Author: David Clement-Davies
Category: Nonfiction
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Though the river was bitterly cold Alyth was on the other bank in no time and calling to the others to follow. The hinds led their fawns into the water, making sure that there was always a fawn between two adults, although the twins insisted on crossing together. Canisp went first, followed by Bankfoot, then Bracken and Rannoch and the rest. Bhreac grumbled sourly as she brought up the rear.
The fawns were soon soaked as the river rushed cold and furious over their fur and made their legs quiver. But all of them kept their heads well above the surface and, steadied by the rope, picked their way over the stones. Rannoch, Bankfoot and the twins had all reached the further bank and were shaking themselves dry, when Willow suddenly cried out.
A heavy branch that had broken off a tree high in the hills and fallen into the plunging waters, was rushing downstream straight towards Quaich. Quaich, whose legs were weak and who was making slow progress, froze and began to shake uncontrollably. The little fawn would have been hit full on if Bhreac, roused by Willow’s shout, hadn’t thrown her body in front of him.
The log struck the deer full in the side, spinning off her flank and only narrowly missing Quaich. The old deer was badly winded and far away from the rope. The river bed dropped away suddenly and Bhreac slipped, plunging forwards and disappearing into the water. Her head came up again, spluttering and wheezing, but the current had her now and hurled her against the cord.
Her neck caught on it and for a moment she was held. But suddenly, as the blocked waters gained power, Bhreac was swept under and away. Morar and Quaich managed to gain the bank but, although she kicked and struggled desperately, Bhreac was carried further and further downstream.
The hinds and the fawns ran after her, shouting frantically as they watched their friend fighting to keep afloat. But the strength was gone from her and her head kept plunging down into the icy depths. On the deer ran along the bank, watching the ghastly spectacle helplessly. Suddenly they all cried out in horror. Ahead lay a great rock. The river was bubbling and foaming around its granite sides and Bhreac was hurtling straight towards it.
Bhreac hit the rock full on and her body went limp. To the right of the rock the river gave onto a small tributary and now Bhreac’s body was carried into it and away from the torrent, so that in the foamy swell she was lifted right onto the sloping bank where she lay motionless.
The hinds feared the worst but as they approached, the fawns let out a joyful shout. Bhreac had raised her head. She staggered to her feet and looked around her. Then her legs suddenly buckled again and she sunk back down onto the bank. By the time the deer got to her Bhreac was quite still, her eyes open but not a spark of life coming from the dark orbs. Bhreac’s great, kind heart had given out.
The fawns stood watching in horror as the hinds licked and nudged her. But it was no good. They all stood there, staring down blankly at their old friend. It started to snow again, the flakes dying on the foaming water.
Very quietly, Shira came up to Bracken.
‘Come, my dear,’ she said gravely. ‘The little ones are cold and Bhreac would have wanted us to think of them first.’
Bracken was too stunned to speak. Walking slowly and looking back as they went, Shira led the deer over to the shelter of the trees.
That night they were too dazed to know what to do. They kept to the edge of the forest, near the river and looked out mournfully as the swirls of snow shawled the land with a cold beauty. They talked very little and spent most of their time foraging half-heartedly for food. The fawns settled down to sleep as best they could beneath the trees while their mothers talked quietly together.
With Bhreac gone they felt leaderless and desperately alone, but worst hit was poor Bracken. She knew that without Bhreac she might have given up long ago.
‘Oh, Herne,’ she muttered to herself as she watched Rannoch and the others sleeping, ‘let me be strong enough to protect him.’
The next day the hinds agreed that they should keep to Bhreac’s plan to head on towards the High Land and press north-west, using the forest for cover as long as they could, but also keeping on the edge of the open. This way they could have a better command of the country and watch for any signs of the Draila.
The deer set off late that morning. It had stopped snowing and the day was clean and clear. It was about midday when Canisp pulled them up. She had noticed tracks on the edge of the trees. They were slot marks and all around them lay deer droppings, scattered about like little blackened acorns.
‘Herla?’ whispered Bracken.
