Wild Elephant, Creature
Illus. Junior Tomlin

Thirst, Enchant Creature
Illus. Roger Raupp

"March, goats." I hold out the leading pole firmly, and with today's travails, my goats think only of obedience. I apologize to Chouri for taking her work away, but I command now.

Now we follow the stream to the monkeytree and the wise woman. The wise woman, she helped my grandfather when the mutu root weakened his leg. She helped his son when he could not summon the strength to lift a gourd. And she will help that man's son, afflicted with a cursed goat.

"And somehow, Six of Six, you become my youngest goat. What the Hoof Shake or the hottest of plainsfires cannot do to a herd, you do to mine. How long ago was it that I let you into my flock, goat? Four rains, perhaps three? Oh, would that you were still the charge of my worthless cousin Kopu; he had no reputation to destroy. But I, I was a proud herder of thirteen goats!

"And why do you stop when I lecture you, goat? I have words of venom for you! Do not think you can escape by refusing to move forward! Do not think that a mere hacking cough slows my anger! Do not think that your bulging eyes and gasping for air and--are you all right, Six of Six? Six?"

My goat, his tongue hangs down, dry as earth. He wheezes and moans, and stumbles into the ground. My goat bakes from within, dying of thirst. I misplace my anger. My goat does no harm. It is all the fault of the Yellow Rock, and it kills its host.

But would that be so bad? If this goat dies, my sufferings end. Five goats of my thirteen live, and I have a herd still. This lightning luck finds another victim. And I am forty sunsets from this place when the Yellow Rock again sees the light of day.

My grandfathers would skin me alive for thinking such thoughts. My goat needs the help of his goatherd.

"Drink," I whisper, and begin to empty my water gourd into my goat's throat. Plains goats need only a few laps a day, but this goat empties my entire gourd. Even though he leaves me little water, his very skin is parched dry as bone. This is sorcery.

Cough after cough, this goat tries to expel the water from his throat, and perhaps something else as well. I have both hands in my goat's mouth, forcing his jaws open, and the gourd between my thumb and forefinger. This goat will drink, even if he drowns in his own salvation.

The Yellow Rock, it tries to leave my goat, but it does not succeed. My goat struggles for the strength to exhale, let alone expel. Six of Six looks up at me, one breath from eternity.

"Stupid stone!" I shout against my goat's chest. "Stay put, Yellow Rock, or you will never leave my goat!"

And like the wind, the horrid thirst is gone. The flush returns to Six of Six's skin, and he maas in relief.

How about that? No goats died.

I look across the plain, and shield my eyes from the sun. There in the distance, I see the hanging fronds of a monkeytree.

Salvation, indeed.