Trigesimus Primus Gradus

A dozen deer galloped along the trail through the moist, shady woods. The trail curved along the shorter side of a greenish lake from which trees with weeping branches grew, hiding the water from the sun. The deer’s chests blew out and squeezed in with perfect rhythm and near synchronicity, for their collective pilgrimage was well-practiced. Despite an age range from fawn to elder, their pace was perfectly balanced. Stick-like legs carried them over the hills and into the valleys, careful not to plant their hooves into a divot or to strike rocks on the trail. To do so meant snapping the bone. The ears of the adults flicked to and fro, scanning the surrounding wood for any predatory noises.

They arrived at a breach in the trees. Struck by the afternoon sun, the deer basked in its warmth, which despite their exercise was welcome. The heat from the sun was always better enjoyed than that which was self-generated. Together, they grazed in the glade, their tan coats glistening. The courageous fawns poked their snouts toward shrubs and bright, novel flowers. The timid fawns hid behind the thin legs of their mothers. The elders drank from the sparkling, bubbling stream first, rejuvenated by its crispness. Then the deer introduced their young to the clear forest vein, sharing the bank.

Soon enough it was time to leave, for each deer had drank its fill.

The deer galloped back into the dark forest, this time at a softer pace. Instead of the stream which awaited them, it was only their beds of pine needles and browning leaves. Some minutes into the journey, the sunlight from between the leaves suddenly dried up. The adults smelled rain in the air, and the elders smelled death. The bucks picked up their own paces and, by extension, the pace of the group. The fawns bleated in response to the change. One of them stepped on a smooth stone, her hoof sliding into the dirt in a fraction of a second. Her knee buckled as the leg was pulled away from the momentum of her body, sending her rolling down the hill. The nearest of the deer paused and turned as her mother rushed into the valley. The fawn was in hysterics; her leg broken. A buck and two doe followed into the valley, nudging the mother deer along. But the fawn with the broken leg was her only progeny and she could not be budged. With the rain beginning to seep through the leaves, the buck and the doe left mother and daughter in the valley. Otherwise, they would soon be trapped by the muddy slope. The deer had to carry on, leaving the wails of the fawn to be absorbed within the chorus of rainfall, and the flesh of the pair to the mercy of the forest.

Several minutes behind the other deer, the buck and the two doe arrived at home in time to see the eldest deer fall to his side, legs outstretched straight as rods. His tongue fell from between his lips as the life drained from his black eyes, wetting with raindrops. 

The deer nestled into their dens. Each shivered, muscles tightened by the chilly air. Beads of water clung to their muddy fur. Thunder cracked all night and lighting blazed the sky. None of the deer slept, least of all the fawns, who quaked worst of all in fear and cold. The elders snorted at every burst of lightning, taking long draws of the forest air. Their fear was wiser than that of the fawns, for they feared flames, while the fawns feared only noise. 

At last, dawn appeared. The sheets of rain gave way to inconsistent drizzling, and the last crack of thunder rolled far away. A deer trumpeted as if pierced by a branch. The scream carried itself through the forest. Every deer, shocked into alertness, turned toward the sound. They stood in silence for a long time. Then a doe stumbled out of her den and fell to her knees. Her fawn had drowned in the mud during the night.

With nothing to be done, the deer rested for the morning in their homes, risking a late arrival to the stream. 

Weary, they trampled along their path to the stream. When it came time to pass the lake, the mourning doe halted, unwilling to travel any further in her despair. She meandered toward the loose shore. To her surprise, an elder buck nudged her flank. His mouth was agape, panting. Every intake was a wheeze, every exhale such an effort that he shuddered. Together they bowed their heads to the greenish, still water.

The other six deer were well on their way to the stream. The buck in the lead, soon to be an elder deer, smelled something far to the right. He trotted to a slower pace, venturing forward with caution. Long neck outstretched so he could peer over the crest of a hill, he saw them. The dark gray and white coats of wolves. The buck slid silently back down the hillside, ushering the group around the long part of the hill. He and two other bucks walked along the side of the path nearer the wolves. 

