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When Anomalocaris crackled into existence in the Endless Forest, the world was still young and the deer were still old. He shook his mighty antlers in confusion, sniffed the air, and listened. And the trees and purple bellflowers argued amongst each other for a while, and then they whispered his name, figuring he would have a nice head start in life being called after a genus of extinct marine predators. And so the brand new stag learned of the earth and his place in it and the domestic issues of plants; and he grinned.

Later that first day, when he had run far and reared high and rolled much, he lay down, pensative. The sight and smell of kindred creatures had not failed to reach him; yet he had shunned them, as they seemed a funny bunch. Yet deep, deep inside he knew that he must converse with these beings, and cherish them, and honour his name not so much by eating them as by standing before them as a living, rekindled relic of a curious past.

He slept soundly that night, and the next morning he made his introductions and danced and got fancy masks. He learned: one day it will rain, another will bring squirrels.



Anomalocaris is often asleep; but when he awakes he still hears the leaves and roots chat and argue. Sometimes they whisper his name as a reminder, and sometimes he whispers their name, too.

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