Dearthair

The road circled around the section of forest that split out from it’s main body and grew towards the town of Cra. It was a muddy road with many rocks. Dearthair strolled comfortably along following the wizard with not a thought in his mind except for that beautiful grass that danced in the breeze like a thousand ecstasies. The sun was bright. It shone down on his back and danced across the road between the fluttering leaves of the nearby trees.

Dearthair didn’t know much. He was a Mule. Though this does not make him simple. There were complications in Dearthair’s life he felt were directly linked to his current companionship with the wizard, and simplicity seems to be the absence of complication, or at least Dearthair thought so. You see, most of the  time the wizard was beside him, or on top of him, or in front of him, and only behind him in very specific scenarios not at all comfortable to either party. The wizard existed somehow inexplicably distant from Dearthair, even though they shared a campsite at night. Almost all the waking hours were spent together, every rainstorm, every sunset, yet still the Wizard refused to engage that which was most precious to Dearthair. The wind.

The wind, the summoner of scents, the arouser of aroma, it danced all around Dearthair as he walked. It emanated from the place above that seemed to be mostly open. There was no grass there, or trees, but things came from it. The wind came from there, although at times the wind seemed to come from many places, mostly it moved in one direction, but often it seemed to cascade and collide, collecting and spreading throughout the world carrying with it a wealth of information seemingly ignored by the wizard.

For instance there was the time that Dearthair had attempted to warn the wizard of a hobgoblin hiding behind a boulder next to the road. Dearthair had stood with straight forelegs and had raised his upper lip and ears in warning. had refused to move closer, had even attempted to back up but the wizard had only spoken harshly to him and admonished him. That situation had ended when the hobgoblin burned to greasy ashes . Dearthair had held his breath around the ash as it spread through the wind around them following the altercation. 

Regardless of the outcome, much of the trouble could have been avoided if the wizard had just put the clues together. Unfortunately, this was not the only way the wizard had shown his ignorance. There were many instances where Dearthair would come into contention with the wizard over simple things like Dearthair’s desire to drink from a creek or eat a specifically delicious smelling patch of grass. These contentions were true battles of will. The wizard would curse and scream at him, in response he would sink his front hooves into good deep earth, planting his legs as if roots of some oak and no action of the wizard could make him move, until he was ready.

When dearthair thought of the time before the wizard the memories were strange and extended. Something hazy existed beyond that border, but try as he might he could not stretch his thoughts that far. Instead of the haziness coaelcing when he would stretch his mind beyond that border he would begin to be distracted by thoughts of grass, or water, or some smell that traveled in the ether around him. There were times at night when consciousness slipped from his mind, as the last embers of the camp fire began to cool, that he remembered a great power and stretching of his legs as he travelled great distances, glimpses of a far off glade with crystal clear waters. These brief periods of recollection were always felt as if hazy imaginings. Fantasies of being something more than a mule. Dearthair tried not to dwell on them too deeply. They created negativity as they compared his current existence to their excitement. A competition his current circumstance could never win.

The days passed by as they traveled, the destination of which was somewhere far to the north. The wizard would often mutter about it as they traveled, some tower he described as his own. The wizard had an annoying habit of telling dearthair how he had constructed it. What spells had proven to be useful. How the wizard, in his self exclaimed brilliance, had combined arcane tricks to solve problems that had arisen as he had built. Sometimes, but only rarely, and only when the wizard was drunk on mead or wine purchased at one of the many small villages they passed through, the wizard would tell him that he was the final solution to the final problem. This idea hadn’t originally bothered dearthair, but now as the days grew shorter and the forests they passed through grew more dense and dark, as the smell bringer became less potent and less active, and as even the grass grew short and stubby. Deathair felt his thoughts more often travel to the time before, worrying at the borders of his recollections.

On one autumn afternoon just as the sun was dipping in the sky the wizard began to walk at an extraordinary pace, at least compared to his normal obstinate plodding. “Look dearthair, this wood is familiar to me! We are finally close to home, back to where you belong. Soon my tower will be complete, all this travel, these endless miles will be worth it. I cannot say I am filled with sorrow at the completion of this journey, I can say I will miss you, it was nice to have someone to speak to.”