‘Yes,’ said Canisp, sniffing the ground and twitching her nose, ‘and the slots are quite fresh too. But not red deer. Look at their size – they’re much smaller than ours. And you notice the way they point at the end?’
Now, on the lower branches of the trees and the bushes, the deer began to scent the musk that the unknown Herla had rubbed off from the glands on their own bodies to mark their territory.
‘We’d better be careful,’ said Fern, ‘until we know if Drail has sent word. Not many of the Clovar acknowledge Drail but some came to pay their respects to him at Anlach.’
Bracken nodded. Though all deer are called Herla, Clovar is the special term red deer use for other species in the Great Land, including roe and fallow deer.
‘I’ll go ahead with Canisp,’ said Fern. ‘You stay here with the fawns.’
The two hinds set off straight away and the others waited nervously as the sun rose high into the blue, its weak yellow light softening the snow. Afternoon was approaching when they sighted the hinds again. In the distance, further up the valley and clear of the forest, Fern and Canisp were running back towards them. They were flanked by four stags. The fawns were amazed, for their antlers rose like palms from their heads and they were small, hardly bigger than the hinds at their sides. The friends stirred fearfully, but Canisp called out to them as she ran.
‘It’s all right,’ she shouted happily. ‘They’re friendly. They’ve never even heard of Drail. And it’s wonderful. There’s so much food.’
The stags were fallow deer and they bowed their strange antlers to the hinds as they reached the trees. The most senior deer was called Scarp. He was rather a handsome, dappled deer with splendid fanning antlers, but he had a strange, lost look and a tendency to stare. He bowed especially low as he came up to them.
‘Welcome,’ he said. ’Canisp has told us all about your journey. Very terrible, I’m sure. Well, never mind, you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.’
The other stags were soon inspecting the fawns and welcoming the hinds. They seemed particularly interested in the bucks. The hinds were all rather bewildered by the warmth of the stag’s welcome, for although it is not that unusual to see different species of deer together in the wild, it usually takes time for them to learn each other’s scents and habits. The fallow deer showed no such reserve.
‘You must all be very tired,’ Scarp went on, ‘and hungry, I’ll bet. We’ll soon see to that. Come along, come along.’
Scarp turned and, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, made to lead them back in the direction they had come.
‘Wait,’ said Shira, stepping forward suddenly. ‘This is all very well but we don’t know anything about you. I mean, how many of you are there? How far is your herd? Where’s the Home Oak?’
Scarp looked rather expressionless.
‘The Home Oak?’ he said. ‘I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure. But as for how many we are and where the herd is, you’ll see soon enough.’
Canisp had already called Bankfoot to her side and was getting ready to set off but Shira looked doubtfully at Bracken and Scarp saw it.
‘Please don’t worry,’ he said immediately. ‘You’re among friends now, I assure you. Please come along.’
‘Come on,’ said Alyth. ’What are we waiting for?’
‘I suppose it’s worth taking a look,’ said Shira.
As the others set off with the stags, Bracken turned to Rannoch.
‘What is it, my little one?’ said Bracken. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Oh, Mamma,’ said Rannoch, ‘I don’t know. I don’t think they really mean us harm. But. . . but I don’t like their eyes.’
Bracken nuzzled the fawn.
‘Well, let’s follow them at least. But stay close to me,’ said Bracken as confidently as she could. ‘I promise, whatever happens, no harm will come to you.’
Bracken and Rannoch set off too. The trees swung west in a great arc and after a time the hinds and the fawns spotted a large herd of fallow deer, grouped over a wide stretch of open ground and mostly sitting down. They noticed immediately how close the hinds and the stags were to one another, even intermingling in places. They were ruminating in the snow but as the deer approached they hardly stirred or looked up. There wasn’t much pasture uncovered but Bracken noticed how extraordinarily well fed they all looked. Even fat. Scarp led the group through the herd to the edge of the forest where eight more stags were waiting in a semicircle.
‘We would like to thank you for your welcome,’ said Alyth as they arrived. ‘Where is the Lord of the Herd?’
