by Patricia Miller The sea crow watched from her perch for five days full. The fledglings were advanced enough to scavenge for meals while she stood vigil, while she accepted she would not see her mate again. She finished the season, content to see the last of her children leave the nest, decided then and there she would not seek out a new mate come spring. She took flight with the morning sun and spent her days traveling the wetlands and headwaters, collecting the voices of the coast that had formed her life. There was the laughing cackle of the gull-billed tern, the haunted echoing coo of the loon, the…

by James L. Steele Ker’r rose from all fours and walked on his hind legs as he rounded the corner. A bipedal stature was never required, but it made navigating this part of the city much easier. The black-furred canine had white stripes around his midsection. He couldn’t afford clothing, though it wasn’t required here among the structures arranged in a grid along avenues. The Planet of Paper District, complete with authentic asphalt, authentic stone, authentic brick, all transplanted from a real city block and reconstructed here. Numerous canines in sight also walked upright to help complete the sensation of living in another culture.

by Jocelyne Gregory Seven dragons sat on a circle of metal chairs in the basement of an old church. The faux wooden panels of the basement’s walls were a sharp contrast to the faded red shag carpet that had fallen victim to the arts and crafts of generations of children. The metal chairs groaned beneath the dragon’s various weights as they shifted and tried to find comfortable positions for their wings, tails, and long necks without bumping into one another or destroying the popcorn ceiling. They waited as a brilliant orange scaled dragon settled on his seat and tucked his tail around his clawed feet. “Good afternoon!” The orange dragon…

by Stephen R. Loftus-Mercer “Follow me to the lab! I have something to show you!” That giddiness, the light in those two over-large eyes, the quivering of all eight arms… I’d seen my lover like this only twice before. One of those inventions led to a Nobel prize; the other sold for life-changing money to a venture capital firm. I walked behind on my two legs, admiring the way my lover’s eight limbs pulled along, each independent yet in synch with the others. Our house included handholds everywhere, one of many accommodations for a joint human-cephalopod household.

by Wen Wen Yang The legend is only partially true. I had already hidden away my fox-skin, already decided on Jack when he saw me naked in my human-skin. I am not the huli jing from San Francisco, whose fox-skin was stolen by a human man. One newspaper called it devotion that she returned nightly to her husband. She was devoted to her fox-skin as one is devoted to one’s hands. Fox spirits capture the low hanging fruit. When these men come upon a naked woman in the wilderness, they would not hesitate to lie naked with her. I had hunted in Central Park but the police had started to…

by Ian Madison Keller Espen approached the librarian with trepidation. His hooves clicked softly on the wooden floor, despite his best efforts to walk quietly. The squirrel librarian sat bent over a book behind her desk, her fluffy brown tail curled behind her head, but she looked up and smiled at him as he approached. “How can I help you?” Espen ran a hand through his forelock nervously. “I have a question about elementals.” One of the librarian’s dark eyebrows rose, but she merely nodded her head for him to continue.

by Kristen Hornung The river sloshes about my legs, and the mud sucks at my paws, but I run as fast as I can through the In-Between, my tail swishing a happy rhythm behind me. Time to see him again! No more waiting! I know I’m getting closer when the wrong portals start to yawn and sigh. One promises baby mice to sniff out, another rabbits to chase through sun-warmed grasses. Tricky, tricky. I snort and toss my head. Some might forget their duty and change their path, but not me. I don’t even slow down.

by Carol Scheina The volcano knew from past experience that humans generally fled far away when gases seeped and tremors shook the earth, signaling a pending eruption, but this time around, a man stood on the summit with arms outstretched. In between its sulfurous gassy burps, the volcano heard the man muttering incantations. He’s a sorcerer, the volcano realized with a snort of water vapor. There had been plenty of sorcerers who had tried to stop an eruption. They always failed. The man finished his spell with a stern, “Your power shall be made harmless!”