Rifted - Chapter VIII - Call of the Horn II

The beast kicked once again, proving that it would be no small task. But then, I knew how to change that.

Leaning in closely to it, I fixed it with a stared. Not long and deep, as that would only frighten it more, and surely not challenging. Only a quiet watching. It’s breathing grew heavy, shifting from long, ragged gasps to a deep rumbling. Eventually, it stopped moving altogether.

‘There now boy.’ I said calmly. ‘Nothing is going to hurt you out here.’

It was not a lie, either. The worst that could happen was to be carried away in a whirlwind, perhaps, though I doubted that could happen. Even the predators seemed to have moved on, sensing the great drought could only continue to get worse.

‘So what shall we call you?’

Some claim that animals cannot speak, not counting those who undoubtedly can, of course. Many believe that they are nothing more than wild beasts, capable beyond nothing but survival. I, Reader, know different. They are alive as you and I.

More, perhaps.

Since I was young I had prided myself on being able to speak to them. A quiet whispering of the mind. A soft premonition. Such is their way, and it is far more beautiful than the language of my own people. They talk from the soul, not just the gut.

This one was telling me much.

‘Lance.” I said after a bit of waiting. A long scar arched down his flanks, most likely placed there by the point of a spear skipping along the tough hide. He had no objections, and I smiled. ‘Good, Lance it will be.’ My hand went to his side, slowly scratching its way along his arched back, over the hump of his shoulders and neck, and finally coming to rest behind his ear.

A bit of fear showed. His iris dilating. I felt thick, corded muscle tense beneath my fingers, and for a moment I was prepared for the worst. But as I continued to scratch, finding that spot which they could never reach, I knew that the bond was made. He would be a good Kuyja to have after all, despite what my father thought.

‘Now Lance,’ I smiled, taking a hold of the halter and beginning to put a bit of forward pressure on it. ‘Here on the farm there are a few rules. First of all, you must listen to father. He is a smart man, and if you do what he says, then all will turn out good. Secondly, everyone pulls their weight around here, and that means you have a lot to pull. But if you do your job and do not make a fuss, you will have plenty of hay and shelter over your head.’

The two of us took a few furtive steps forward, me talking all the while, the beast seemingly oblivious that anything was happening. His eyes stayed riveted to mine, locked there by some unseen power.

I believe you know full well what that is, Reader.

Suddenly the weight of the plow sank, digging into the soil and beginning to tear it up. The transition was nearly seamless, and to such a large animal, hardly noticeable.

The last part was over, at last, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

We were finally friends.

Our fields stretched all across the Wrunnithen valley, and even beyond that, but much of it was implantable now. These last few acres were all the hope we had left to cling to, and luckily I knew that we could get them plowed before nightfall without much trouble. Otherwise, there would be much to pay.

Lance fell into rhythm, moving quickly as he drug the heavy piece of machinery behind. I found it strange how animals such as this could so easily forget their world, their previous thoughts and desires.

But then, are we no different?

At first, I was unsure if I had heard the sound. It seemed so distant, and in my state of day dreaming, hard to tell. A few moments later, I heard it again. Far more distinct and I was unable to deny it this time.

The Horn was calling.