The stags looked at each other in bewilderment, before a deer called Dearg stepped forward. Like Scarp his eyes had a strange, faraway look.
‘We have no need of a Lord of the Herd here,’ he answered quietly.
‘No lord?’ said Alyth with surprise. ‘Who’s in charge? Perhaps a captain of the Corps, or an Outrider?’
‘We have no Corps or Outriders,’ answered Dearg simply.
‘These things are not necessary.’
‘Not necessary? But who guards you from Lera? Who makes your decisions?’
Dearg smiled.
‘We all make decisions in the park,’ he said. ’Communally. But you don’t need to trouble yourself with such things. You look tired and I’m sure your fawns want to eat.’
Although Bracken and Shira held back a little, the thought of food was too much for the hinds to resist.
‘What’s a park?’ asked Quaich as they went, but Morar shook her head.
Scarp led them over to a patch of low ground, almost completely clear of snow. Here the deer were astounded to see a huge pile of dried grass.
‘Help yourself,’ said Scarp cheerfully. ‘There’s plenty for all.’
‘But where does it come from?’ asked Bracken.
‘We collect it in the summer,’ answered Scarp, looking rather distracted, ‘ready for the cold times.’
As Rannoch and the others approached, they sniffed the fodder nervously and were surprised to find that it smelt strongly, not of grass but of herbs, rosemary mostly and thyme and other plants that they didn’t recognize. Indeed they could see now that herbs were mixed in with the dried grass. Their lips began to water as the thick scent came to their nostrils, for they were all desperately hungry. Rannoch held back though, for he was still very nervous and he fancied that underneath the pungent, almost cloying smell, he had caught the faint breath of some other odour. The fawn couldn’t fathom what it was but it made him feel vaguely sick.
The sight of the food was so good, though, that the other fawns and their mothers dived in, munching happily at the delicious feed. Not even Shira could resist, although she ate nervously and kept looking around her.
When they had had their fill Scarp led them back again towards Dearg and the other stags but as they were running through the fallow herd Fern suddenly cried out in amazement. Among the strange palmed antlers, she had spotted a single red deer. The great spiked tines on his head, twelve in all, and his heavy, dull-brown winter coat looked oddly out of place among these Herla, but the stag seemed perfectly at home.
‘Look at his feet, Bracken,’ said Fern. ‘It’s Whitefoot.’ Fern had recognized Brechin’s brother, the Outrider who had gone missing two seasons before.
‘It can’t be,’ whispered Bracken, looking suddenly at Rannoch. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘Let’s find out,’ said Alyth.
Scarp tried to dissuade them but the hinds swung away towards Whitefoot. Bracken’s heart was pumping but, as the hinds and the fawns approached, Whitefoot hardly raised his head.
‘Whitefoot. Whitefoot. It is you,’ cried Fern, as the hinds gathered round him.
Brechin’s brother lifted his antlers. He had a good face, strong and clear as Brechin’s had been, with large scent glands and a wide muzzle. But when he looked at the hinds his eyes were glassy and he hardly seemed to register the red deer’s arrival.
‘It’s me, Whitefoot. Fern. What are you doing here?’
The stag didn’t say anything. He went on munching on the dried grass in his mouth.
‘Whitefoot, don’t you recognize me? We’ve run away from the home valley, Whitefoot. Drail and Sgorr have taken the herd and destroyed the Outriders. Whitefoot?’
There seemed to be a flicker of recognition in the stag’s eyes but when he spoke his voice had a distant, melancholy sound, as though he was trying to remember an old dream.
‘Well, you’ll be safe here.’ He nodded slowly. ‘Hinds are always safe in the park.’
‘But, Whitefoot,’ said Shira desperately. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Come,’ said Scarp, suddenly stepping up. ‘We should get back to Dearg.’
‘But, Whitefoot. . .’ pleaded Fern.
Whitefoot had turned away and was gazing out towards the trees.
The hinds were considerably unnerved as they followed Scarp back to the other fallow stags and Rannoch kept looking over his shoulder towards Whitefoot.
