TakingITGlobal - Panorama

Published on: Nov 8, 2007

Topic:

Type: Short Stories

https://www.tigweb.org/express/panorama/article.html?ContentID=16865

The thundering of hooves could be heard echoing throughout the valley, accompanied by snorts and deep bellows. Sometimes these noises would rise into a crescendo, and sometimes, fade away altogether until they were no more than a whisper on the wind. That very wind carried the strong scent of beast into every direction until it seeped into every nook and cranny. Eventually, these creatures emerged into one of the open, long-grassed plains of North America. They were indeed a herd of moose – fascinating, formidable animals. They moved as a body, a united group, bound together by both body and soul. Beast after beast galloped after one another, the males swaying their mighty antlers from side to side, the females guiding their young. The unpredictable, chilly early spring had progressed into a fair season, and new life was blooming everywhere. Lush vegetation grew on every single branch and stem, and magnificent, vibrant colours all around would greet the eyes.

The herd came to a stop, and the creatures had their chance to rest. They were finally home. The adults gazed around themselves greedily, a tender emotion slipping into their eyes, remembering their own youth in this land. The youngsters were wide-eyed with awe and frolicked together happily, basking in the warm sunshine. This was a place that had seen many creatures pass in and out of life, and yet it was neither bitter nor overjoyed. It held a respect for the laws of nature – everything supplied something else with life, even at death. There was something to be said for that. The valley had never betrayed the creatures that called it home – every spring it provided plenty of food and water to support thousands of creatures, big and small. In some way, they all depended on each other.

At the head of the herd stood an enormous cow – Matron, they called her. Her face was wise, although her joints looked stiff, not what they used to be. A motherly compassion shone in her eyes as she turned to gaze at the rest of the herd. They were her children. They were her family, her legacy, her pride and joy. She had stayed with this herd through the famines, the floods, and the harsh winters. She had nurtured it, watched it prosper, and now – oh, it was amazing. She was suddenly overcome with emotion, and turned away, composing herself. It was at that instant that she heard it, “The growl”.

She looked up instantly, her body tensed. She searched the shadows, the trees that bordered the plain. And she saw them. The eyes, hundreds of them, were burning through the darkness. The Matron bellowed deeply, calling to the herd, alerting them about the danger. The ambush began. They crawled out of the shadows, a sea of endless grey phantoms. Wolves, hundreds of them! Their ribs stuck out, and their eyes were lit up with desperation. They opened their muzzles, exposing razor-sharp teeth, like deadly scythes. There was no point of gathering into a defensive circle – there were too many. The herd would have to run. The Matron’s dreamy bliss was shattered, and she cried out once more before setting off at her swiftest pace. The thundering began, except this time it was followed by vicious snarls. The demons nipped at their sides, bit at their flanks, trying to single someone out. The young, the sick, anyone…

The Matron’s eyes widened with terror as she heard the first moose go down, screaming, instantly covered with dozens of wolves. A daughter! Oh, they just had to stay together, and they would survive. But that hope was shattered as the coward broke out of the ranks, only to be instantly culled by the wolves. The wolves seemed unbeatable – every time a well-placed kick of a brave male shattered the skull of a wolf, another would be in its place. The young went next – the treasured younglings of the herd, gone, ravaged by the wolves. Their mothers, lost in a fury of emotions, went next as they tried to defend their children.

The survivors, battling it out, trampled each other in their haste, until only a select few were left. Those went too, eventually, until the only hoof beats the Matron could hear where her own. But she did not stop running. She ran, through dense forest and wide valleys, until she collapsed. Raw emotion tore her soul apart, shook the very foundations that nature had built up. The years had all been lost, wasted, miserably. It was overwhelming. It couldn’t be real.

Years passed, and there was another herd in the valley. The thundering was strong, prospering. The vale was alive again. The herd came to a stop when they reached the plain, glowing with vegetation and life as always. The moose bowed their heads as they entered, solemn and respectful, remembering the great sacrifice and tragedy that had occurred. The legend of the courageous Matron that had founded their herd had been passed down the generations, even after she had long gone.

