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Simple fuel for people’s boats is poison for the likes of him.

Dirty death. Accidental death.

They were found too late.

He called out to people, calling desperately, trying to lead them to her, dying in that muddy puddle, but people didn’t understand. They shouted in admiration, pointed their fingers at him, smiled, wished each other happiness. As if he had come to them to show off. As if they couldn’t hear the hopelessness and grief in his cry.

People sat in their cells scattered over the ground, stacked one on another, formed the tall ant towers like the ones across the river. People sat there thinking only of themselves.

Sometimes they remembered creatures like him, too.

Not everyone: only the most understanding or those who could benefit most from it.

Then they decided to surround the strangers with care.

For now, all care is the bracelet draped around his leg. Yes, they had put a tag on him – trying not to hurt him, but still against his will – a tag that could be used to track his life.