The second in a series of extracts from my soon to be published novella. This passage follows the first extract. Please note that this is from an unproofed version and that there might be typos.
Then his world is the mountainside, as he follows his mother, as they trot on the rocky ground. Then his world is the desert, the dust, the heat. Stay by me, his mother tells him, I shall keep you safe. Step into my hoofprints, you must not wander away. Not that he wants to. Everything is strange and alien to him. As the hours pass, as they travel, as the sun follows its course, the world around him changes and moves. Smells assail him from every side, some attractive, some menacing. A gerbil scuttles under his feet and he stops. The shadow of the bird has not left them. He does not like it.
Do not pay heed, his mother tells him, it is a vulture, and no danger as long as you stay by me. His mother is tall and strong. She holds her head high, her coat shines orange and gold and her legs are pure white. She walks on, tirelessly, as he begins to feel weary. The horizon shimmers and trembles as the heat intensifies. The mountains, and their purple blue shadows, threaten to crush him.
At last they stop. The ground is cracked where they stand. In a hollow there is water. More flowers, more plants. His mother drinks the water while he nurses. His eyes are heavy, his legs reluctant to bear his weight. Rest, his mother tells him, rest and sleep, my little one, while I watch over you. You will always be safe with me. So he lies on the rocky ground and closes his eyes. Sleeps and slips back into the darkness, the darkness he first knew, the darkness he comes from.
*
Then his world is the mountainside. His world is the desert and a burning sun. His world is the dancing shadows of birds and the dust on the yellowing plants his mother eats. His world is the afternoon haze on the horizon. As the hours pass, he accepts it, I am part of it. Not so alien, not so strange, as long as his mother remains, his mother’s warmth, his mother’s smell.
He nurses, he sleeps. He wakes and stands up and follows his mother. The shadow of the bird disappears after a while. He grows more aware of the life, of the hundreds of tiny heartbeats all around him, under the rocks and the bushes. The eyes of a sand cat meet his and he starts, half in surprise, half in fear. His mother tosses her head, you are in no danger, walk on.
He sees a group of animals, with four slender legs like his mother and him. He turns his head with interest, but his mother does not stop. They are not like us, my son, see their horns? They are gazelles, we are horses. These are the names men gave to us. He does not know what men are and his mother does not explain. The scent of the gazelles drifts his way. No, they do not smell like his mother. On the mountainside they run and jump, nimble and delicate. A soft wind blows. He would much like to join them and play. Walk on, his mother nudges him.
The sky, so blue before, becomes yellow and pink, and the shadows on the stony ground lengthen. The haze melts away. For a moment, the air is clear, sharpened by vibrant colours and by a cool wind.
The sky, so blue before, darkens, melting into the sombre mountains. What is happening now? He does not understand. The world is turning, changing, and he can only watch in wonderment and awe. At last, the stars, appearing one by one. It is the night, the night into which he was born. The sun will rise again, his mother tells him, until the night swallows the day. The moon shines above them, a thin crescent of light. The hum of insects, a soft lullaby. He presses is head against his mother’s flanks. Stay close to me, my little one.
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