Salira and the Beast of a Thousand Steps

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The morning was quiet, accompanied only by her dog's breath as Salira descended the narrow path between gnarled oaks. The dew hung heavy on the grass, and each step felt its way into the ground, as if the earth held her feet firmly. For days, a strange sensation had traveled with her, a whispering in the shadows that came not from voices, but from tracks. At the edge of a clearing, her dog paused. The hairs on his neck stood on end, and he growled softly. Salira followed his gaze. There, in the damp moss, ran countless footprints—not just one kind, but hundreds, jumbled together, yet in a secret order. Large, small, human, animal, some like bare feet, others like shells or claws. And in the midst of them, a being moved. It was almost intangible. Its body consisted of footsteps, its every movement formed from imprints in the ground that disappeared the next moment. Sometimes it seemed like a deer, then like a person, then like something she had never seen before. Salira hardly dared to breathe. "The beast of a thousand paces..." she whispered, her voice lost in the wind. The creature raised its head. No face was visible, only the trace of all the paths that could have been taken. And in its eyes—if they were eyes—her own life was reflected. Then Salira saw the path she could have taken as a child, if she had stayed in the village. She saw the steps she would have taken if she had never taken the dog. And she saw paths that led into darkness, full of renunciation, but also full of peace. Her dog growled again, as if to warn her. But the creature approached, and where it stood, prints appeared—Salira's own, not the one she had taken, but the one she could have taken. "What do you want to show me?" she asked, her voice trembling. The creature lowered its head, and suddenly a circle of tracks opened before her. Every print pulsed as if alive. Some glowed warmly, others were cold and silent. Salira understood: these were all her decisions, marked in the earth. Every step she had ever considered was still alive. A single print, however, flickered restlessly, as if it didn't belong there. She knelt down, touched it with her fingertips. A shiver ran through her body. She saw an image: a village she had never entered, a conversation she had never had—and yet she felt the longing in it, as if a part of her had lived there. The creature snorted softly. It didn't demand an answer, but it made her realize: every step leaves a trace, whether taken or not. And sometimes it's the untaken paths that call to us the loudest. Salira stood slowly. "Thank you," she said, even though she didn't know if words had any meaning here.