FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Gerald's spine flashed with pain as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of his bed. His hoof-nails felt lame on his fingers and toes, and he struggled to flex the muscles in his feet. Patches of fleece from where his fleece coat had thinned remained stubbornly short by his waist. Hard to believe he was declared, "healthy" as he wobbled to his feet for the first time without assistance in the past four months.

Gerald hugged himself, moving his fingers along his sides. Clearly feeling his ribs over his fleece unsettled him.

"I'm so skinny." What was thought to be a minor cold at fourteen became a blood infection robbing Gerald of his middle teenage years. Just as disturbing to him was the pity. Being treated as the lame baby in the family made him wonder if he would drop dead at any moment. The horns on his head shrank with each instance of pity. But now he stood; a shaky breath, phantom pains in his legs and back, concerningly soft hoof-nails. Nonetheless, he stood, and that was encouragement enough. Instructions from the doctor were clear: Gerald needed exercise and food. Potato soups, spinach, wheat, corn. Any of these foods and more would support him with the nutrients necessary to restore his fleece coat and muscle. Luckily, Rom was plentiful in those. From food to the terrain, Rom, the city with the highest elevation in Famica, was full of hills, stairs, and activities to encourage exercise and growth. With summer approaching, there was much noise and excitement to help Gerald find excuses to remain busy.

Gerald grabbed his smartphone and browsed his alerts, locking his attention onto a city advertisement for the new season of stratusball. A fan of the sport, Gerald opened the app to read more. The advertisement was from the National Stratus League. It featured a contest: the theme was new heights; take a high-altitude picture anywhere in Famica. It could be in any city; in Rom, Amra, even the farm town Inso. Submit the photo for a chance to win a monetary prize, including three free tickets to the opening game. The submission deadline was in five weeks. Plenty of time to seek out locations for good photos. But before he could consider engaging with the contest, he needed food and exercise.

Gerald stepped outside, his legs slowly steadying beneath him. He blinked rapidly at the sunlight poking his eyes. The streets and plants glowed with light and the heat warmed his toes. The cleanliness of the city only amplified the shining sun. Updated pavement and robust trees made Rom look like a healthy and muscular city. It stood on the base of mountains that could not decide where to end or begin. Steep inclines gave central Rom a layered look, like a decorated wedding cake. The land was leveled down in sections over the years to help create steady footing for settlements that would eventually define the boundaries of residential neighborhoods and market strips.

Though the air itself was pleasant, when Gerald breathed there remained a sharp ache in his throat, but the headaches were gone. He trusted that increasing his mobility would help the healing.

Gerald spent the first week shopping alone, deflecting help from his sister and mother with waved hands of disapproval and frustrated bleating. He used the alone time to motivate himself to heal, thinking about how he and his friends would scale the roughest textured buildings at night, and challenge each other on smoother ones. Three years washed away on doctor visits, debilitating pain, treatments, and some setbacks. To be outside again was a gift. He yearned to climb again.

By the end of the second week, his toes were no longer stiff. His hoof-nails slowly regained a healthy balance of rigidity and flexibility. And his fleece coat had grown just enough to hide most signs of fading illness. But he wouldn't be satisfied until he knew he could climb again. And it was this that sparked an idea for the contest.

To the south, just outside of Rom was a mountain with an unusual cliffside. The top of which was notable for its slope polished by thousands of years of climate activity, and a beak-like protrusion on the wall facing Rom. But it was the cliff itself, not its strange features that gave the nearly two miles high wall its name: Rom's Cliff.

Though there was no telling how many were going to enter the contest, Gerald already aimed to prepare against anyone. He expected flying species to be ambitious. If he was going to be competitive, he would have to find ways to do something crazy enough to rival the bats, shoebills, or any other contestant that might find creative ways to produce beautiful pictures. So Rom's Cliff became his destination of choice.

To prepare himself, he wandered out with his lizard friend Hegian to one of the largest trees in Rom. The big tree space was a frequented spot, especially by rabbits during the lagomorph's prosperity festival. It centered around the tree, which they named "Oryc's Tree." Teal leaves fluffed up like a jolly head of hair. Thick boughs stretched upward like arms commanding the growth of grass surrounding it. It's fuzzy bark layed flat in a pattern resembling resting feathers. Gerald made an enthusiastic approach and placed a hand on the cool bark. There lingered a faint dampness from all the moisture in the air, enhanced by the exhalations of surrounding grass. He then planted a foot and climbed. The muscles in his forearms strained as he gripped the tree. But pulling himself up was not difficult. Perhaps this was thanks in part to his reduced weight. Severe illness proved to be a great diet plan. He shook his head, determined to regain his strength. He pressed the hoof-nails of his toes and fingers into the bark with determined thunks. His limbs quivered, not yet used to this level of exercise. His heart drummed with each step up. As he found a rhythm to his climbing, it became easier. As natural as walking. He stopped near the top, careful to not scratch himself on branches.