‘Now, that’s better, isn’t it?’ said Dearg as Scarp and the hinds returned. ‘And I see you’ve met an old friend. I am glad. We’ll all rather fond of Whitefoot here, aren’t we, Scarp? He’s quite a novelty in the park and very swift. Now listen to me. I have some splendid news. We have been discussing you while you ate and have decided that you are very welcome to stay with us. We need hinds in the herd and fawns are always welcome in the park.’
Canisp and Morar greeted the news more enthusiastically than the others, who were now on edge, but it was nearing Larn and too late to move on. So the hinds agreed they should stay with the fallow deer for one night at least. Fern, for one, wanted to learn more about what had happened to Whitefoot.
Dearg told the deer they were welcome to wander among the fallow deer as they liked and to help themselves to as much food as they could eat. By morning the hinds were certainly impressed with the state of the herd and some of their initial fears had been allayed. The deer were so well fed that it could have been high summer. The reason was obviously their method of storing up food, unknown in any other deer herd, and the hinds soon discovered that there were several piles of dried grass and herbs around the edges of the park.
That second evening the hinds and their fawns drifted among the herd trying to make friends and resting from the journey and the shock of Bhreac’s death. For three suns they continued like this and soon they all felt refreshed and stronger again. Quaich recovered considerably and, as Morar fed, her milk became richer and nourished the calf greatly as he suckled on her flanks. Thistle seemed to have cheered up too and now something happened that made the calf very proud. Two little furry bumps appeared on his head. They were the pedicles that would, next season, form the base of his first antlers.
The deer got nothing more from Whitefoot though and Bracken kept a keen eye on Rannoch. The fawn wouldn’t touch the strange fodder and he was scratching for pasture late one morning when he saw Bankfoot, Thistle and Tain wandering over to him.
‘Hello, Rannoch,’ said Tain.’You seem unsettled. What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ answered Rannoch, scraping the snow.
‘Well, you’ve hardly said anything for three suns,’ said Thistle irritably.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Rannoch, �
�and I don’t like it here.’
‘Why not? It seems nice enough to me’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bankfoot. ’At least there’s l-l-lots to eat.’ Bankfoot was growing quite fat again.
‘I can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling, that’s all,’ said Rannoch.
‘Not one of your feelings,’ said Thistle coldly.
‘Yes. One of my feelings. What do you think, Tain?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s all right, I suppose. There is lots to eat. There’s just one thing, though.’
‘What?’ asked Rannoch keenly.
‘Well. It seems rather boring to me, that’s all. I mean, have you seen the fawns? They never do anything. They never have any fun. Bankfoot and I tried to get some of them to play yesterday by the trees but they just stared at us blankly. I don’t think they know what it is to play.’
‘I know what you mean,’ agreed Rannoch. ‘But they’re all like that. So calm. Even the stags. And that’s another thing. Have you noticed how few stags there are?’
‘And their eyes,’ whispered Tain. They frighten me.’
‘Stop it,’ snapped Thistle, suddenly rounding on Rannoch.
‘It’s you. You’re always causing trouble, Rannoch. You and that mark. We had to leave the herd because of you and now I suppose you want to leave here too. Well, it’s wrong. I like it here and you’re only saying this because you want to be the centre of attention all the time. You want to be special. Well, I’m not going to listen.’
Thistle turned and ran back towards his mother.
‘Well, perhaps we should keep an eye out,’ said Rannoch, as he watched Thistle go. ‘What do the other fawns think?’ Neither Tain nor Bankfoot had seen much of the others, so they agreed to talk to the fawns and meet at Larn near a young birch tree. Tain and Bankfoot set off together and Rannoch wandered over to the forest. He felt drawn suddenly to enter the wood but instead he trotted along its northern edge looking for the twins, lost in his own thoughts but relieved that he had at least had a chance to share some of his worries with his friends.
He was coming around a spur of trees when he saw Peppa and Willow near a group of the fallow deer. The hinds and fawns were lying down in the snow. Fern was nowhere in sight for there were two stags with the group and she had felt confident enough to wander away from her fawns to feed at the dry grass.