Alex Irvine - Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

Blue Eyes shoved him away, but he too was smiling. Ash shoved back, playfully—then both of them stopped when Rocket came around from the other side of the sled and signed at them.

What are you standing around for? Go help with the horses .

Ash ducked his head and hurried away. Caesar watched his son, trying to judge how badly he was hurt from how he acted when he didn’t know his father was watching. It looked as if he would be all right, but someone would have to see to his wounds to clean them, at least.

Past Blue Eyes, Caesar saw a female chimp named Sparrow come from deeper in the village, rushing toward the hunting party. She was plainly alarmed, pushing other apes aside in her hurry. Caesar’s own alarm grew. She was headed for him. He flipped the reins of his horse to a waiting gorilla and was moving toward her before she reached him.

Follow me , she gestured.

Cornelia , Caesar thought.

A path along the edge of the canyon led up to the base of a massive oak tree. Beyond it lay an open grassy area enclosed by a timber wall, and beyond that a high meadow spread along the mountain’s upper flank. From the head of the path, an ape could look down on the village, and even further down to the bridges spanning the canyon and the rushing water below.

The oak marked Caesar’s home, which was built into its branches. Its lower part faced the canyon, overhung by a roof worked into the branches and braced by a timber floor just barely too high for an ape to leap up and grip. Ascending through the tree were other parts of Caesar’s dwelling, but it was to the lower section he ran now, ducking from the path into the tunnel dug among the tree’s roots. He came out of the tunnel and climbed the trunk, then swung around and landed on the floor inside.

All the while the sound of Cornelia’s screams spurred him on.

Other apes followed him. He could hear them in the tree’s branches, too, and see their anxious faces peering through the walls and roof. Many of them were children, running away from Maurice’s lesson to see what this new excitement was about. Now they were frightened by the sound of Cornelia’s pain.

So was Caesar.

His eyes adjusted to the gloom in the deeper part of the room, against the trunk. Cornelia lay on the bed he had made for her, years before when he had selected this tree for his own… and hers. Other female apes surrounded her, stroking her forehead and grooming her hair.

She shrieked, longer and louder than before, the sound digging into Caesar’s ears until he wanted to hit something. He held himself still, watching her bare her teeth and draw another breath to scream again. He was more frightened now than he had been facing the bear. There he had looked an enemy in the eye, but here there was no enemy to fight. She would either survive the birth, or she would not.

Caesar could do nothing.

Cornelia drew a series of whistling breaths. If she knew Caesar was there, she gave no sign. None of the other females looked at him, either. She breathed in more deeply and shrieked one more time, even longer than before. Two of the other females moved to shield her from Caesar’s view.

So they do know I am here , he thought in the midst of his anxiety.

The scream went on, becoming a growl and finally trailing off into shallow panting.

In the sudden quiet Caesar heard a tiny squeak. His heart jumped. He took a step forward as the females parted, and he watched one of them place the tiny newborn on Cornelia’s chest. It was slick and wet, all fingers and toes. She gathered it in and brought it to her breast to nurse. It squeaked again, twice, and then grew quiet as it found the nipple and began to suck.

Caesar took another step. The attending females groomed the blood and fluid out of Cornelia’s fur and cleaned the bed around her. She looked up at him, then down again to the newborn. He approached and settled next to her, stroking her head. When he bent to kiss the tiny newborn, its fingers spread and then clenched into fists again, holding tight to Cornelia’s hair.

From outside came the grunts and hoots of the children. Their light steps pattered back and forth across the roof. He heard the news of the birth relayed through the camp, followed by an outbreak of excited shrieking. Every birth was celebrated.

Movement from the open side of the dwelling made Caesar look up. He saw Blue Eyes, hesitant to enter, and beckoned him in. He came slowly to join them. Cornelia hooted a quiet greeting and smiled at him. His answering smile was nervous and wondering as he saw the newborn. Caesar saw him again for what he was: a child still, and growing into himself. The anger he had felt in the forest left him.

He rested a hand on Blue Eyes’ shoulder. The three of them breathed together, and realized they were breathing in unison with the newborn. They looked at one another, and smiled.

Later that night, the celebration had taken over the entire village. The birth brought joy to the apes, as did all births, and especially that of a strong healthy child born to their leader.

They also celebrated the hunt. Haunches of elk roasted on spits over the fire as the sun set. Apes drummed and danced, the sound of the beats echoing from the canyon walls. Caesar and Cornelia sat on a ledge looking over the fire pit and the gathering, Blue Eyes and some of their closest friends nearby. She wore a crown of wildflowers picked by her midwives, and cradled the newborn, who slept the way only newborns could sleep.

Beside them was a tribute pile, offerings from the rest of the troop—flowers to adorn, pelts to warm, food to enjoy and sustain. Caesar looked at Cornelia and smiled. He had been unable to stop smiling all day. The tension and anger from the end of the morning hunt was all but forgotten.

Below them the gathering parted and three apes appeared, bearing to Caesar yet another gift. They carried the head and pelt of the bear, walking slowly through the crowd and up to the proud parents. Caesar watched them approach. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Blue Eyes’ expression change. The young ape touched his wounds, and looked away.

The three apes laid the pelt before Caesar and set the head next to it. They knelt and lowered their heads, extending one hand each, palm up. He answered the supplication, swiping each of their palms with his own. Then, as they stood, he embraced all three, one after the other. His leadership was unquestioned, but these were more than his subjects, and he was not just their leader. Every ape in the village—brown, black or orange, young or old—they were all his family.

He picked up the bear pelt, felt its weight. A pelt like this was a rare treasure. Caesar stood and carried it to the other side of the fire, where Koba sat with Grey and Stone and others close to him.

Koba saw him coming and rose to meet him. Caesar ducked his head briefly, showing respect but not supplication, and offered Koba the pelt. He saw the emotion on his friend’s scarred face. Affection was still strange to Koba, who had seen so much cruelty. The two apes looked at each other for a long moment. Koba took the pelt and they embraced. Every ape in the village watched.

Caesar broke the embrace and picked up a branch from the kindling piled at the edge of the pit. He held it up and broke it. Then he broke the two pieces into four. Holding the four pieces in both fists, he raised them above his head.

“Apes… together… strong,” he said.

There was a moment of absolute silence from the assemblage, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant rush of the river. Then the apes erupted in a thunder of screams, cheering Caesar and themselves. Together, yes, they were strong. Amid the cacophony, Caesar could hear some of the other apes doing what many of them found so difficult.