His view of Rom on a treetop was partly obscured. But he could still see the steel buildings, and wooden ones. To the right, a part of the city he hasn't visited revealed itself. A cluster of dome shaped structures poked the sky. Barely visible, a bat clung to the outside of one of them, holding a lit object in her hands. A small plume of smoke slowly drifted up from it. Gerald looked down and called out to Hegian,

"Watch out below." He then leaned back, gripping tightly with his feet, and spread his arms wide.

"Don't jump," teased Hegian. Gerald dared to lean further back until he was almost at a sixty-degree angle, straining the knuckles of his toes. "That looks painful." Gerald returned to the tree relieving his feet from their grasp on the bark, wiggling out the slight ache in his toes.

"Only a little," Gerald smirked. "I pushed too much."

"Call chill on the clinging feet tricks. Leave them for the bats."

The leaves rattled as if in applause. Gerald climbed a bit further up and sat on the highest bough smiling down at the lizard whose excitement was apparent by his automatic flicking tongue. He pulled out his smartphone and with growing confidence, reviewed the National Stratus League's contest requirements. Satisfied that he understood the rules, the plan was simple: next week Gerald would grab his old digital camera, his smartphone, then journey to the south exit of Rom, to Rom's Cliff.

The Cliff was often considered treacherous by climbers because of its obtuse angles. The most notable overhang on the cliff was called the "beak" near the top. The beak was familiar with the southern residents of Rom because it often cast a monstrous shadow down on some of the streets during high noon. It seemed to Gerald that the opinions on the cliff varied with the species you asked. Rabbits and foxes seemed the most respectful of the cliff. Bats didn't care. Mice never thought about it. Shoebills were always a friendly conversational bunch, but incredibly awkward. Often their opinions on the cliff were unhelpful and cryptic. But for goats like Gerald, it was a starter climb - or so he hoped.

Determination drove each step on climb day. Gerald cleared house duties, Ate large, informed the parents, put on his brown cargo shorts, and filled all the pockets with useful tools such as his camera, phone, snacks, and a sanitary kit for any accidental cuts or abrasions or any other potential minor issues. As he approached the city's southern exit, Gerald no longer concerned himself with whether or not he lacked the strength to climb. The hoof-nails on his hands and feet were perfectly suited for climbing, a goat advantage he hoped to make use of. Nearly four weeks of self-care and his vitality was at a high. His muscles itched for use. Gerald imagined the competition to keep up his fighting spirit. Though bats and shoebills lacked total flight as their wings have shrunk over their evolutionary lifespan, they could still glide, or even fly short distances. But this contest was Gerald's to win. No more family pity. No more missing climbing meetups with friends.

"Starting fresh!"

Gerald passed Rom's southern exit and soon the city gates network of traffic booths shrunk to the size of a toy model city. He turned right onto an upward slope colonized by colorful bushes. Easily seen over the small trees behind the bushes was Rom's Cliff. Its beak pointed judgmentally toward Rom and passersby. Gerald pushed past the colorful flora, stumbling past the tangled tree trunks and entered the clearing.

It stood before him now: a sandy-white structure with bush patches invading small cracks along the cliff's base. The size of the cliff seemed amplified by sitting on an already massive hill. he rested a hand on the giant wall and breathed. He bowed his head, horns barely tapping the rock, paying respect to the challenge in front of him. Holding the wall for a second calmed him. There was nothing like touch to put the nerves at ease. When he no longer heard the drumming of his heart in his ears, he placed his right foot onto the wall, feeling out for grip, and climbed.

"I can do it. I can do it."

Before he was sick, his parents taught him how to use his nails for grip. How to feel without looking. They climbed together often. But Gerald climbed all the time. With friends, family, alone. He loved to challenge gravity. To feel the full weight of his body in his arms and legs. It was the exercise. The thrill. It was liberating to be vertical and not just walk on a flat surface like a two-dimensional figure. Scaling walls brought the three dimensions of his reality into focus. It felt real. Necessary. His horns tingled as a breeze brushed him. It was cool, even with his grown in fleece. As he looked up past the wobbly shape of the wall, avoiding a falling pebble that would have made its home in his left eye, Gerald noticed the overcast skies and smiled, grateful to not have a burning sun to heat the wall.