« return.



by Sofya ♥
Published on: Nov 8, 2007
Topic:
Type: Short Stories
https://www.tigweb.org/express/panorama/article.html?ContentID=16865


The thundering of hooves could be heard echoing throughout the valley, accompanied by snorts and deep bellows. Sometimes these noises would rise into a crescendo, and sometimes, fade away altogether until they were no more than a whisper on the wind. That very wind carried the strong scent of beast into every direction until it seeped into every nook and cranny. Eventually, these creatures emerged into one of the open, long-grassed plains of North America. They were indeed a herd of moose – fascinating, formidable animals. They moved as a body, a united group, bound together by both body and soul. Beast after beast galloped after one another, the males swaying their mighty antlers from side to side, the females guiding their young. The unpredictable, chilly early spring had progressed into a fair season, and new life was blooming everywhere. Lush vegetation grew on every single branch and stem, and magnificent, vibrant colours all around would greet the eyes. The herd came to a stop, and the creatures had their chance to rest. They were finally home. The adults gazed around themselves greedily, a tender emotion slipping into their eyes, remembering their own youth in this land. The youngsters were wide-eyed with awe and frolicked together happily, basking in the warm sunshine. This was a place that had seen many creatures pass in and out of life, and yet it was neither bitter nor overjoyed. It held a respect for the laws of nature – everything supplied something else with life, even at death. There was something to be said for that. The valley had never betrayed the creatures that called it home – every spring it provided plenty of food and water to support thousands of creatures, big and small. In some way, they all depended on each other. At the head of the herd stood an enormous cow – Matron, they called her. Her face was wise, although her joints looked stiff, not what they used to be. A motherly compassion shone in her eyes as she turned to gaze at the rest of the herd. They were her children. They were her family, her legacy, her pride and joy. She had stayed with this herd through the famines, the floods, and the harsh winters. She had nurtured it, watched it prosper, and now – oh, it was amazing. She was suddenly overcome with emotion, and turned away, composing herself. It was at that instant that she heard it, “The growl”. She looked up instantly, her body tensed. She searched the shadows, the trees that bordered the plain. And she saw them. The eyes, hundreds of them, were burning through the darkness. The Matron bellowed deeply, calling to the herd, alerting them about the danger. The ambush began. They crawled out of the shadows, a sea of endless grey phantoms. Wolves, hundreds of them! Their ribs stuck out, and their eyes were lit up with desperation. They opened their muzzles, exposing razor-sharp teeth, like deadly scythes. There was no point of gathering into a defensive circle – there were too many. The herd would have to run. The Matron’s dreamy bliss was shattered, and she cried out once more before setting off at her swiftest pace. The thundering began, except this time it was followed by vicious snarls. The demons nipped at their sides, bit at their flanks, trying to single someone out. The young, the sick, anyone… The Matron’s eyes widened with terror as she heard the first moose go down, screaming, instantly covered with dozens of wolves. A daughter! Oh, they just had to stay together, and they would survive. But that hope was shattered as the coward broke out of the ranks, only to be instantly culled by the wolves. The wolves seemed unbeatable – every time a well-placed kick of a brave male shattered the skull of a wolf, another would be in its place. The young went next – the treasured younglings of the herd, gone, ravaged by the wolves. Their mothers, lost in a fury of emotions, went next as they tried to defend their children. The survivors, battling it out, trampled each other in their haste, until only a select few were left. Those went too, eventually, until the only hoof beats the Matron could hear where her own. But she did not stop running. She ran, through dense forest and wide valleys, until she collapsed. Raw emotion tore her soul apart, shook the very foundations that nature had built up. The years had all been lost, wasted, miserably. It was overwhelming. It couldn’t be real. Years passed, and there was another herd in the valley. The thundering was strong, prospering. The vale was alive again. The herd came to a stop when they reached the plain, glowing with vegetation and life as always. The moose bowed their heads as they entered, solemn and respectful, remembering the great sacrifice and tragedy that had occurred. The legend of the courageous Matron that had founded their herd had been passed down the generations, even after she had long gone. « return.