Guardians by Design - Land

A Leaderless Herd

“You know we need to depart before the pack closes in, Jin,” Hanla said. She was tall and thin for a cow, famished from lack of food during the inhospitable months of winter. Her motherly instinct had always persuaded her to pass on patches of grass she found, either to elderly bison that needed help uncovering food from the thick layer of ice and snow that blanketed the valley, or to red dogs – the adolescence of their species – that had not yet learned to dig through snow.

Her horns were longer, yet narrower than a bull’s, and curved outwards at the top. Hanla’s fur had never turned a completely dark brown, but instead retained a reddish tint from her younger years. As this was quite unique for her species, she had earned the nickname ‘Red Cow’.

“To leave this place now would interrupt the feeding cycle, Hanla. Let me lead my herd. Your input is not valued here,” Jin, the sturdy bull replied. A long beard hung from his face, nearly brushing the ground as it swayed in the frigid wind. Multiple runes decorated the thick, sturdy horns atop his head, each representing a separate year that the bison had acted as leader for the herd.

Dahj stood beside his mother, witnessing her facial expression turn from anxious to angry. Merely an adolescent, Dahj did not believe he had any influence over the decision making of the herd leader, so he held his tongue. At this age his fur was still gradually turning from a copper red to the common deep brown of the bison. His coat was still quite thin – barely adequate for the winter – and his chin still lacked a beard. Perhaps it would begin to sprout during the following spring.

“I’m sorry you feel that way now, Jin,” Hanla said, voice shaking. “You have typically valued my mate and I’s advice in the past.”

“Your mate… got himself and nearly half the herd killed from his last piece of advice,” Jin said with a hiss. Muscular and tall, he towered over Dahj. The bull had thick, curly fur covering nearly his entire body; quite appropriate for winter. The fur on his face had grown so bushy that it was beginning to impair his vision. It overlapped parts of his wet, beady eyes, socketed within drooping eyelids.

“Crossing that river was our only option! We were behind on our schedule. You know the river’s water level was higher than normal at that time of year. It should have been crossable, just like any other year,” Hanla replied, raising her voice. “I can’t believe you’re going to hold the death of Dahj’s father against me in a time like this!” She stamped her front right hoof into the frozen soil, sending debris flying to either side.

“We will not interrupt the rotation. Abandoning this area would be a waste. There is still plenty of food here,” Jin said sternly. Strings of snot flung into the air before instantly freezing to the surface of his nose in the bitter cold.

“To leave now means we will arrive at the next grounds too early. We would need to utilize every last blade of grass for the herd to get their fill before moving again. It’s quite simple, and why we visit the same places, at the same time, every year…” Steam billowed from the bull’s massive nostrils from huffing in frustration, creating a brilliant white cloud that reflected in the moonlight.

“They know we’re here. In an open field. Vulnerable, exposed. Every day they push in… prodding, exposing weak spots,” Hanla’s voice shook. “Three more red dogs this week. Dragged away in the night. How many of the next generation must be sacrificed before you acknowledge the threat of our predators?”

Jin fell silent. He turned back to the herd wearing an expression that displayed hopelessness. He seemed to at least be considering the spontaneity-fueled plan while gazing at his family that slept in the frosted grasses of the valley beneath the vast night sky.

Snow accumulated on the back of the animals, as well as the field – slowly shading it from deep green to sparkling white as they stubbornly waited out the stalemate. Dahj grimaced at the ironic metaphor of the sands of time that were quickly slipping away.

“Running will never counter a threat; it just invigorates them. Our only option is to stand our ground and fight,” Jin said over his shoulder. “Fear is their best weapon, aside from the teeth.”

“At this time of year? Can you even begin to fathom the amount of energy would be burned attempting to fight a pack of predators? They are going to trap us here. Wait until we weaken. Energy spent on fleeing or fighting, we will quickly starve. Meanwhile, they are feasting on our young and sickly. Our species is not built for this, especially during the final feed of early winter,” Hanla pleaded.

“We are digging our own grave unless we leave. Right now.” Hanla shook the mounding snow from her back. It fell in powdery sheets to the knee-deep layer that blanketed the ground with a soft thump. Large, stubborn clumps that had remained frozen to her pelt resembled fluffy dandelion pappus that had swelled to an unrealistic size.

“Hanla. You must understand, there is a reason you have never been elected to be a leader,” Jin said bluntly. “Never even an assistant leader. You act under impulse. Frantically. You make these rash decisions, under the midnight moonlight, without considering conditions before you, or any kind of long-term consequences.

Hanla froze. Her jaw quivered as she desperately attempted to begin a rebuttal.

“Your mate was a great assistant leader. He was charismatic; the herd responded well to that trait. However, he demonstrated hasty decision making as well… which is why he is no longer with us,” Jin continued, voice low. “I’m sorry. To leave now would not be wise in the long run. Late winter will claim the herd. I am denying your request and ordering you not bring it up again. We will face threats that come towards us head-on.”

“So instead we die now instead of giving us a chance of making it further through winter!” Hanla shouted through tears at the massive bison lumbering away. His beard swayed in the frigid air.

Dahj looked to the horizon. His legs had seemed to grow longer and more awkward by the day, causing him to sway slightly even when standing still. Dahj had been born later in the year than the average bison, and though his legs had grown like weeds, fall had already claimed sustenance the red dog needed to fill out his frame.

Silhouettes of at least a dozen coyote heads lined the distant ridgeline. They patiently observed the resting herd. Coyotes typically hunted in packs, but this one was particularly large. Sticking to the outskirts, they would identify weak or young before moving in, shrouded in darkness.

