The Stag

Early in adulthood the stag was a sturdy young buck with eight points upon his rack. He knew of wolves and of men, and of the dangers inherent in each. As a stag he naturally knew to be wary of the wolf, or more properly stated, the wolf pack. The stag was large enough to stand his own against any lone wolf and fleet enough to evade the pack. He was no easy prey by any measure. It was right to fear the wolf for the knowledge of what they could and most likely would do in any circumstance. The stag feared man because it could never be known for certain what evil man might do, or when, or how.

It was in these years of the stag's youth that the world was also young. The forest was still deep and wide. It was possible to travel for days within it and to see nothing else. Yet the world was changing nonetheless.

 Season after season he ranged the great sylvan expanse. He grew stronger and more formidable with each year. He took does at his liking, spreading his seed far and wide, yet he was ever alone. He began to frequent those strange, brown lands upon the edges of the forest. These were lands that had been claimed from the forest for man's own purpose, whatever that was. Nature's cycle passed in it's turns. There were times of bounty and scarcity alike; drought years or flood years; hotter summers or colder winters. There was the best and the worst that every season could give and every season the stag survived.

It was in the course of a most severe winter that the stag was tempted to delve deeper into man's settlement. Foraging had grown extremely difficult that season. Heavy snows had arrived early upon the heels of an extraordinarily wet and windy Autumn, followed by a bitter, wind driven cold that held it's icy grip for weeks on end. Driven by hunger and desperation, in the moonless dim of a predawn, the stag came upon a shelf of snowdrift at a clearing.

Pawing tentatively up the slope of the drift he discovered that there was an earthen mound beneath. He began to explore the length of this mound, finding it bolstered here and there by the insertion of logs. The mound fell away from the wood, leading him ever more perilously into the open ground until coming to a point where more logs had been arranged to form a square. There were some mice startled at the stag's sudden appearance there and they scattered away in every direction. The winds had ceaselessly reshaped the snows atop this square, but there were clear signs that this corner was frequently disturbed. There was no smooth, wind-sculpted contour on the face here. This little corner had crusty, jagged edges ringing most of the space. Here and there were also holes burrowed through the crust. Still sensing no danger the stag lowered his nose to one of these tunnels through the snow and he caught the scent of grain.

A normal winter was hard by any measure for the forest creatures. This winter had been excruciating. With constant, bone numbing cold and piercing winds was paired the ever present spectre of starvation. It was a season when lesser species were left to the last, desperate resort of eating their own young. But not here. These mice were healthy. Almost plump. Certain to catch the keen eyes of the owls or hawks. This only reminded the stag of the bitter hunger scraping at his innards. With a sudden impulse he plunged his snout deep into the snow.

The grain was frozen hard as stone. The first bite was difficult to crush in his teeth, breaking into brittle shards. He felt the snow in his nostrils as he drew in another icy breath. Greedily he burrowed his snout further to take more until nearly choking. When he withdrew from the mound snorting steam into the air he stiffened, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he had left himself. It was a bland and bitter mash, but it was solid. If for just one moment the gnawing hunger in his belly was sated. The temptation to remain there was great, but his overriding instinct was to move off and return at a later hour to observe from the nearby tree line. He had to hope that his tracks in the snow would not give him away.

Some hours after sunrise, after the low winter arc of the sun had climbed above the long, grey blanket of cloud, he had taken a perch amid a small stand of beech trees. From this vantage he was no further than sixty meters from the site he had discovered earlier. All of the foliage was gone, but this particular spot provided good cover. There were four stalky beeches clustered quite close together; one with a bifurcated trunk that appeared as two separate trees. There were smaller saplings scattered across their shadow, all intertwined by an aged berry briar. Were he to remain still at this spot he might go undetected for hours.

