by Livi Michael
It didn't take her long to find a wounded hare. It looked at her with its dying eyes and she sank her teeth into its neck and killed it quickly – that was the mercy she gave. And quickly, without thinking about it, she ate its flesh and heart. Then, when she had finished, she wiped the blood from her jaws. She wanted to cry, but the only form her crying would take was a long, eerie howl. And this time there was an answering howl, then another.
Dog-woman set off, running faster and faster down the hill. The thought that was driving her now was the thought of the pack, and she ran on all fours to be with others of her own kind. She ran easily, with long loping strides towards the edge of a thick forest, and before she reached it she could see dark shapes appearing silently. Their smell was strong in her nostrils and they smelled like kin. Thick and fast they came, then thicker and faster, all running with her into the forest as though with one body. And for the first time a fierce joy came to Dog-woman as she felt the strength in her muscles and veins. She leaped, sure-footed, over branches and thickets, and did not slip.
In those days the forest was endless, and they ran on until finally they came to a clearing. There Dog-woman stood up, towering over the other hounds, and surveyed her pack. They were a motley, savage bunch, half starved and scraggy. Dogs as well as wolves were among them. They cowered a little before her as if they knew she was their leader and had been waiting for her all their lives.
‘You are my people,’ she said to them, or rather, howled, and they howled back at her, understanding perfectly.
From that time on Dog-woman lived with her pack. They hunted and slept together and shared out their spoils. She learned to avoid humans, who drove them away with stones and left out poisoned meat. She mated with different members of the pack and had young. She mourned, howling, when one of the pack died, as though she had lost her own life – and she mourned often for she outlived them all. The young of the pack grew elderly and died, and still Dog-woman survived, hunting and breeding.
One time when she had been left alone to give birth to another litter, and the father of the litter had gone to find food for her, Dog-woman realized she was not alone. She looked up, and there was the angel of the Lord, leaning against a tree.
‘You again,’ she said, or rather, snarled. ‘What do you want?’
Now an angel'll never answer a direct question, and this one just went on looking at her. She remembered what she had always intended to ask.
‘Why am I like this?’ she asked, nudging her young who were suckling. ‘Why am I not human, like all the others?’
The angel of the Lord was silent for a long moment, then he said, ‘Many centuries have passed. What have you learned?’
Dog-woman had lost all track of time. She thought a bit then said, ‘I've learned that there's nothing sweeter than the scent of the chase, and the moment when another animal gives up its life - that's the sweetest feeling of all, like peace. I've learned what it is to give life, and I've learned grief at the death of my kin. I have learned to tell fresh water from foul, good meat from bad, and that there is no place for me in all the world except for running with my pack… What have you learned?’ She asked him this sourly, giving him a look.
‘You were the first who wanted to stay,’ said the angel, ‘because of your strong love of the earth. Men and women are lonely, but you have your pack. Your life is vivid to you. You have lived many lifetimes and still the earth is the most powerful thing in your eyes and ears and nose. What would you change?’
Dog-woman thought of her grief, inconsolable when one of her young had died, or her last mate. She thought of hunger, and the long, bitter winters. But she had chosen the earth.
‘Nothing,’ she said eventually, looking at the angel. He shimmered before her and no longer seemed quite clear. ‘I wouldn't change a thing.’
The angel smiled. ‘Then that's all you need to know,’ he said, and lifting his finger he spoke again with several voices.
‘Live as long as you desire to live,’ he said. ‘And when you are tired, become one with the earth.’
‘And then what?’ Dog-woman asked, but the angel had already gone. And that was the last she saw of him, or any angel. She went on living with her pack, roaming the forests, and she lives with them still…
‘People know her hereabouts,’ Travis says. ‘You get tales of people seeing a shaggy woman surrounded by hounds. Of food disappearing when a door's left open, or sheep and chickens killed. They say if you see her in the distance it's in her human form with her wild, white hair, but if she enters a house it's always as a dog. They say the bite of her will either kill or cure.’