He confidently pressed his hoof-nails into the rock. The impact was satisfying noise to his ears.

"Bone on bone," he laughed. It was a quote from the Erjin faith, named for the planet itself. The philosophy originated with lizards. The mountains and rocks were bones of Erjin. And the philosophy claimed that the bones in living things were similar, though not quite the same as rocks of the land. A philosophy rooted in the elements and finding divine truth in the plain experience of the senses.

The cliff's texture varied widely. Some spots were smooth, providing Gerald with a challenge. At other spots, cracks grew wide enough that Gerald had no trouble slipping fingers into them for grip. No doubt the marks from past climbs. And in other places, the wall would bloat out like a big belly. These bellies, as he thought of them, gave him complications. One section proved troublesome because the swelling shape obstructed his sight and progression. He lowered himself a few meters and shook his head, chiding himself for not paying attention to what was up ahead of him.

On a particularly simple ledge, Gerald took a breather. He shook out his limbs, wiggling toes and fingers, feeling a faint sting in the tips. He listened to any cues from his body for exhaustion or pain but found nothing concerning. It might take some time, but Gerald was patient. The top would be reached. He looked up again trying to navigate his around the bloated section that obstructed him. Seeing nothing straight up, he inched diagonally further to his left.

"Where is it?" he muttered, searching for clues from past climbers for a path to push himself past the roundness of this wall. Were the section not so smooth, he would merely climb over it. But the dusty rock here gave his fingers no opening. As he continued to crawl left, a line appeared. Then another. The serie of cracks wide enough for him to dig his toes and fingers into. "There!" Excitedly, he pressed on, his face barely grazing the rough wall. He knocked his horns once when turning his head and used the agitation from his blunder as motivation to swiftly push on.

Gerald climbed around the obsstruction, observing it. He spotted several insects crawling about. They walked around a lonely half-eaten patch of vegetation nestled in a crack. One insect he couldn't identify turned to him. It wiggled its mandibles curiously then walked forward.

"Just passing through," Gerald said. "Go about your...bug business." It stared with bubbled eyes and buzzed. Wings Gerald barely noticed vibrated, producing a hum that punched his ears. And then it turned away, seemingly losing interest in the peculiar goat climbing a cliff.

The Cliff's belly was long gone, and Gerald found himself navigating across a vertical road of cracks and bumps. It was nothing too treacherous - except for the stress placed on his endurance.

"It's not a very large cliff." At least, that was what he knew many climbers would say. But this was Gerald's largest climb yet.

He looked back panting slightly as his shoulders, forearms, and legs stiffened. The horizon shifted the world below him. Soon, the view of Rom would be replaced with dipping clouds. Looking below them, as far as Gerald could see, the city appeared to expand. Rom looked deceitfully closed in from the ground. Gerald carefully opened a velcro-stitched pocket on his shorts. He gingerly slipped his fingers inside, feeling for the camera's security strap. Once secured, he adjusted its settings with one hand, then scanned the view for compelling shots to take. He zoomed in on Rom, its layered hills rolling down made him pause in admiration. From Gerald's height, the city now seemed to unfold revealing pockets of places he never visited. There was a whole city to explore. And beyond that, a country.

If Gerald wins this contest, those tickets would take him to Amra, the most populated city in Famica, where the biggest stadium would kick off the approaching summer season of stratusball. He took four pictures before moving further up the cliff. The idea struck suddenly: Keep snapping pics as you go up. Don't wait for the top.

As soon as Gerald returned the camera to his pocket, he smelled moisture in the air. His ears flicked and his short tail twitched as gusts of wind slapped his back in short bursts. It was time to move. He stared straight up into the greying clouds, searching for the top of the cliff. Looming over him like a sentinel of rock, was the beak. The scariest part of traversing that monstrosity was not seeing above it once you were under it. But he knew that just above it was a slowly easing slope to the summit.

To Gerald's relief, the rain was no more than a misty drizzle. But even exposure to light rain over time could affect his ascent. The beak's structure looked like a good place for shelter. From what he remembered by old conversations with friends, just under the beak there should be a shallow concave. It was not deep enough to stand in, but the slope would be enough for him to give his limbs rest by dispersing the force of gravity.

He winced as droplets splashed his face. His eyes momentarily bothered. When the wind slowed, he breathed. When it picked up, he held.

"Almost..." The beak was close. And with it, a reprieve from the rain. When the rocky maw of the beak overshadowed him, and the wall dipped inward, Gerald sucked in air and cheered. A mini-victory.

"Here!"

