by BarnaWilde
******
Moral: The customer often knows best.
THE END
Barnaby Wilde Nov 1997
The Horse Who Ran with the Wind
[Ravine (noun) Deep, narrow gorge]
A horse was walking along the top of a ravine. He walked near the edge and glanced nervously sideways lest he should accidently step too close and lose his footing. As he walked he kept his head near to the ground and searched anxiously for grass or shoots to eat, but the eating was poor. The ground was parched and dusty, with many stones. The vegetation was sparse and brown for it had not rained for many weeks. The horse was slowly starving. Already his ribs were starting to show beneath his dusty coat. He tasted everything he found, even eating the dry sticks and brittle stems of the plants which had already died. He had been walking beside the ravine for days, and there had been no good eating in more than two weeks. He sometimes felt a little giddy in the heat and longed for cool water, good grazing and shade, but he was a stubborn horse and his survival instinct was so strong that he forced himself to keep walking in search of better forage.
In truth, the eating had been poor for months. He had been walking on the barren plain for weeks until he came to the ravine, through scant scrub and thorns, with only the occasional green shoot and sometimes some morning dew to refresh him. He was lonely, too. He had had only the company of the jackals, and whilst they ran like the wind and provided exhilarating diversion for a time, when they had gone he was more weary and hungry than ever.
He thought back to a time when the grazing had been good. The green meadows stretched as far the eye could see and his mare had travelled with him for many years and borne him fine foals. The foals were grown and long departed and somewhere on the journey he had become separated from his mate. He had loved to run with the wind and the jackals and one day, when his mad run was done, he had returned to the place he had left her and she was gone. He had wandered for months across the plain seeking her and the grass had first become coarse and then more sparse until he had arrived at this ravine. The ravine appeared to stretch forever in both directions and he had been reduced to walking along it’s edge looking for food.
The search for grass had become all consuming and he had almost forgotten his mare in the quest merely to stay alive.
He looked cautiously down into the ravine. It was dark and deep. There were round boulders and jagged rocks at the bottom and the walls were sheer. Nervously he backed away from the edge. He imagined that he could smell sweet new grass, but all about him he could see only the dust dry earth and the shrivelled, brown plants that barely kept him alive.
His eyes were tired and listless and his mane matted and tangled. He no longer troubled the flies which buzzed about him in a cloud despite the gentle breeze which was blowing.
He was suddenly startled by the sound of hooves nearby. A high pitched whinny split the air. It was a voice that was at once familiar, but that he had not heard for many months. The whinny rent the air again and hooves banged down on the earth as from a horse that had reared onto it’s hind legs and crashed back onto all fours. Again the whinny and the crashing hooves boomed out and he looked towards the sound and saw a sleek and shining mare on the far side of the ravine. It was his mare. She called to him again and walked on her hind legs so that he could see her round belly and flying tail. He whinnied back in reply, but his voice was thin and reedy because his throat was full of dust. He tried to rear onto his hind legs but could only lift himself a short way off the ground before falling back.
His mare called and pranced to him and he longed to join her, but the deep ravine was between them. He looked over the edge and saw the jagged rocks and the round boulders far below. He walked a few paces east and west looking for a way that was less steep, but the sides were sheer and the bottom was lost in the shadows.
Suddenly, she was there beside him. Nuzzling his neck and biting his ear. She blew her hot breath into his nostril and tried to lick his tongue with hers. He felt her warmth against his racked body. Her coat gleamed beside his dusty, shabby skin. She was vibrant with life, and next to her he was a poor, dull thing.
Her smell filled his nostrils and he could feel himself becoming aroused by her nearness. He raised his head to whinny out his ownership of her, but the sound was only a rasping, wheezing cough. He tried again to rear onto his hind legs and toss his mane in the afternoon sun, but merely tottered sideways and almost fell. He was weak with hunger.
“My love, my love,” cried the mare. “Where have you been all this time? Why do you look so thin? Oh, my poor love.”
“I have been looking for you,” he replied softly, “and I have run with the wind and the jackals.”
“But I have been here all the while,” she said. “I have been waiting for you. I thought that you would never return.”
“There was no grass,” he said. “Only dry, dead weeds and jackals for company.”
“But there is grass in plenty, “ she said, in surprise. “On the far side of the ravine the grass is sweet and good.”
“The ravine is deep,” he said. “There are jagged rocks at the bottom. I have walked along this edge for many days and each time I looked over the rim there were only boulders and rocks.”
“Lift your head,” she said. “Lift your head and look across. Can you not see the grass?”
He lifted his head slowly and looked across the ravine. He was astonished to see green grass. Sweet green grass stretching away as far as he could see. He sniffed the air and he could smell the grass and wild flowers. He pawed the ground and snorted his dry breath onto the soil raising small dust devils.
“I can see the grass,” he said, “but the ravine is deep and the sides are sheer.”
“My love, my love,” said his mare. “Lift your head. The ravine is deep, but it is not wide. You can jump it with ease.”
The stallion looked over the edge at the dark rocks below. “If I fall, I shall be killed. The jagged rocks would pierce my heart and I should be dead in an instant. Or I should get wedged between the big round boulders and starve to death.”
“My love. You are dying a slow death now. You may run with the jackals today, but for how much longer? Already you are weak with hunger and slow. Soon the jackals will not wait for you. You will not be fun. They will run with the wind and find other sport. Lift your head. Why do you think that you could not see the grass before? If you keep your head near the ground and look only down into the ravine you will never see across to the other side.”
She walked to the edge of the ravine and waited for him to follow. He took a tentative step towards her and stopped again.