There's a long pause as he finishes the story, then I say, ‘You mean she lives around here now?’
‘In the forest,’ Travis says. ‘If you run into her be sure you have some meat for her dogs. If you're kind to her dogs she'll be fine with you.’
‘Have you met her then?’ I say. I can't help asking even though, of course, I don't believe his story.
‘Many times,’ says Travis. He gets up and goes to the entrance of the cave. ‘Rain's easing off again,’ he says.
‘If I see her,’ I say, ‘I'll throw her some meat and say, “Here, girl, heel.”’ I grin at Annie and she shoots me a look. ‘Maybe I'll teach her to sit up and beg,’ I say. ‘And she'll show us the way through the forest.’
‘Or maybe she'll gut you and eat you,’ Travis says. ‘But we've got work to do for supper.’
We go out with him then, slipping around a bit in our skins, and all that afternoon he shows us how to spear fish on a sharp stick. I try and try but I'm not as fast as Travis. We slip on the wet stones trying not to get our skins soaked, and laugh. He shows us how to throw a stone so it skims the surface, but I can't do it.
Snow still clings to the hills in spite of all the rain, but close to the earth's soft and soaked with a wet, strong smell. By the time we've finished Travis has speared four or five fish, and I've got one, small and spiny, that thrashes around on the end of my stick and I'm shouting with excitement.
‘Hold your noise,’ Travis says, splashing over, but he says it kindly enough, pleased with my catch. Annie's given up and is sitting on a rock, drumming her heels.
Then he takes us to a small copse of trees and shows us how to find dry sticks of birch, even in the rain, by scrabbling through the undergrowth. If he's surprised that we don't know birch from any other tree he doesn't show it – just goes on pointing out birch that burns and willow that bends and how well they go together. I get fed up after a bit and just start banging the trees and grasses with my sticks, but Annie's good at it and soon has a bundle tied round with strips of willow and tucked under her skins.
By this time the light's fading and it's time to get back to the cave. I'm starving again and I can't wait to light a fire and cook the fish. I'm thinking all the time about what it'll be like to live on the road, and about hunting for real meat, not just fish.
The cave's starting to feel like home. I can imagine the three of us living there, but as he's cooking the fish Travis says, ‘In the morning we'll set off, first thing.’
I suppose we can't stay too long, so close to Bent Edge Farm. And anyway, I'm happy, so long as we're with Travis. I've forgotten I ever distrusted him.
It's raining again and darkness falls like a wet, wet blanket. We strip off our skins and peg them out to dry like we've been doing it all our lives, and we sit with our faces to the flames and Travis tells us about travelling: when the spring comes that's not far off now, and the moors whisper and rustle, yellow with gorse and broom, and you can hear the call of the larks and the moorhens, and the soft, lonely cry of the curlew, and up over the hillside comes the great orange sun turning the whole world to flame then quickly, quick as blinking, back to green again.
We listen to Travis and eat the soft fish flesh with our fingers and feel the heat of the fire, and drift into sleep. And it seems to me then, as it always has done, ever since, that this must be what it's
like in heaven, to be warm and fed and without fear. To have found everything that you thought you'd lost.
4
Rabbit
Seems like I've hardly been asleep when I wake up and find Travis clearing stuff away in the cold grey light.
‘Always cover your tracks, Tom,’ he says. ‘Never leave anything for anyone to find.’
I get up stiffly and give Annie a kick, then pull on my skins. Everything seems different in the morning light.
‘Here,’ Travis says, handing me the shovel. ‘Never forget your tools.’
I take the shovel and stand there, stupid-like. Annie stirs and groans.
‘Right,’ says Travis. ‘Pick up your things.’
We wrap ourselves in the skins Travis made for us and hand him the ones we'd been lying on. He's cleared everything else and the cave's empty and dark, as if no one had ever been there. It's a lonely feeling.
Travis hitches the bundle on his back. ‘Nothing like setting off early,’ he says.