“We leave tonight,” Dahj said to his mother. “The herd knows of the looming threat. Even if we have not discussed it openly, they can feel it.”

“They’ll… never listen to us. Not without Jin’s word,” his mother replied, stuttering. She hung her head, weeping into the blanket of powder she stood in.

“We will persuade who we can. Others will surely follow.” Dahj turned towards the sleeping herd.

***

Awkwardly stumbling through a consistently building layer of show, Dahj proceeded towards the herd of bison petrified in midnight snow. Mounds of white were hard to distinguish between knolls of dirt or an animal blanketed in the light powder. Those he identified to be elders, pressed tightly against their young for warmth, would be roused delicately. Minds clouded from sleep, many had difficulty immediately recognizing the threat Dahj was attempting to bring their attention to. He pointed out the pack of coyotes on the ridgeline, explaining the importance of tonight’s sudden transition in grounds.

Red dogs nestled next to their mothers perked up their heads to listen to Dahj, but had not yet learned urgency in stressful situations. They would lie back down on the frozen ground, or begin pacing in the middle of the night to look for food. One that had been born the same year as Dahj simply attempted to play with him out of excitement that he had come to visit.

“Coyotes?” a cow shrieked as she leapt up from her resting place, disturbing those who slept around her. Snow cascaded from her back as she violently removed the frigid blanket. Nearly kicking her own calf in the head, she drew the attention of the camp, sending many into a similar state of panic.

The commotion caught Jin’s attention.

Dahj the skinny red dog attempted to calm the howling cow before she caused a stampede. He was too young to have a way with words, making his efforts futile.

“You do not have authority to make these calls, young one!” Jin’s voice boomed through the valley, causing the panicking cows to halt.

Dahj cowered in fear as others rose to their feet, sleepily investigating the cause of the disturbance.

“Jin, you know we need to leave. Tonight,” Dahj said, projecting to the herd.

“I have never been one to back down, and that will not change on this night!” the leader called in front of his audience, attempting to rally.

“Then blood will be spilled as a result of your decision to hold this ground. It will soon be a graveyard!” Dahj shouted, defiantly turning back to his mother. “Those who value your life, and wish to see the next generation, would do wise to follow me!”

“You’re just like your father,” Jin said. “And you will perish in the same manner!”

This offended many. The wound was still fresh; too soon for the leader to bring up the death of a herd mate they had held so dearly. Some of the shocked cows joined Dahj’s side to show comfort and support of his word.

Dahj looked to the sky as dense clouds moved between the moon and the land’s surface, darkening the valley. He became anxious of visibility suffering during the escape, should they lose what little moonlight was left.

He turned to face a dense group of bison, quietly huddled where they had been sleeping. “We move southwest. Tonight! We will follow the path of my father, where food is plen–”

Jin charged him, pummeling the lanky red dog to the ground. Rocks and debris hardened from the frost scraped the side of Dahj’s face as he fell. Cold air stung the tiny lacerations. Warm blood that trickled from his wounds froze to his face and matted his fur almost instantly.

“Your father was a failure!” Jin shouted, standing over the young bison.

The herd mates gasped.

Dahj’s joints felt seized in place from the impact. He struggled to push himself back to a standing position. Those loyal to Jin gathered at his side, creating protection. Others scattered frantically in the midst of the violent act. Dahj’s mother helped him to his feet and stood between him and Jin. The ominous outline of many coyotes roused as they witnessed the herd turn against each other. This was their opening for an attack.

“I will not standby as your decisions cull the herd. Send your own sheep to the slaughter. I will not be part of it!” Hanla shouted.

Dahj limped behind his mother, following her southwest. He rubbed his bloodied chin against the leaves of a rigid sagebrush, leaving behind specks of blood tufts of fur. Occasionally, various small groups of bison would break away from the herd. Tails raised, they followed Dahj and his mother as they recognized the group of coyotes growing closer. In turn, the coyotes seized the opportunity off a thinning herd and closed distance.

“There will just be another threat! You can’t spend your life running!” Jin called, still surrounded by the few guards that had remained loyal. His facial expression turned from stern and aggressive to shocked and desperate in mere moments following the herd’s abandonment. Violence was never way to sway a herd, yet in a last-ditch-effort, the leader had tried anyway.

Cackles and barks rang through the night air. The coyotes communicated an attack. Red dogs separated in the confusion were taken first; easily tackled and eviscerated by multiple predators. Mothers watched and shouted from a distance before retreating to the fleeing group.

The guards stomped their hoofs and shook heads as the snow and pressure of the approaching predators mounded upon their shoulders. Bits of hail mixed with wet snow bounced off the hides of the stubborn bulls that stood fast in the exposed terrain. A frigid wind picked up with a light whistle as Jin and his guards found themselves surrounded.

Dahj, with his mother by his side, and a partial herd behind them watched from an opposite ridgeline as the coyotes assaulted. Barking, yelping, and snapping, multiple coyotes clung to Jin despite the bull’s attempts to throw the ravenous animals from his hide. Quickly losing blood, he fell to the pack. Retreating guards had their ankles disabled from coyotes that tore at the back of their legs upon catching up with the fleeing beasts. Blood from both coyote and bison glistened in the moonlight, streaked across the dense blanket of winter.

No longer able to watch, the herd continued to move towards the next resting area through the night. Dahj stomach growled from within his protruding ribs as he trudged beside his desperate mother.