The words tumbled through dearthair as they plodded past ancient and gnarled trunks of trees much older and darker than those weeks ago. There was something in this wood that made dearthair uncomfortable. That night they camped beneath the bows of a particularly gnarled oak whose branches hung low with the weight of their twisting. The tips of the branches nearly brushed the small patches of yellow grass that grew in clumps along the stony ground. 

During the night Dearthair dreamed of running across distant hills of green grass and bright tall trees that sang to him in the moonlight. He dreamed of staring endlessly into a clear pool whose reflection showed a regal white coat that shimmered and danced as ripples passed across the pool's surface. He dreamed of breathing deep the night air as he pranced through the moonbeams scattered by the branches of green trees. He dreamed of endless days of sun and glory and the smell of earth and grass. He felt his muscles stretch and bunch as he galloped. 

Dearthair woke to the murky air of the forest around him. The wizard was curled in his traveling cloak at the base of the oak. His white beard shimmered in the early morning light reminding Dearthair of his dream. Dearthair walked quietly away from the wizard, wandering aimlessly amongst the trunks of trees lost in the memory of the clear pool. Before long he was some distance from the wizard, unaware of where he had come from or how he could return. This did not scare Dearthair, to his surprise it did not bother him. Instead he felt a growing strength inside him. He felt a strange change occuring. The boundary to the memories before the wizard began to fade, he felt his mind, no longer distracted by the wind or by the grass, stretch farther than it had ever before. The dreams of the night before, coalesced and became less abstract. He began to think of the pool in real terms. He remembered all the paths that lead to it. How far it was from specific landmarks. He began to see his form in the pool's waters, reflected back to him. He saw the powerful muscles as they rippled beneath his white coat, he saw stretching from the top of his head…”

The wizard appeared in a flash of blue light before dearthair with a dreadful grimace on his face. He raised his staff above his head in two arms and began to mutter under his breath. As he did dearthair felt the memories begin to fade beyond barriers that grew as the wizard spoke. There was a feeling now of great anger at the loss. Dearthair broke into a run aiming straight at the wizard. As he ran he held onto the memory of the pool, unwilling to let it pass beyond the barrier, tearing it forward into his mind. The wizard was only a few feet in front of him when the muttering stopped and his face creased in shock. His arms dropped from above his head brandishing his staff in a way Dearthair had seen before, a bright light began to grow at its tip, a nebulous point pf light and heat. Dearthair felt it as the final feet between them passed in one last mighty lunge. 

Dearthair lowered his head and plunged into the Wizard's chest with all his might. There was a sickening crunch and the sound of air being forced from the wizard. The heat of the staff disappeared somewhere beyond Dearthairs right shoulder, he felt a great weight on the end of his forehead. He reared back his head shaking it back and forth. As he did the weight was relieved and the body of the wizard was thrown to the ground. A liquid dripped from above dearthair, perhaps somewhere in the branches of a tree, it landed on the travel stained cloak of the wizard in dark splotches that shone red in the sunlight that trickled through the tree's branches. 

Dearthair lifted one leg pushing at the body of the wizard. He was shocked at what he saw. Gone was the muddy brown leg he had been so used to, the leg that had been a part of him since he could remember. In its place, as he rolled the wizard onto his back, was a long muscular leg covered in glistening white coat. The wizard was on his back now, his eyes opening. His mouth was wreathed in red, small air bubbles were forming in the blood and bursting as they made their way out of his mouth. The wizard looked as if he wanted to talk, but he made no sound but a faint gurgle as the last light faded from his eyes.

Dearthair turned slowly around. In shock at the death of his traveling companion. In shock as the memories held at bay by the wizard’s incantation came flooding back into him like the weight of a waterfall. As they did he bent his regal neck, wiping the long white horn that grew from his head on the stained cloak of the wizard and without a second glance pranced away from the tree and back the way he had come, once again lost in the feeling of the bunch and stretch of his muscular body as it flew through the forest like a flash of light in a dark night.