It's freezing. Travis sets off at a great pace and we hurry after. My feet are numb, slipping and slithering in the skins, which aren't tied on tight enough. When I stop to tie them on again, Annie waits but Travis doesn't, and we have to run to catch up.
The sky's pale with a few stars. Everything's dim and grey. There's a kind of mist coming off the river, swirling into strange shapes. Travis takes a track that leads steeply away from the river. Soon there are copses of trees, dark and silent. So much silence everywhere that I want to talk.
‘We could have stayed in bed a bit,’ I say, my breath coming out like smoke, but Travis makes no comment. ‘Where are we going?’ I ask, but he still says nothing. Annie says nothing either, her breath coming in smoky gasps. I can feel a stitch in my side from hurrying up hill, and I begin to wonder about breakfast.
We pass through a field that's wet with rain and dew, the long grass brushing our legs. Then we climb through a stile into another field and Travis stops, bending over.
‘What?’ I say. ‘What are you looking for?’
Travis's fingers close round a stone and he stands up. He unslings his bundle and takes out a strip of leather, folding it into a loop. ‘See there,’ he says, nodding towards the far side of the field. I look but I can't see anything.
‘Look again,’ says Travis, and I peer through the gloom until I think I can see dim shapes, bobbing and weaving. Travis fits the stone into the strip of leather and swings it round his head. It whistles through the air and there's a soft ptth! as it falls. I still can't see anything but Travis seems pleased. We hurry across the field after him and there, sure enough, is a rabbit – eyes wide open, legs still twitching, and a dark smudge near the ear where the stone's hit. Travis picks it up by the legs and slings it into his bundle.
‘Eh, that's amazing!’ I say. ‘Can I have a go?’
Travis makes no comment but I'm getting used to this now. We walk on to the next field and he hands me the leather sling. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘Aim for that hare.’
I try to fit a stone into the sling and it falls out immediately until Travis helps. Then I swing it round my head and it falls behind me. The hare doesn't seem worried. It goes on munching the grass, one long ear flopping over its eye. I try again and the stone falls just a couple of feet away. The hare bounds off.
‘You can keep the sling,’ Travis says. ‘You'll need the practice.’
The next field we come to he takes out another sling and fells another rabbit before I've even seen it. My stone falls uselessly at my feet.
Travis picks it up. ‘Like this,’ he says, walking to a fence. He balances two large cones and a chunk of rock on the fence, steps back and sends a stone whizzing at them. It hits the first cone and that topples, then the second, and then the rock – clunk! One after another, like that!
‘How do you do that?’ I ask him, running after, but he only says, ‘Practice,’ over his shoulder, and climbs the fence. We follow, Annie gathering her skirts up, me pushing her from behind, a bit harder than I need to.
We can hear the first birds now, gathering and calling to one another overhead, and soon Travis stops again. ‘Look,’ he says.
Everything's grey and still. The sky's grey, the grass is grey with dew, and the wind holds its breath.
Then there's a sharp streak of green to the east and, suddenly, the sky turns a faint pink and goes pinker until it blazes like fire. Over the grey hillside comes the first sliver of sun, a thin curve of pure, white fire, already blinding. We all stand and watch as a big ball of light grows, pulsing and throbbing fit to burst.
I look at Annie and she's smiling, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. There can't be anything better than this – to be on the road forever with Travis. Except breakfast.
Travis still says nothing but he swings on again at a great pace, whistling. We run after, laughing now, until Travis tells us to be quiet. ‘Listen,’ he says.
I can't hear anything apart from birds. I walk on, listening to the tramp and swish of our feet through grass, then suddenly I can hear it. Silence.
Over and above the cries of birds there's a big, big silence in the sky and, beneath our feet, a big deep silence from the earth. We tramp along, just listening to it. Seems to me that I can tell how big the world is, just from the silence.
Travis stops one more time to kill a hare. I see it at the same time, but he's felled it before I get the stone in my sling and, once again, my stone falls at my feet.
