Merlin.
In the woods bordering wetlands I came upon entrails: quite fresh by what I could tell, although perhaps I ought to remember that the freshest fish I've ever seen has at least a day between my seeing it and the sea, most likely more. Crows and a vulture circled overhead, calling, annoyed that I'd forestalled their feast. They'd not yet touched the guts, but the stomach was torn and I could easily examine the contents: grass mostly, and corn from the nearby fields. There was no other sign of the deer from which the organs had come: no blood. A bit of a trail of dampened and depressed grass where perhaps the carcass had been dragged, but nothing else. I stood further down along the trail to watch the birds descend and eat, but they distrusted me. An hour or two later when I returned along the same path, they'd still neglected to touch it, which I thought surprising. But the next morning when I went walking again, there was nothing left there at all, not even a stain.
A day or two later, I came upon the remains of a carcass, stripped mostly of meat, and only the bones and clinging flesh of part of one side left behind. It had been a fawn, a tiny thing, and the person who took it ought to have been ashamed. But I thanked it for showing itself to me. I left it where it was.
I wandered. I found new paths, the lake, farmers' fields, trails that shifted and died. I followed small tributaries wearing scars in the hills, walked through forests old and new, and found open fields of high grasses bordered by trees. Everything was the colour of amber, blood, the splendour of decay. Things stayed greener longer in the tighter trails, and once I found myself climbing a hill under towering trees, thick brambles, and an opera conducted in birdsong. I was surrounded by the birds completely, and they sang loudly, boldly. I was on their land, it was clear. Not remote enough that they could be so unconcerned by my intrusion because they were unfamiliar with my kind, it was clear that they simply outnumbered me sufficiently that they could dispose of me if I aroused their displeasure. Sometimes I caught a deer ahead of me on the path. They'd run where I could see them until they found a suitable gap in the underbrush, into which they disappeared completely.
I found my way back. I came out through the young pines rather than through the grasses where I'd found the guts. And on the forest floor, quite near the place where I'd met the snake, amongst the moss and beds of shed needles there was something almost shining in the shaded light, something green on white. It was a bone, twisting and beautiful and thick. And I looked and found more scattered around it: seven maybe, or more. I took the first one I'd found and walked the short distance to the end of the trail, crossed the road and returned to the farmhouse. I walked into the shop, borrowed a bag, and went back out to the pines, tracing the same trail until I found my bones. I climbed under and around the low tangles of branches, and every time I found one I found three more, until suddenly my bag was full. The skull was nearly the last piece I found: its antlers had dropped off before its death, but it was a buck. Its bones were quite clean, some home to moss or spiders. But the bones were marked by teeth or beak. The foxes and the crows had cleaned it well and scattered it, bringing pieces of it nearer the trail for me to find.
Getting back to the city has been hard for me. My boots are too used to the give of tilled earth; they're hurt by this endless concrete. It is difficult to see the sky here. I cannot see the sunrise from my house. Before now stars were always only a brief novelty, something I'd find in a place where I was staying for a night or two. This was my first time having spent three weeks in their company, and I miss them now.
But the other night Nick, the best fishmonger, came to my house and we opened my bag. We held each bone and praised it, and laid them out on the rug. The bones don't smell like death, but are thick with the scent of the forest floor. We found a diagram to follow and arranged this puzzle. The creature unfolded slowly. We were wrong about the structure of its legs for a time, and when we found our mistake suddenly the buck grew tall, stately and strong. I'm missing the smaller bones of its tail, and the lower portion of one leg. I have much more of its spine than I thought, but not the whole length. But it's astonishing how much of the beast let me find it and bring it home. In fact, we have too many ribs, an extra pelvis, and someone else's leg. The spare bones are smaller, the pelvic bone wider set, and they are all older, more worn and white. I found part of a doe, dead before my buck died. We discussed methods of presentation: we could hang it with wire, set it in glass or resin or concrete. But all of these methods are too costly or tedious or unwieldy, and we'd prefer to pile it artfully somewhere and reassemble it whenever we like. Friends, be warned: I have a new favourite parlour game.
A day or two later, I came upon the remains of a carcass, stripped mostly of meat, and only the bones and clinging flesh of part of one side left behind. It had been a fawn, a tiny thing, and the person who took it ought to have been ashamed. But I thanked it for showing itself to me. I left it where it was.
I wandered. I found new paths, the lake, farmers' fields, trails that shifted and died. I followed small tributaries wearing scars in the hills, walked through forests old and new, and found open fields of high grasses bordered by trees. Everything was the colour of amber, blood, the splendour of decay. Things stayed greener longer in the tighter trails, and once I found myself climbing a hill under towering trees, thick brambles, and an opera conducted in birdsong. I was surrounded by the birds completely, and they sang loudly, boldly. I was on their land, it was clear. Not remote enough that they could be so unconcerned by my intrusion because they were unfamiliar with my kind, it was clear that they simply outnumbered me sufficiently that they could dispose of me if I aroused their displeasure. Sometimes I caught a deer ahead of me on the path. They'd run where I could see them until they found a suitable gap in the underbrush, into which they disappeared completely.
I found my way back. I came out through the young pines rather than through the grasses where I'd found the guts. And on the forest floor, quite near the place where I'd met the snake, amongst the moss and beds of shed needles there was something almost shining in the shaded light, something green on white. It was a bone, twisting and beautiful and thick. And I looked and found more scattered around it: seven maybe, or more. I took the first one I'd found and walked the short distance to the end of the trail, crossed the road and returned to the farmhouse. I walked into the shop, borrowed a bag, and went back out to the pines, tracing the same trail until I found my bones. I climbed under and around the low tangles of branches, and every time I found one I found three more, until suddenly my bag was full. The skull was nearly the last piece I found: its antlers had dropped off before its death, but it was a buck. Its bones were quite clean, some home to moss or spiders. But the bones were marked by teeth or beak. The foxes and the crows had cleaned it well and scattered it, bringing pieces of it nearer the trail for me to find.
Getting back to the city has been hard for me. My boots are too used to the give of tilled earth; they're hurt by this endless concrete. It is difficult to see the sky here. I cannot see the sunrise from my house. Before now stars were always only a brief novelty, something I'd find in a place where I was staying for a night or two. This was my first time having spent three weeks in their company, and I miss them now.
But the other night Nick, the best fishmonger, came to my house and we opened my bag. We held each bone and praised it, and laid them out on the rug. The bones don't smell like death, but are thick with the scent of the forest floor. We found a diagram to follow and arranged this puzzle. The creature unfolded slowly. We were wrong about the structure of its legs for a time, and when we found our mistake suddenly the buck grew tall, stately and strong. I'm missing the smaller bones of its tail, and the lower portion of one leg. I have much more of its spine than I thought, but not the whole length. But it's astonishing how much of the beast let me find it and bring it home. In fact, we have too many ribs, an extra pelvis, and someone else's leg. The spare bones are smaller, the pelvic bone wider set, and they are all older, more worn and white. I found part of a doe, dead before my buck died. We discussed methods of presentation: we could hang it with wire, set it in glass or resin or concrete. But all of these methods are too costly or tedious or unwieldy, and we'd prefer to pile it artfully somewhere and reassemble it whenever we like. Friends, be warned: I have a new favourite parlour game.