In a few more paces, the deer would be safely around the hill with a far enough lead to gallop away. But a fawn stumbled, weak from the cold of last night, and veered into an elder deer. The elder bleated in surprise. Immediately, barks could be heard from over the hilltop. The doe, fawn, and elder took flight, rushing through the trees. The three bucks followed close behind, but could not escape before the wolves had spotted them. As the pack of predators emerged over the hilltop, the sky grayed. A distant rumbling shook the animals. 

Facing the wolves, the bucks lowered their heads. Antlers toward the enemy, they backpedaled carefully. The wolves encircled them.

Three deer emerged from the woods into the glade. They were the elder who had bleated, the fawn who had stumbled, and a doe. They turned and stared at the tree line, begging for more to emerge. But they alone remained. Their bodies became heavy, and they mourned. The sky above them swelled, then gushed down with a torrent of rain twice as intense as any spat from the prior night. With no hope of shelter, the deer made for the stream, bearing the rain in its full effect. Before they reached the bank the elder’s chest heaved and his body crumbled to the mud. The doe averted the fawn’s gaze, and together they reached the stream, and bowed their heads to it. 

The mother’s ear flicked in response to a snap behind her. It was barely audible over the oppressive shower. She raised her head and turned. There stood a large buck, antlers caked with maroon blood and gray fur. His thick neck was torn and bloody. He took two steps forward, then turned back toward the forest. The buck lowered his body as he pointed his antlers forward. The doe heard a sinister growl. A moment later, a whining wolf was hoisted in the air with his hind leg kicking in desperation. A second wolf was clawing and biting the flank of the buck, who lay on the ground. The buck called out, but his cry was cut short by a third wolf with a snap of her jaws to the throat. The whining wolf stopped kicking, caught up in the buck’s antlers, hanging from them. 

The doe looked to the stream. It was white with anger, overflowed and rushing fast. Turning once more, she saw that the wolves had spotted her. Besides the one which was dead in the air—his blood was washing over the antlers of the buck—there were four more, closing in on her. They were nearly invisible behind the veil of rain. 

She faced her fawn, who trembled. Realizing what fate awaited him, she prepared to push him into the current of the stream. The mercies of the stream would exceed the mercies of the wolves. But she froze.

The gurgling stream swelled before her as if the current was striking a wall. The white foam rose above the water, twisting and curling. Clear water, tinted black by the storm, followed the foam. A silhouette took shape, and in a blink of her eyes the doe saw the aquatic sculpture of a great buck, twice the size and with twice the rack of any she had ever seen, before her. It took a step past her onto the shore. As its hoof kissed the ground the water of its leg splashed outward, replacing the sculpturesque appendage with the flesh of a real deer—a frightfully stronger flesh which was wrapped in radiant tan fur.

The wolves snarled as they sank lower on their haunches. A few of them barked. 

The living sculpture planted another hoof on the ground. Its chest and head emerged from the water. They were powerful and great. Its watery antlers dried, revealing the purest velvet the doe had seen. Before the buck was halfway out of the stream it already stood between the wolves and the mother deer. 

Barking, two wolves leapt at the buck. As their claws fell upon his fur and their teeth sunk into his flesh, their bodies burst into clear water. The water which was once them splashed over the great buck and fell into the ground. The remaining two wolves recoiled and spun on their hind legs. The buck, however, now freed from the stream, leapt over them. He landed with a hoof on the nape of the first wolf, killing it under his weight. Then he flicked his great head, hurling the second wolf aside. As it flailed through the air its body dissipated, returning to the earth no different than the raindrops. 

The deer god reared and the storm ceased. The fawn and the doe became warm and dry the moment the sky cleared. They knelt to the creature of the stream before them, trembling at his might.