Hopeless. I'm starting to think I'll never be good enough to travel the road. But Travis is heading towards some trees.
‘Breakfast,’ he says, and I forget to be cross.
We run into the copse, scrabbling through the undergrowth for the driest sticks, and soon Travis has a small fire blazing. He lets us help skin the rabbit. It's harder than it looks and I'm a bit clumsy, but Annie's small fingers strip the fur back nimbly and Travis cuts it open to let the blood drain. I watch as he slides the knife in, towards the back legs and tail, taking the legs out just by twisting, then cutting through the spine to release the tail. Then he cuts off the head and puts it in his bundle.
‘Stew,’ he says. He goes on cutting through the spine and splitting the ribs, pulling out the innards and cutting out chunks of muscle from the back, spearing them and holding them over the flames.
If you've never ate rabbit at dawn sitting under a tree and looking out across an open moor, you've never lived. That's what Travis says, and I believe him, licking the juice from my fingers.
‘This is the best,’ I say. Travis is already clearing away.
‘It's the best thing, this,’ I say again, to make him answer.
‘It's one of them,’ he says without looking up. ‘Not the best.’
‘Well, what is then?’
‘The best thing,’ he says, ‘is to live your life without leaving a single trace.’
Seems daft to me, but I don't argue. Right now, with the sun in my face and rabbit warm in my belly, I'd believe anything at all. We help him clear away, to leave no traces.
‘Where to now, Travis?’ I ask. For answer he walks over to the edge of the hill.
There below us spreads the forest. A few trees gather into a copse at the bottom of the hill, then that copse runs into another and another, until the forest spreads like a thick green darkness for miles. Up here you can just about see the end of it, faint wreaths of smoke from cottages where the sky meets the earth.
Travis sets off down the hill, walking in great zigzags, and we follow. It's hard going because the tufts of grass are slippy and there's mud between and little pools of icy water. I have to slide down most of it on my bum.
Further down I can see that a road branches away from the forest – the road that farmers take to market. But now that I'm closer to it I can see that a thin track goes from it through the forest, twisting and winding. The dangerous path that no one takes. But as long as we're with Travis, I don't mind.
Down the long hill we bump and slither
, reaching the first clump of trees, then a place where the hill begins to level out, until finally we stand on the road, breathing hard. The dark edge of the forest looms up before us. The sun doesn't seem to have risen at all in there. The track runs into it a little way and disappears, swallowed up by the darkness made by great branches. We peer into the gloom then look back up at Travis.
‘This is where I leave you,’ he says, and my stomach gives a lurch and goes on falling. Travis doesn't look at me. ‘The track goes right through the forest,’ he says. ‘When you come out on the other side, you'll see the first houses, and then the town begins.’
‘But… aren't you coming?’ I say with a little laugh. I can't believe he expects us to go in there alone.
Travis doesn't answer. He squints at the sun, which has turned white, and says, ‘No one'll find you in there because no one'll come looking.’
I stare at him. There's a white-yellow light on his face from the sun; everything's lit up in a cold glare and still he won't look at me.
‘It's a good day's walk,’ he says, ‘which is why we set off early. You'd not want to be travelling through the forest at night. But with any luck you'll have reached the town by nightfall. You'll be all right,’ he says, ‘if you stick to the track.’
I feel a hard, bitter knot in my stomach. ‘You're leaving us then,’ I say. I want to shout and kick. Annie says nothing, but her eyes are open wide.
He looks at us then for the first time and spreads his arms. ‘I'm not looking for company,’ he says.
I hate him then, for ruining my dream. I might have known it was too good to be true. I kick a tree stump savagely, and hurt my foot. The pain makes my eyes sting, but I'm not crying, because I never do.
‘Tom, Tom,’ said Travis.
‘That's not my name,’ I spit at him. ‘You don't know my name!’
‘And don't you go telling me,’ Travis says, very stern, then he sighs and squats down so that his face is a little lower than my own. ‘How old are you?’ he says.