After the Storm

 I walked downhill for quite a while in the drizzle and gusty wind.  The huge canopy of trees overhead kept some of the rain off of me, but it still managed to drip through on me. The gusts of wind shook cold shower baths onto me from the water laden branches. I was a sad and sorry soaking wet sight, limping through the forest.

I passed through an area where all but the biggest of the huge trees were uprooted and slung around, and even these had branches torn off. It looked like giants had been clearing the land and playing with the trees. They looked miserable, these ravaged trees. I realized that this was where the twister the storm had spawned had touched down. It cut a long swath down the side of the mountain, and I had to pick my way through the devastation very carefully.

Eventually, I came upon a tiny little brook trying to burst out of its small banks with the sudden addition of all the rain, and I followed it. It led, as I knew it would, to a larger brook. By the time I reached the bottom of the mountain, the stream was a good sized one, quite full from all the rain. The stream pushed its way through the canyon between two mountainsides. I stayed as close to it as I could and still follow it safely. One time I had to take a sizable detour when the canyon walls beside it grew steep and the water grew swift and white.

I was exhausted to begin with, and was rapidly running out of any remaining energy, and those riding boots just weren’t doing my feet any good at all. Luckily, I soon found what I had been hoping for. A small rocky overhang was visible from the stream bed, easily accessible yet high enough to be safe from most flash floods. I crossed the icy stream at a shallow point and hiked up to the little overhang. It was even better than I had expected. There was a very shallow cave there, only about five feet deep, and six feet wide, with the overhang acting as a covered porch.  It was barely tall enough for me to stand up in. The floor was sandy, and there was a drift of dead leaves caught at the very back of the cave. It was dry and protected. I was delighted. I checked the leaves to make sure they didn’t have any prior tenants of the venomous or toothed variety, and finding them safe, I took some to start a fire with because they were actually dry, and left the rest for a bed.

I scrounged up some wood that wasn’t soaked from some nearby crevasses in the hillside and made a small fire ring at the mouth of the cave. I soon had a fire going and was warming up. I really wished I had something to eat, but I didn’t know anything about the plants in this area. I decided the best thing would be to just go to sleep since I hadn’t slept for more that a day. I scraped the leaves into a cushiony pile and using my tattered poncho as a cover, fell asleep in nothing flat. I woke up briefly when thunder boomed overhead, but realized I was in a fairly safe place and went right back to sleep.

When I awoke again, it was dark out and my fire had been out so long the embers were cold. I made it up again and sat there for a while in the dark, listening to the rain on the overhang. The small cave warmed up quickly and I soon feel back asleep.

Morning came slowly. I woke up so hungry I thought perhaps I could eat my own arm - raw, not roasted - and began to pull myself together for another day’s rough hiking. I made sure to scatter the remains of my fire, and when I left the only way you could tell I had been there was a little bit of dry wood stacked at the back of the cave.  It had stopped raining for the time being, but it was still overcast. The stream below me was rushing and quite full from all the rain. I made sure to walk a bit higher up the hill side just in case it decided to flood; I knew how quickly a flash flood could rise from rains farther upstream.

After I had been walking for about half an hour through the damp and chilly forest, I saw the flock of ravens again. They swooped down and landed on tree branches all around me. I stopped walking and said, “Hello. Thank you for rescuing me yesterday. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me find a way out of here, would you? I need to find people soon, because I’m getting awfully hungry.”

The leader of the group cocked his head at me, and said, “Helpless as a half-fledged chick!”

I smiled wryly and said, “Actually, I think the chick would have it over me. At least he could probably find food!” 

The ravens laughed and one fluttered down to a bush by the stream. He plucked a berry from the bush, gulped it down, and said, “Good for people to eat.”

I went over to the bush and tried one of the berries. Sure enough, it tasted good. I waited a few minutes, tried another, and then waited a little longer. The raven looked put out that I was questioning his choice of edibles, but held his peace. Finally I decided that they would be safe to eat, and really I was at the point where I didn’t care all that much, I was so hungry. I took a handful and ate them slowly, and then another handful.  I ended up clearing that bush of berries and felt much better. Once again I thanked the ravens. “You’ve saved me more than once now and I am very, very grateful. If I can help you in any way, please let me know.” The ravens croaked, swirled around me, and flew off.

I continued for quite a while longer and then met with another problem. There was a huge rocky outcrop, like a giant wall, blocking my path. The stream flowed fast and deep through a small gap in the wall.  I was going to have to hike quite a distance away from the stream to get around this one. With these riding boots on, I didn’t dare try to climb over the rocks. They were just too slippery.

As I hiked up hill, the ravens came back. This time, they didn’t land, but flew around and around my head. I was getting dizzy watching them when the leader lit in front of me. “Come and help,” he said.

