Beasts of the Open Space

Beasts of the Open Space

An Ecological Fantasy

By Robert Turtle

Beasts of the Open Space is the first volume of the Beasts of Instruction trilogy. The subsequent volumes are Trekking On and Across Primordial Landscapes.

Copyright 2014 Robert Turtle

Corrections in 2015 and 2021

For Mary and Ann

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1--Children of the Wind

Chapter 2--The Wanderer

Chapter 3--Beasts of Instruction

Chapter 4--All or Nothing

Chapter 5--Roots of Reeds

Chapter 6--The Town Beast and the Country Beast

Chapter 7--The Feature of Interest

Chapter 8--The Fugitive

Chapter 9--The Twilight Tale

Chapter 10--Warrior Chief

Chapter 11--Fit To Be Ordered About

Chapter 12--In the Mountains

Chapter 13--My Own True Willful Self

Chapter 14--Ours at Last

Chapter 15--Acacia

Chapter 16--Home to Our Mountains

Chapter 17--Best Laid Plans

Chapter 18--The Respect They Deserve

Chapter 19--A Long Walk

Chapter 20--Ripe Acorns

Chapter 21--The Narrows

Chapter 22--What He Should Do

Chapter 23--Stone-Walled Bins

Chapter 24--Pack Loads

Chapter 25--The Winter Ahead

Chapter 26--Tusker Takes Counsel

Chapter 27--A Serious Discussion

Chapter 28--The Gift of Days

About the Author

Chapter 1

Children of the Wind

Long ago, before the last series of ice ages and before Europeans sacrificed one another in peat bogs, people weren't the only creatures who enjoyed the gift of reason. Among those that did were four-legged beasts that grazed a rugged landscape where snowcapped mountains alternated with desert valleys. Westwind, the hero of this story, was one of them. Westwind and his kind resembled horses, but they were a lot smarter than other members of the family Equidae. They called their homeland the Open Space, and they enjoyed talking to each other. Conversation topics ranged from the possibility of rain to whether the world was flat or round, which was of particular concern to animals who speculated about the fate of their future generations.

Unlike horses and more like tapirs, beasts had three toes on each foot and a thumb on each forefoot as well. So, if Westwind thought another beast needed to know something, he could grasp a pointed rock well enough to scratch out a short but relevant message such as

THIS WAY TO WATER

with an arrow to point the way. Other beasts were hard pressed to write much better than Westwind, and the path to loftier cultural achievements seemed blocked because beasts were better at climbing up and down mountains than at making and using tools. Most of the time, Westwind only used his clumsy hands to pull down tree branches and eat the leaves.

Beasts were destined to remain the creatures of a natural world, a fact Westwind's mother acknowledged when she told him the circumstances of his birth. The west wind blew in celebration of the much awaited event. We were beside a dry lake, and the sky darkened with dust. Lots of it stuck to you while you were still wet, and that's how you got your name. We couldn't tell if you were tan or gray at first. 'He's the color of the west wind,' was all your father could say.

Westwind, who was a gray, was grazing with his mother, father, and a younger brother when he heard this tale. Perhaps his mother was in a thoughtful mood because the family arrangement couldn't last much longer. Westwind was thinking of a day not long before when his older sister had run away with a handsome stallion, and he wondered if he could make a pretty mare as happy as his sister had looked then.

The family reached a valley where butterflies and flowers showed as colorful specks against a background of tawny grass stems. Looking back along their route, high peaks could be seen in the distance, but nearby hills limited the view in other directions. Cottonwood trees shaded a stream. Bushes grew on the steeper slopes, and lichen-covered rock outcrops added a picturesque effect the beasts enjoyed.

You and Raincloud may go exploring, Westwind's father told him. Your mom and I would like to graze here for a while.

Westwind wanted to please his parents and have fun at the same time, so he gave Raincloud a push. Let's go, Little Brother. You heard Pa.

Raincloud started up the valley and raced ahead of Westwind whenever he saw a bush with tasty leaves. Raincloud liked kicking up his heels. Without breaking stride, he knocked bark off a tree trunk as he ran by.

Before long, they passed the spring at the source of the stream. The valley became narrower and turned into a steep-walled canyon as the curious brothers approached the pass at its upper end. Westwind wanted to have a look over the top. I wonder if there's water on the other side too.

