Of Beasts and Men

Prologue

Padded, fur-covered feet pounded on the forest floor, a rhythm of crunching leaves and twigs. Lithe muscles rippled as the slender legs shifted and propelled their owner with agility and grace. A bushy tail streamed out behind the creature like a banner, the white tip bobbing. Soft pants escaped the narrow muzzle, the black nose twitching at the end. Pointed ears swiveled on top of the furry skull. Without changing speed, the creature skidded sharply to the left, racing in long bounds and leaps.

The magnificent orange fur of the fox stood out against the green and brown of the nature. He was running swiftly, desperately, trying to escape his pursuers. Amber eyes were filled with terror, the slitted pupils dilated, as the nimble animal weaved around trees, dodged branches, and sprung over low shrubs. Minutes later the fox stumbled to an abrupt halt, breathing heavily. He blinked and glanced behind him in fear. A ravine obstructed his path ahead, rocky and deep, a small but rapid river bubbling at the bottom. The large ears flicked back at the sound of a crash nearby. Without wasting another moment, the fox bunched his legs underneath himself, and leapt forward, paws outstretched...

Spencer Reid woke with a strangled gasp, shooting up to a sitting position in his bed, his body trembling with adrenaline from the dream scenario, legs tangled in the sheets. He ran a sweaty hand through his tangled mess of golden brown hair, giving him a wild, ruffled look. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and sighed. 4:57 am. There was no point to going back to sleep now, he doubted he would be able to anyway. He turned off the alarm that was set to ring at 6:00, and stumbled out of his bed with a yawn, dressed in his boxers and an FBI t-shirt. He blearily snatched his glasses off the nightstand and made his way into the kitchen to start the coffee machine.

Soon, the bitter aroma of coffee beans was wafting through the apartment, the sound of the pot gurgling filling the empty silence of the morning. When the coffee was ready, he poured himself a mug, his favorite Doctor Who one which Garcia had given to him on his 26th birthday, and loaded it with a copious amount of sugar that would have made Morgan cringe. He meandered into the living room and plopped down on the old couch, holding his mug of coffee-flavored sucrose and a thick novel.

He immersed himself in the literary world until it was time for him to get ready for work. He reluctantly put down the book he was enjoying, he had been reading it at a more leisurely pace than he normally would, savoring the feel of the paperback in his hands and the poetic prose and visual appeal of text on a page.

It didn't take him long to get dressed in his usual slacks and sweater, try to tame his unruly hair, and fill a Thermos with more coffee. Then he was stepping out the door, locking it behind him, and setting off towards the subway station.

******

Some say that when a human dies, they are reincarnated as an animal. Others think that it is the other way around, that the death of an animal gives life to a man, as evolution has decreed. The truth is that no one knows the true reason every person has a soul animal, or Ātmā, they are just sure that the sacred beast in their heart exists. Ātmāra take the role of a spiritual guide or companion, and the species of animal inside is reflected in a person's character. The Ātmāra connect every living person with every other living person, and influence their relationships when two souls are compatible, for lack of a better-word.

An Ātmā is kept secret from the outside world, only shared by their being with the individuals they choose, usually those who they are the most intimate with. To know another person's Ātmā is to know their soul, it is a profound link that is guarded and revered by every culture on Earth.

"The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected."
― Nicholas Sparks