In the wan light of the mid winter day the stag surveyed this clearing further than he had been able during his predawn visit. Now he could see that the drifted mound he had followed to the cache of grain extended well on to the west. It went on almost to where the forest resumed before linking to a row of hewn logs that followed a right turn to the north. That junction was more than one hundred meters from where he was standing. The clearing went on for some distance further to the north. The stag was unable to recognize any detail off into this expanse, but the field before him had lost it's pristine, white coating. That indistinct landscape was painted over in mucky brown and grey frozen mud. Well beyond that, in the clutch of the looming wood there stood a long, low human structure. It was only a grey shape in the foreground of the great forest beyond, yet he knew that it was of man and not nature. He dared not venture further into the light, remaining there patiently sniffing the air for any approaching danger.

One peculiar consequence of the prolonged frigid air was that the stag's normally keen sense of smell was often compromised. The soft, velvety tissue about his nostrils was cracked and sore. Anything beneath the snows was practically undetectable, unless standing right atop it. Despite this there were also times that a fortuitous shift in the wind would seem to heighten this sense.

At mid afternoon the sun had passed far enough across the sky that the far reaches of the clearing were already falling into shadow. It was at this hour that the winds suddenly rose, shifting to come directly from the north. In an instant the stag's nostrils flared and he bucked involuntarily. He was abruptly jolted with multiple scents, each distinct and unmistakable. There were the scents of man and of swine. They dwelt together and he could smell their urine, acid and pungent. There was the most fearsome scent of all: the scent of fire. This was not some smoldering Autumn bog fire, but the smell of burning wood. And there was the smell of death. Images of blood upon the snow flashed in his mind. The stag snorted a plume of steam against the wind as he tried to shake off these jarring sensations. The wind burned his eyes and nose fiercely, yet he did not turn to flee. Instead he pawed forward stealthily to just beyond those beech trees. He knelt down into the snow behind the cover of some briar, attempting to hunker down against the wind and still keep a watch to the ground beyond.

The wind sustained at a steady ten knots from the north  The stag's nose continued to be assailed by a rich and heady scent palette, becoming more dominated by fire. Across the flat of land a white smoke drifted and rose as wind got behind it. Far distant, through the rolling shroud, there were now licks of flame dancing before the human dwelling. In the well trodden, muddy foreground the stag could see indistinct shapes moving about randomly. From within the smoke the stag detected the smell of swine. 

The hours of daylight were waning. The stag should have wanted to prepare his return to the deeper forest, yet a curiosity nearly as strong as his hunger gnawed at him. He was drawn to witness this horror. With billowing smoke at his flank the stag rose from the briar and stepped off further into the wood. He began to circle in a long, wide arc through the trees, slowly working his way north. Very deliberately he stalked through the undergrowth tangled throughout the mounds of snow, taking caution in every step that his movements might remain unnoticed. Keeping his nose into the wind he could look off to the right and still catch the occasional glimpse through the trees to the open ground.

After long and painstaking effort the stag had reached a point where he was able to hear them quite clearly in the cold, crisp air. It had reached that hour when the sun beamed it's last rays beneath the clouds before making it's final descent into night. An eerie fog had enveloped the forest, interspersed with light and shadow that frosty, white spectres danced about the air. Those shapes slowly merged into the smoke of their fires at the forest's edge. An occasional glowing opaque flared in the cloud and the stag heard the crackle of licking flames. Within this shroud of mists he felt emboldened to inch his way forward, until coming to rest at a spot a mere ten metres from the clearing.

In the light of the fires the stag had gained a clearer view of the deeply shadowed end of the clearing. Dusk fell early to their little settlement, but there were ample piles of cut wood to burn from the land they had cleared. The stag watched with tears frozen upon his eyes as a small band of men  threw logs into two pits of fire. A steady cascade of embers rose into the air until wind carried them off, floating and spinning away like the dry leaves of Autumn. Above one of these pits the men had arranged a spit where an entire hog had been skewered upon a long pike above the flames. The smell of smoke, blood and roasting flesh was nearly overwhelming, yet the stag was frozen in place. The scene before him was terrifying and captivating at once. There was some silent hand that stayed his flight.