Let's go see! Raincloud replied, and once again he started on ahead of Westwind.

Just then a mother beast and her baby trotted into view from around a bend. Right behind them came the dark gray father, who looked impressive to a youngster like Westwind. Raincloud kept going toward the family, but Westwind saw the big stallion and his mare turn their ears back. Westwind reared to attract attention away from playful Raincloud. I hope we haven't alarmed you. My brother would like to meet your little one.

The strangers appeared to accept Westwind's explanation, and their ears pivoted forward again.

Be gentle, she's much smaller than you, Westwind cautioned Raincloud as the curious baby trotted toward them. The mother watched closely, and he became acutely aware of her beauty.

Westwind knew his manners. As the baby and Raincloud started playing tag, Westwind tossed his head, introduced himself to the father, and challenged him to a wrestling match so they could both show off for the benefit of his mate. For a moment Westwind was afraid the stranger would decline. Perhaps he won't wrestle me because he thinks I'm too young and too small, he thought.

Hi, I'm Dusk, the big male said, and I can see how much you admire the mother of such a beautiful baby.

Westwind didn't embarrass himself by denying the obvious. He and Dusk reared and pushed each other instead. Neither bit or kicked—showing off was the goal. Raincloud and the baby paused to watch as Dusk played Westwind like a fish on a line so he could wear himself out in a display of energy and enthusiasm. Then Westwind lost his balance and fell down with a thump. In the blink of an eye, Dusk tucked up his forelegs and used the weight of his forequarters to pin Westwind on his side. At the same time, he kept his hind legs spread apart to stay in control while Westwind thrashed to get free.

Eventually Westwind got out from under and back on his feet again, all lathered in sweat and panting while Dusk wasn't even breathing hard. Dusk ended the match by inviting Westwind to meet his mate and didn't wait for him to lower his head in submission.

That was a workout! Dusk said and bumped against Westwind rather hard but in a friendly way. I'd like you to meet Geraea.

Nice going, Big Brother, Raincloud called while Westwind caught his breath.

Geraea rounded up her baby and trotted back to Dusk.

Westwind started a polite conversation after introductions were complete. You'll find water farther down, and our parents will enjoy visiting with another family.

We would like to meet them, Geraea replied, and we're happy to hear there's water. We haven't had a drink since yesterday.

So much for going over the pass, Westwind thought as he watched the family start down the canyon.

Wow, look at the smudges on your fur! Raincloud exclaimed.

Westwind had no trouble laughing at how mussed and dirty he was. He rolled on the ground and shook himself before he and Raincloud started down the canyon too.

When the families met, the two fathers wrestled to advertise their fitness. Geraea's little filly would be a potential mate for Raincloud in the future, and that was an incentive for becoming acquainted. After that, Dusk led his thirsty family to the stream to drink. Westwind's mother went along so she could gossip with Geraea and admire her baby. Then Westwind told his father what had happened.

Westwind's pa listened thoughtfully, and then Westwind received friendly advice instead of the reprimand he felt he might deserve. Getting knocked down is no disgrace when you're showing off for a beauty like Geraea, his father said. Anyone can tell where your interests lie. Your tusks have grown in nicely, you know.

Westwind did know and blushed under his mussed gray fur. Male beasts had sharp tusks they mostly used for feeding on tree bark. Westwind's were long enough so the tips kept slipping out from between his lips, one pointing up and one pointing down on each side. Older males stopped trying to keep theirs hidden, but Westwind was still self-conscious. Female beasts did not grow tusks, and, like many young males, Westwind had found the reason for the difference disturbing once he became old enough to notice and ask. His father told him of a time when the strongest stallions killed rivals and their foals too so they might breed with females who had little choice but to submit. Female beasts banded together to stop the practice, but brutal legends survived and were conscientiously passed on to youngsters like Westwind as part of their instruction in sexuality. The message was that babies needed both their parents to raise them and that disrupting breeding couples was taboo.

Westwind's father encouraged him to follow his instincts. Sweethearts like your mom and Geraea aren't easy to find--it will take time, and your behavior today shows you're ready to start your search. Go by yourself, so you can talk to couples you meet. Don't travel with other bachelors if you want a friendly reception. Beasts will think you're up to no good if you do.

