Hedge of Thorns: Beast
My arrow landed somewhere in the grasses to my left, and I plunge in that direction in the hope of finding it again. Sweeping the plants from side-to-side, I hunt for the teal colored fletching. When I finally glimpse it, a strong push in the middle of my back sends me sprawling within inches of the arrow shaft. I grab it, roll, and find myself looking up into a black donkey face.
EEEE-AWWW.
The animal’s chunky slab-like teeth were inches from my shirt. He nipped up some of the flannel, and shook it.
“Stop that, pesky beast! You scared my mule deer.” Standing up, I grab for the stiff mane. The dusty hair deposits grime in my palm. To my surprise, the donkey pressed forward, bumping against my hip.
“For the trouble you’ve caused, I’m going to get some use out of you.”
Dropping the arrow back down my quiver, I step toward the spot on the trail where I’d left my travois poles. The donkey follows.
“You’re sure a lonesome beast.”
When we reach the poles, I untie the lashings, re-knotting one of my lengths of rope to improvise a halter and lead. After that, I tie the poles to the folded blind to make a travois, which I drop over the donkey’s withers. Adding my bulky pack to the animal’s load is only fair.
“Come along, beast.”
I trudge southward, my eyes focused on the patches of dusty soil, in search of the fleeing deer’s tracks. If my arrow had struck, there’d also be a blood trail, but I’ll have to do without that.
Behind me, the donkey pauses, creating tension on the rope. I give it a yank and look over my shoulder. He’s gnawing leafy twigs from one of the sparse bushes I’d passed.
Mouth filled, the donkey steps forward.
I sigh. “You can stuff your belly with that, but I won’t be able to fill mine unless you get a move on.”
Several strides later, my foot lands beside a deer track. A fresh one. I slow, because it’s about the time of day a deer would bed down to digest its meal until dusk.
A small grove of aspens ahead might be giving my quarry cover. I scan the soil, and spot more deer tracks, front and rear. The donkey’s muzzle pokes at my shoulder. I scowl back at its sturdy blackness.
“Beast, you need a name. I’ll call you Carbon.”
Hedge of Thorns: Beast is a segment of a serialized short story that posts on Fridays.
Check the menu on this blog for other, previously posted serialized stories, here.
Rith
Heidi Kortman
Krystine Kercher
Heidi Kortman