“Come my love,” she said. “Jump over this narrow place with me and eat the sweet grass we shall find there.”
He stood beside her but he could only see down into the ravine because his head was drooping near the ground.
“I am afraid to jump,” he said. “This ravine is very deep and surely we shall be killed if we fall into it.”
“My love,” said the mare. “I have been on the other side of the ravine. The grass is good. There is sweet, cool water and shade in the trees. Can you not see the mountains in the distance? There is grass the whole way from here to the mountains. The ravine is narrow. We can jump it together. See.”
The mare kicked and jumped easily across the ravine, for, in truth it was very narrow. She turned and waited for him to follow.
A jackal appeared from some rocks ahead of the stallion.
“Do you want to run today, horse?” it asked. “Today is a good day to run like the wind, do you not agree?”
The stallion looked at the jackal and felt the small breeze ruffle his matted mane. He looked across the ravine at his mare and the grass beyond. He wanted the grass, for he was very hungry. And he wanted to be with his mare again, for, despite his tiredness, he felt a stirring in his loins at the sight and smell of her. He looked down into the ravine and saw the rocks. It was very deep.
&n
bsp; “Come my love,” cried the mare. “Jump now, it isn’t far. You can have sweet new hay to eat and we can roll in the cool green grass together, and when you are well again we shall be able to run to the mountains together.”
“I am going to run now,” said the jackal. “You can come with me if you want.”
The stallion looked across the ravine at his mare and at the sweet green grass. He looked down at the shadows in the ravine and was afraid to jump. He looked at the jackal and thought it would be good to run. Just a short run, and then he would jump the ravine.
“Jump now, my love,” called his mare. “Before you are too weak. Don’t look down. Trust me. It is an easy jump. Hold your head up and look towards the mountains.”
He stood on the edge of the ravine and considered the grass. He looked at the mare and saw that she was beautiful. He wanted to be with her, but the jackal had begun to turn away from the edge of the ravine and was preparing to run. He wanted to run too. Despite his hunger, the desire to run like the wind was still strong in him. His head turned back and forth between the mare and the jackal.
“Jump,” called the mare. “You will see that it will be good.”
“Run”, said the jackal. “Think of the thrill of racing the wind.”
He stood in anguish. He almost jumped but could only think of the jagged rocks and boulders below. He almost ran, but thought of the sweet green grass and the mare on the other side of the ravine. He remained in this torment for several moments and then took a half step closer to the edge. He would jump. He would jump and eat the grass. He would roll on the ground with the mare and when he was well they would run together to the mountains. He tensed his muscles to make the leap.
As he was about to jump, the jackal broke into a lope and began to run. The stallion was committed to his jump, ...almost. At the instant of his takeoff he looked back towards the jackal and in that instant lost his footing on the loose stones at the edge of the ravine.
He toppled slowly over the edge, unable to save himself. His hooves scraped frantically on the rock walls at the edge of the precipice. He screamed a high pitched whinny which froze the blood of his mare on the opposite rim. The sound attracted the attention of the jackal who changed direction and circled back towards the ravine.
The stallion landed on the jagged rocks in the shadows below. His heart was pierced by a splinter of stone shaped like a spear. The echo of his anguished cry reverberated down the canyon, bouncing off the walls until it was lost in the distance.
“My love. Oh, my love,” cried the mare far above. “If you had only trusted me and jumped with your head held high we would now be sharing the sweet green grass.”
The jackal peered over the canyon rim. As if by magic other jackals appeared from the shadows between the rocks and began to thread their way down the steep sides of the ravine on almost invisible paths.
There would be good eating tonight, for jackals, and there would be time tomorrow to run with the wind after a good sleep.
Moral. Ravines are both deep and narrow. Those who look down or are afraid to jump will see only rocks and shadows. Those who hold their heads up high and commit themselves to jumping without looking back will reach the mountains.
THE END
Barnaby Wilde Nov 1997
The Princess and the Frog
Once upon a time, in a land not far from here, there lived a princess. She was beautiful, but she was poor. For she was the youngest daughter of ten, and the king could not afford to keep her.
Luckily she was a clever girl, and practical with her hands. She would take precious metals and jewels and fashion them into trinkets and artefacts for wealthy Lords and Ladies.
Sometimes she would try to pass on some of her skills to local artisans, but this was an uphill struggle and did not pay well.
Now a frog lived in the same land as the princess, and one day he crept into her workshop. When he saw the princess he fell instantly in love with her. He admired her sleek and shiny hair and her skill with a hammer.
The frog was poor too, but not financially, because he owned property in frog land. The frog was poor in spirit. He needed to be loved. He knew there was enough love in his heart to satisfy a princess and he longed to be able to prove it.
The frog decided that he would marry the princess, but the princess was constantly surrounded by other suitors. She scarcely noticed him.
Week after week the frog would creep into her workshop. Sometimes he would bring the princess little presents. She would smile at him, and his little froggy heart would beat wildly in his little froggy chest, and he would go home and dream about her all night long.
Sometimes the frog would try to copy the princess and make trinkets of his own. When the princess saw them she would praise him and his froggy heart would swell until he thought it would burst.
He longed to kiss her, but he was very shy. Besides which, whilst it might be alright for a princess to kiss a frog, it would never do for a frog to kiss a princess without being asked. But the frog had a secret. He knew that he was the nicest frog he knew, and that one day the princess would think so too.
Meanwhile the frog would take a shower and wash under his armpits at least once a week, whether he needed to or not, and hop into the back of the princess's workshop.
One day, when the little frog was feeling particularly brave, he sent a note to the princess in his best froggy handwriting inviting her to the pub.