He nestled inside the concave, the beak forever staring outward, guarding him. He then imagined disappearing into it, being swallowed like prey. Both likely scenarios to him if such things were possible. Wanting to not stare at the wall, Gerald carefully rotated and avoided touching wet spots on the wall. He leaned back, maintaining the sturdiest grip he could with tired hands and feet.

A flock of birds flew past squawking at each other in a conversation of sorts. Gusts of wind kicked up dust and debris around Gerald's legs, snapping him out of his wandering imagination.

"Ow," he flinched and shook one limb at a time before gripping harder into the mountain with his toes. Exhaustion made his fingers slow. His leg muscles were stiffening. "Not easy anymore." Worry set in. He kept his back pressed to the wall, waiting out the winds and rain. Fortunately, the slope he clung to was not one to maximize stress on his arms. It was his calf's doing overtime. The food in his shorts called to him. He forced away the hand resting on top of his food pocket, resisting the desire to reach inside. It was too dangerous for that.

With no eventful gusts occurring for several minutes, Gerald sighed and looked up once more at the beak. It was larger, more intimidating from such a close distance. All he could see was the curve of its form with no way of telling what was above it. What if he got stuck? He had no safety equipment. He mulled over whether to reach for his phone and call for help. But the thought only made his blood hot. "I'm not sick anymore," he angrily bleated. "No help!" He shivered as winds teased past him.

He soothed himself by breathing in the cold, back pressed against the rock, focusing on the smells of the land and plants around him. Earthy and pleasant. Clean. The vegetation here must have sipped the nutrients from moist rock because whatever vines he saw nearby clung tightly in healthy braided strands. When he was ready, Gerald crossed his left leg over his right, like a ballet dancer, then crossed his left arm over to his right side and turned around. Facing the wall once more he climbed to the lip of the beak. He was upside down, imagining himself sneaking out of a bird's mouth. When he approached the lip he reached once more for his camera. Though his shots would be upside down, it was nothing that couldn't be corrected with editing on his home computer.

Yellow light from a sinking sun broke through the clouds and set Rom ablaze in a captivating golden glow. The bulk of the city, which Gerald now appreciated from such a height, excited his senses. He imagines the crowd in a stadium now; stratusball was in full swing. The contestants are flying, making their plays. And Gerald sits in the stadium with either two friends or family. He hasn't decided yet who he would take with him.

After taking a desired number of shots to pick through, he returns his camera to his pocket - easier for him hanging upside down. He carefully circumvents the tip of the beak.

"Almost there. Almost..." He pants, hungry and exhausted. Two miles of climbing would do that to a recently ill goat. He followed the sunlight like a believer in Erjin. Nature is where all answers are provided. So he listened and felt, using his senses. Natural gifts to help him understand danger from safety. He carefully avoided the wettest spots and continued to ascend. Soon, the slope eased. With every foot upward it became easier until the ground leveled enough for him to raise himself up and stand.

"Yes!" Gerald throws his arms up before rolling forward to the ground. Nocturnal insects stirred in a chorus at his shout. Then the pain hit his limbs and back. But Gerald laughed through it with elation.

This was not a journey of hubris. It was a claim to renewed health. To convince himself that he would live and move past being sick and frail. Reaching the top was his proof. A return to what gave him joy. Gerald sat and stared at the vastness of the sky, feeling its weight above him. He opened the pocket where he kept his food, a chunky pouch of plant proteins and sweet beets. He gobbled it down voraciously.

"Oh!" He sighed with relief, allowing his body to feel the ground on his back. His tail excitedly thumped the ground under him.

Gerald remained still as the sky turned from orange to purple. He noticed a short tree on his left and wandered to it. The leaves felt pleasant, almost velvety in his fingers. They were softer than the ones in Rom and had grip. He used them along with some sanitary wipes in his care kit to wipe clean his hoof-nails. First his fingers, then sitting to tend to his toes. Little scratches and tiny chips were visible on them.

"The badges of effort!" he shouted proudly. Grabbing his camera, he walked as close to the edge as he dared, careful to step gently in the dark, and focused the gaze of his camera below.

Inso shined in the night. It's vertical farm mills visible from such a height impressed him. He never imagined a farm could be both high-tech and beautiful. For a moment, he watched as the machines tended to the vegetation. Inso sat surrounded by glittering lights of the neighboring towns and a twinkling sky. Waterworks in the farm sprayed mists at timed intervals, before everything appeared to go still once more. Amra glittered like rainbow glass below. Aerial machinery flew past like insects. Everything from the cliff looked small enough to fit between Gerald's fingers. Inso, Amra, Rom, and others. All were visible from the Cliff. With one more final round of pictures, Gerald next grabbed his phone to find the best return route home.