

What does it mean, you want to know, what does it mean what does it mean even though there is meaning and there is the aching feeling that means your fate is linked to the salamander’s.

You thought you would be the one to help the creature, but you think the creature has to help you. Or you’ll be lost. Among the demons. Among all the doors. For a moment you despair. Of all of it. The world. The world beyond. Your place in it. But that line in the water draws you back, the glide and the roll and dive of the thing you call salamander.

You still don’t know what it calls itself.

Later, you feel an urge to see the salamander again. Leave your hiding place. Wander by obscure paths down to the riverbank. Moonlight makes shadows on the water, enough to see how smooth the water is, so devoid of ripples. Should you write another sentence in the mud? Maybe the salamander has left, gone far from here, followed the river down to the estuaries near the sea. Living a life you would love to live.

But no: A glimmer beneath the water, like submerged flame. The smell of dead leaves smoldering. The glimmer deepens, widens.

You leave another message in the mud. Subvert the intent, how your mother would write these things in greeting cards but mean the opposite.

Be safe. Be well. Be blessed.