 The clearing had it's last fading hour of daylight. The indistinct shapes the stag had seen spotting the glen before were now clearer. These were the wild swine, and yet they were not. By their scent he knew them, yet they had changed. They were no longer the rough, stumpish  and hairy brutes he had encountered in the past. He recalled beasts of a surly nature with long, leering snouts rooting about the undergrowth of the forest floor. The creatures in the field before him were changed.

Swine were still swine of a sort, but they had become pigs. Their lot was with man now and for it they were indeed changed. Their hides were less tough and absent the coarse hair. They were somewhat taller now, their legs less peggish. Their snouts seemed more stunted than before. Most of all they were larger. Much larger, appearing as a mangy and much bloated version of their former selves. The stag sniffed hard, seeking the scent of them deliberately despite the stinging cold. With a fresh scent of them he experienced another flash image in his mind of the grain fattened mice he had seen at the start of this day.

The stag knew that those mice were easy prey to the swift and keen eyed owls or hawks. And now he knew how pigs had become pigs. They were willing because they were fed. They were fed that they might be fattened. They were fattened that they might be eaten. The stag could tell that surely these pigs were aware of the nature of this arrangement, for they could not but tell the scent of the roasting flesh of one of their own. Out there, upon that very ground before him that afternoon, those same pigs had nosed about the frozen muck fighting each other to dine upon the discarded innards of that hog on the spit.

The stag knew through some indefinable intuition that something had changed in the world. Man was still man, though he had become a swineherd. Swine were still swine, yet accepting man's protection they had become pigs. Even knowing that the swineherd raised them for slaughter the pigs still accepted their protection, even to the point of eating their own. Pigs will be pigs simply because they like being pigs.

 Many more seasons passed and the stag grew quite formidable in stature. He was tall and broad backed and had grown a fearsome and multi-pronged head of antlers. As ever the stag traveled alone and he was seen as one of the mightiest creatures in the forest. Only those who braved the deep forest ever saw him, for it was only very seldom now that the stag ventured afield. It was only on those most grey mornings, or perhaps sometimes at dusk, that the stag was emboldened to venture further into the open ground.

It was on one of those grey, wet dawns in early spring that the stag wandered in from the forest on to the edge of a great plain.  These were the wide, gently rolling downs that led ultimately south to the sea. They were not lands that the stag had ever explored and he only knew small bits upon the periphery. It was when he arrived at the top of a rise in the land that a wind greeted him. It carried the scent of sheep. He knew of these stout creatures, fellow grazers as they were. The stag's encounters with sheep had been infrequent and brief, but he did know that sheep had a great nose for the sweet grass. Where there were sheep there was good grazing. This was enough to draw him onward.

In the muted light the stag stalked his way through the wet growth until he came upon a row of stones. These were not in any natural array, rather they had been arranged as a barrier and stacked to a height of his mid breast. These stones were of the earth, though as they were set they must surely be the work of man. This triggered some caution, though he was compelled by a growing ovine bouquet to press onward.

He followed the path along this wall for some time. The ground had fallen to a slow grade, settling deeper into a vale until he arrived at the low point where morning mists still hung heavy and low to the ground. It was here that he first detected the muted bleating from somewhere quite near the other side of the wall. His ears pricked and fell several times as he tried to capture more sounds. Cautiously the stag edged into ivy and crumbled stone underfoot until coming against the wall and poking his head across the top.

"Hullo? Are you sheep there?", he called out into the fog. His ears again flickered back and forth as he listened for any response. When none came after several moments he called out again, "Hullo?"

He did not have a long wait before his ears and nose were both greeted with the unmistakable stream of sheep urine and the wet thud of their droppings. They could be no more than a few feet beyond where he stood. He began to gingerly step over the notch he had found there in the wall. The stag could easily have vaulted over this gap in one great leap, but stealth more than speed was desired here. He had not attained the seventeen points on his antlers by being impulsive.

Once cleared of the wall he pawed forward gently into the grass. His hindquarters were sprung with every step, prepared to bolt back over the wall at the first sign of any danger. He found the dew still heavy upon all the foliage, streaming down the stalks of the taller plants and soaking the grass below. The mists carried the succulence of this graze, teasing his nose, tempting him: Drink. Drink!