Westwind couldn't get Geraea out of his mind, and he realized it was time to follow this advice. After all, female beasts were unlikely to come looking for him. But it was also time for reflection--it might be a long while before he could speak to his father again. They grazed for a while in silence, biting the tops off shoots of grass and then moving on to other clumps.

Then his father seemed to change the subject. Westwind, I'm glad you haven't forgotten to be cautious when you graze.

Westwind knew the reason for not biting grass off close to ground level. Yes, you and mom warned me. Nasty gut worms escape from dung and lay eggs for us to swallow as we graze. You also told me that intelligent animals called swamp primates were the first to track worms to clumps of grass and recognize their tiny egg clusters for what they were.

That's right. Swamp primates use their nimble fingers for catching crayfish and making fish traps, so they can afford to be pals with herbivores like us--otherwise, they might not have shared such valuable information so freely. Anyway, I've been told they live along the banks of a river that's west of here. There's lots to learn from them, and planning for such a long journey may take your mind off being lonely during your search for a mate, which is likely to be a drawn-out adventure and a lonely one. Your chance of meeting a suitable mare will be the same, and you'll come away the wiser in any case.

Westwind had heard about the mysterious swamp primates and their far away river, but no one he knew had been there. Did you ever want to make the trip yourself and see what was going on?

Yes, but that was before I met your mom.

By now, the strangers had moved on to graze, and Westwind went to talk with his mother, who listened attentively and then offered more earnest advice.

I'm proud to see you've turned out so much like your father, and we will both look forward to meeting your family one day. Now I need to pass on a tip about what wise mares look for when stallions show off. Don't hesitate to rear and shove a rival when you want to impress a pretty beast. But you have yet to see a bout in which who would breed with whom depended on the outcome. Be warned that displays of stamina are what mares enjoy and that losing your temper is a disgrace. No mother wants a stallion who bites or kicks near her baby, and you'll find that word gets around.

Westwind felt a moment of doubt. Was he ready for so big a challenge? But excitement surged when his mom concluded her admonition with encouraging words. I could say more, but the gentle way you've helped care for Raincloud makes me confident you understand.

Before afternoon shadows could lengthen, Westwind said goodbye to Raincloud and wished him success in his future role of big brother. A breeze stirred the leaves of the cottonwood trees along the stream. As they flashed and danced in the sun, Westwind reared as a farewell gesture to his family and set out toward the western skyline. When he paused at the crest, they were still watching. A moment later, and they were a memory.

Chapter 2

The Wanderer

Westwind knew his journey would take him over one mountain range after another and might last for months. The thought was intimidating, so he began by revisiting places where he had spent time with his parents, sister, and brother. To his dismay, he did not enjoy this at all. A mound where he once played king of the hill with other colts seemed desolate and lonely without familiar companions, and it was the same when he came to other places that could have evoked happy memories. Westwind felt like a ghost, and surely he was too young for the part.

An event firmed his resolve and snapped him out of this sad mood. He came to the brink of a plateau overlooking a featureless landscape stretching off into mist and haze. He recognized the Great Eastern Plain from descriptions he had heard. It was home to bison herds that warred for grazing rights and fought off wild dogs when hunger drove them to attack such large and dangerous prey. As Westwind reflected on dangers that might await a traveler there, a solitary dog came limping along the crest where the land fell away like a breaking wave frozen in time. Westwind reared and looked around in case other dogs might be lurking about. There were none to be seen, and away from his pack, one lame dog didn’t seem much of a threat.

The dog didn’t warm to Westwind’s curiosity. Approach with caution, he snarled. I wasn’t always as you see me now. I may be reduced to hunting mice and lizards, but once I ran with pack leaders and sired pups with jaws fit to crush your bones.

Westwind felt a surge of anger and bared his tusks, but the sorrow he saw in the dog’s eyes held him back. I’m sorry, he said. You’ll have to wait until winter’s grip sends little animals into their holes or turn to the bison for what you want. He left the dog to face death alone.

That night, Spirit Mare Fra appeared to Westwind as a vision of grace in soft shades of tan, and she galloped beside him with her mane and tail streaming in the wind. Be bold and follow your parents' advice, the dream figure urged as