He touched his nose to the numbing water. The little creek meandered shallowly through the grove with a rippling clarity. Its pebbly bed filtering a pure gift, fit for all things living. He took in a mouthful and slowly swallowed. The chill made its way down his throat into his belly. A good way to break the ice. He raised and looked around, then knelt his head back down for another drink. He took it down sparingly, as to not take more than he needed. Only enough for what was allowed him. A rejuvenation of the mind and spirit. He had forgotten how splendid the taste of the little creek had always satisfied him more than any other.
The sun split the ceiling. As if the clouds had parted on command. Distinct beams of light pierced around the trees. Individual rays manifested throughout the timber and settled with a wondrous warmth on the forest floor. The mist creating a spirited appearance amongst the illumination. He swallowed down a invigorating gulp and water dribbled from his lips. He licked his nose clean and watched as the suns reflection erased the creek bed from his vision. As he was about to raise he froze. All in an instant, the warm sensation of a revived morning turned. His eye caught the unnatural and ever so slight motion of something out of place. The phantasmal silhouette of something quivering, but holding on the surface.
He peered upward, head still down. The faint crack of a twig. Then another. And he slowly bowed and took a couple steps backward. Birds in the distant thicket mourned. He raised his crowned head and met the gaze of another. Mere yards away, he zeroed in on the black eyes that had so preoccupied his thoughts throughout his travels. Restless nights of wandering through a labyrinth of nightmares resurfaced. His breathing became unsettled. Too soon, that the premonitions of the darkness would come. Not on such a beautiful day. The end standing before him.
The alien buck stood his ground with an uncommon confidence. Posing tall and imperial. The light swarmed around his figure with a mythical appearance. Each follicle of hair illuminating. His antlers longstanding and harmonious. Bellowing from his head. A burst of perfection. He expelled the air from his lungs in a urgency, whistling and hissing from his nostrils. The breath dispersing with the gentle breeze.
Their ears pinned simultaneously, and circled each other. Both crossed the creek and replaced each others steps. And when all civility came to end, they loaded their hind legs and exploded into a fury. Lowered racks and collided with a violence that one cannot imagine in a day dream. The tranquility of the little creek erupted into a swash of muddy disfigurement as the astonishing wreck of their antlers echoed throughout the woods. The sheer power of their necks thrashing against each other, flesh ripping. Grunts of desperation bawling from their open mouths, gasping for energy that was the sweet air. They backed away, and clashed again even more violently. Blood dripping from ones brow, another from his nose.
They raged. Two titans. Rangers of the wilderness. Contending for a tiny piece of ground that was held so sentimental to both. For an eternity it seemed, they fought. Passing does watched from afar, marveling at the war before them. A sight seldom seen. The bursting of branches on the creek bank casting throughout. The faint sounds of desperation in the flood of chaos.
The ten, who had traveled so far, so distant. Who had spent so many dreamy nights abroad at peace, struggled to hold his adversary at bay. The other buck peering into him with cavernous eyes. And with one final thrash, they fell. To them, in slow motion. Their feet tumbling out from under them. Piling up in the creek. Beyond the point of exhaustion.
They held their heads up above the water, locked. The point of no return. Their destinies, for a moment, made clear. Each shook to try to break loose. But their tines tangled so perfectly, that perhaps a magician could not undo the meshing. Struggle soon turned to the discernment of fate. And each finally looked at each other one last time. Their muscles unstrained. They breathed easy. Then let go, drained of life. And the ten let his head beneath the water of the little creek, sinking the other with him. Down to the pebbly bed. The water turned crimson and quietly displaced the clearness downstream. They soaked in the cool of the mountain watershed one last time. And each drifted into an eternal, quiet sleep.
Before the ten closed his eyes, he thought of his mothers scar. And the nook in the field. The little creek, marching to the ever-flowing tune of time.
Sometimes we find things unexpected. Sometimes we find those things when it is too late. Every hunter dreams. Tries to create. To imagine the ones that spend their entire lives without being seen by the eye of a single human. In cruelty and beauty all the same, sometimes the very mother nature that takes and gives allows us to read the last paragraph of the story. But leaves it to us, to write the beginning.
You again painted a outstanding word picture that pulled me in to see what you see. Loved it!!
Great read Rusty….like your Dad, you make me feel like I’m there and you’re talking to Me. Really enjoyed it!!!!
Fantastic boy! I really enjoyed this one now that I can put the three together.
Rusty … I love your writing. Very vivid and descriptive.
[…] Duel of the Fates: Part 3 […]
I enjoyed reading all 3 stories. Being a lady, I was sorry when I read they were dead. Keep up the good work.