A breath of air came, floating the grey veil aside for a moment. There were three of them standing before him. The first was facing him, about fifteen feet away. The other two faced away or in profile to either side at about twice the distance. The pair in the background appeared as dark grey woolly shadows in the cloud. The first sheep before him was a ewe. He was certain of this by her scent, just as he was certain by scent that these were sheep. Still he could not help sensing that these were somehow different from any sheep he had encountered before. 

The ewe stared blankly ahead, her eyes mere pale opaques fixed in a direction and seeing nothing, They were dead eyes. Her jaws moved incessantly, chewing whatever was left in that maw. This sheep was thicker, had fuller wool than any the stag had seen before. In every physical sense this appeared to be a much sturdier beast than he could recall.

There was a sudden, brief chorus of muted bleating as more sheep began to emerge from the rising fog. They were at once all about him and each was the same. They all shared the same soulless, unseeing eyes, moving as one mindless herd. The first ewe remained with vacant expression in front of him. The stag was left to feel that this space must be safe for grazing, but with each passing moment the sheep surrounding him grew increasingly alien. There was a hint of something unclean.

Still eyeing the herd he bowed down to the ground to taste the dew upon his lips. Then he tore away the first tender morsels. It was indeed  that sweet, tender new grass. He gathered a mouthful and then raised his mighty head high to chew and watch the herd drift through. He pondered, inasmuch as a stag is able, what had become of these poor brutes?

"Tell me, sheep, why do you congregate among these stones? Are these not the works of man?"

There was no response. The sheep went on grazing, there was a random bleating here and there, but there was not even the least acknowledgement of the stag's query. He moved forward a few feet closer to the ewe and sampled from another tuft of greens. He tried to examine her more closely whilst casually grinding away on that mouth of grass. She did not seem to react in any way at all to his presence. He began to wonder if perhaps sheep had somehow been rendered deaf to speech? Or to sound altogether? They seemed rather docile creatures so the stag decided to provoke a response. He tilted his mighty head forward just far enough for the top of his rack to poke gently at the ewe's side.

"Hey! What'cher pokin' me for?" The ewe's tone was indignant, yet her eyes remained blank and unblinking.

"You can hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you! I'm not dea-e-e-ef!"

"Then why did none of you answer before?"

"Because! You're not part of the he-e-e-erd."

"Then why are you talking to me now?"

"Because you poked me! You're a strange looking cow. How did you get horns like that?"

"I am not a cow. I am a stag."

"Oh. Sta-a-a-ag. Where do you come from, sta-a-a-ag?"

"I am from the great forest."

None of the other sheep present took the least bit of interest in this conversation. The stag began to suspect that he might not get any answers, but the grass was sweet and the day was young. At least he had been able to engage one of their number, so he continued.

"You sheep did not arrange all these stones. This had to be done by man."

"Ma-a-a-an, yes. The shepherd. That is the wa-a-a-all."

"Don't you fear man?"

"Man is the shepherd. The shepherd protects us."

"That is the purpose of this wall?"

"Ye-e-e-es."

"Protect you from what?"

"The wolf!"

Amused, the stag took yet another bite from the sweet grass. He stood amid the sheep savoring these tender morsels for a while longer, but he had decided that he would speak with them no more.

The world was indeed changing, though perhaps not as much as the stag had originally thought. Perhaps with his many seasons, having seen and lived so much, he had simply attained a better understanding of the world. The wolf was indeed his natural enemy, but in truth the stag had little to fear from the wolf. The deep forest was their domain to share and each were supreme in their own way. And, in truth, the sheep likewise had little to fear from the wolf. Though the wolf may also be their natural enemy, the sheep did not and could not understand that the cries of their lambs came from the slaughterhouse. The slaughterhouse was built not by wolves, but by the shepherd. The stag understood that the swineherd and the shepherd were the same. Yet pigs and sheep were still quite different from one another. Pigs enjoyed being pigs because they were pigs. Sheep enjoy being sheep simply because they don't know any better.