I was pleased to be able to return the favors this soon and followed the birds up hill for quite a distance. The sound of the rushing stream faded away and I was left with the swishing of the ravens’ wings and the dripping of the trees around me. They led me a long way into the forest and then stopped, circling a bush near a huge tree. I took a good look and saw a baby bird, which by its size and the color of its few feathers, was a young raven. One of the ravens spoke to me, “Bad wind blew him down,” and then he flew up into the tree. I looked up and could see a nest high above me. I thought for a few minutes and then took the wings out of my bag again. I hadn’t wanted to use them in the forest while I was searching for streams but I could use them to put the little bird back in his nest. I scooped him up and held him gently while I flew up.  Moments later he was safely back in his nest with his nest mates and mama making sure he was safe and well. One of the ravens told me, “See? Not as helpless as chick after all!” and they all laughed again.

Since I was up here already, I decided I might as well do some reconnaissance. I flew higher, above the tops of the trees, and looked out. The ridge of stone I had been trying to get around extended all the way to the top of this mountain, at least, and to the top of the one on the other side of the stream as well. Since it was not raining right now, I decided to fly for a while and at least get over the ridge. With the ravens flying around me, I flew off in the direction of the rock wall.

The wall was easy to cross in the air, of course, but after that I had some trouble finding the stream I had been following, because the trees were so dense. All I could see were treetops in all directions. I followed the valley between the two hills in hopes that the stream still ran there and looked for a good place to land. While I was looking, I saw something hanging in a tree, quite high up. I flew over for a closer look and saw that it was my backpack. The bedroll was gone, I could see that from a distance, but it looked intact. I flew over and tried to grab it, but it was stuck on the branch. After a lot of tugging and unsolicited advice from the ravens, I got it loose and promptly landed to check it out.

The bedroll was indeed gone, and so were the little cooking kit and canteen that hung on the outside. The stuff inside was still all right, I was happy to see. It was so stuffed that nothing had gotten very tumbled around. The clothes on the top and outside layers were a little damp where rain had been blown in the top, but that was all. I gratefully exchanged the riding boots for my hiking boots right away. Then I set off down hill, back towards the stream.

As I walked down hill, I saw other things caught up in the bushes and trees. The saddle bags, which I rescued, were tangled in a thorny bush. There was a saddle blanket dropped on some rocks and then the saddle itself with the girth torn and stirrups ripped off. It was lying in the middle of the stream. I left it there - the stream was moving too fast for me to risk getting it.  The saddle was too damaged to use, anyway, and I was at the limit of what I could carry. There was no sign of Acapella, which left me room for hope. Maybe he had survived this thing, too.

I sighed and tramped onward. Eventually I came upon a little game trail and followed that - it was far easier to walk on. The trail wound around, roughly following the stream, and soon I was beyond the first two mountains. Still the trees extended in every direction, but when I flew up to take a look around, I could see a lake and what looked like a clearing in the distance. I made for that, hoping that there would be people there. I kept walking, hoping I would find Acapella.

It was early afternoon by the time I found the lake. It was a big lake, with a grey surface roughed up into white caps by the gusts of wind. I could see no boats on it, or evidence of human habitation. I followed the shoreline around to where I had seen the clearing and as I approached it I could hear voices and music.

Music! It was wild, lilting music that danced into my ears and made me feel it in my very bones. I was pretty sure I had found a Gypsy camp.

It was a Gypsy camp, sure enough. I called out at the edge of it, not wanting to take anyone by surprise, and was surrounded by people within moments. They all wanted to know what I was doing out here by myself and why I looked so bedraggled. 

They fed me and gave me steaming hot cups of tea while I told my story, and then played me music.  They had not seen anything of Acapella, and although everyone agreed that it had been a terrible, fierce storm, they too were hopeful that he was still alive. “After all, this is one of Tilly’s magnificent horses, is it not? They are magical and intelligent. If any could have survived this, he could have,” one of the Gypsies told me.  They had hunters coming back to camp later in the day. Maybe they would have some word of him.

The Gypsies told me that I could travel with them - they were heading for Duwamish Bay themselves, although it would be a long trip. The storm had blown us far off course. They wouldn’t be moving on until tomorrow, since the hunters were still out. They taught me some new tunes for my little wooden flute and I got a chance to get dry and rest for a while.

About dusk, I heard a shout.  The hunters were returning. They had quite a bit of game with them, and a figure that I greeted with a cry of joy. Limping in, head down and clearly exhausted, was Acapella! He neighed ecstatically and trotted over to me. We just hugged for a few minutes.

I could hear the hunters talking behind me, “He thought he had lost his rider and friend forever in that wind. He was so very sad. Obviously, this is the one he thought he had lost, no?” Someone came up behind me and slapped me on the back. Then someone else was leading him away for a hot bran mash and a good grooming. I followed along. He and I were talking the whole while, telling our stories to each other.

He had finally escaped the twister after the wind had pulled all the tack off of him and was distracted by playing with that for a few minutes. He had galloped away as fast as he could and then got caught in a down draft which sent him crashing through the trees to the forest floor. It was far too windy for him to risk going back up that night. He was worried sick about me, and only hoped that somehow I had survived. Despite the fact that his leg was sore, he had planned to go back up tonight and begin looking for me.

We decided to travel with the Gypsies for a few days while his injuries healed and then set off for Duwamish Bay in the night sky again. This time, though, we would be sure to pick a clear night!

- She Wolf (c) May 2007