CLIVE SERIES EPILOGUE
Six Months Later (Spring)…
Two calves. I’d heard rumors of such things. Uncommon, but possible. Generally reserved for the most exceptional female living in the best forests. Obviously, Marsh Queen qualified.
The news hit me all at once. One minute, I’d been pacing anxiously through the reeds while Marsh Queen brayed at me. And the next?
Two calves.
I had to count. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
One small brown body. And then another.
Twice the ears. Twice the hooves. Twice the opportunities for catastrophe.
Marsh Queen was blissfully unconcerned.
My panic could have toppled a mountain.
The first calf struggled and staggered, getting onto his feet within minutes.
A sturdy little bull with Marsh Queen’s determination.
The second attempted to unfold his legs and stand, then promptly tipped sideways into a patch of mud.
I nudged him, getting him to try again.
This time, he launched himself into his brother, resulting in a pile of limbs.
My heart fully stopped.
Marsh Queen laughed. Laughed.
The two of them proceeded to roll over one another, fall, stand, and repeat. They were covered in filth within minutes.
Marsh Queen smiled proudly.
My eye twitched. They’d been alive for less than an hour. One believed gravity was optional, and the other seemed to think slamming into things was fun.
I lowered my antlers. I was too old for this.
And now she was very hungry. Two babies drank a lot of milk. Bramble and Thistle were the hungriest calves in Maine. In order to keep them fed, Marsh Queen ate nearly nonstop. And since I didn’t make the milk, I had to provide the food. And keep Little Fern in line.
Parenthood continued to teach me many lessons. First, two calves generated approximately four times the chaos. Second, Marsh Queen was unshakable and possessed great confidence in their abilities.
And third, they had no such abilities. They were delicate, with poor decision-making skills and questionable coordination. Bramble scraped his fur trying to jump over a fallen tree. Thistle liked to wander into mug bods of suspicious depths.
I closed my eyes and thought of Carrying Beard. He had the ability to keep his calf safe and secure at all times. Oh, to be human.
Between their speed and curiosity, the bull calves were an existential threat to my sanity.
And then there was Little Fern…
Little Fern had opinions.
Little Fern had discovered sarcasm.
Little Fern thought she knew all there was to know about the forest.
And, most distressingly, Little Fern had spent the better part of an afternoon lingering at the lake near a young bull with asymmetrical antlers and poor situational awareness. I disliked this development immensely.
Obviously, I had a lot on my plate.
The days of stealing pie and crashing festivals, of the humans and their events and sticky children and skyrockets, felt like a lifetime ago.
I wandered up the mountain, toward Quiet Beard’s den. The chaos that had occurred on his land hadn’t lasted long. Peace had returned.
Broken Wing had recovered and was always out in the forest. With the canine and usually Quiet Beard by her side.
She seemed healthier now. Less fragile.
And she was always happy to see me. Quiet Beard would chastise her about getting too close, but she knew I’d never hurt her.
Still, I respected his continued attempts to keep her safe.
If anyone knew how hard it could be, it was me.
Especially with Little Fern and the two new calves.
Once the calves fell asleep, tangled on top of one another with Marsh Queen happily supervising. I headed out in search of ferns and a few minutes of quiet. Sometimes a bull just needed to hear his own thoughts.
As I wandered up the mountain toward our favorite spot, the sounds of human celebration floated on the air.
A crowd had gathered at Quiet Beard’s den. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a Beard Brothers gathering. I recognized most of the humans. Small human calves ran wild, the canine trying and failing to herd them, and music echoed through the trees.
As I watched, my ears twitched with happiness.
Quiet Beard never took his eyes off Broken Wing, who looked healthy and robust. She ignored him, but his vigilance was commendable.
Carrying Beard was no longer carrying his calf. Instead, she ran wild with the other children. He looked exhausted. Good. I snorted loudly. He’d had it way too easy for too long. Now he’d understand the true burden of fatherhood.
Friendly Beard was still massive, and Healing Female was competent and trustworthy, as always. Despite their differences in temperament, their bond appeared strong.
Grumpy Beard and Tiny Flame had their own calf. It had taken a while, but he’d finally gotten it together. He was a tough one.
And No Beard… Huh. He actually had a bit of a beard.
Perhaps he was maturing. Maybe he’d learned the way of the forest. I almost hadn’t recognized him, but the eye shields gave him away.
Apparently humans could fix suboptimal beard growth but not vision.
Interesting. He also had a mate. Good. If anyone needed a female to keep him in line, it was that one.
Sky Beard was in attendance too, running wildly with several calves. I’d seen his metal birds in the sky quite a bit recently. He must be seeking refuge from all these feral creatures. Good for him.
Along with the beards and their mates, another human bustled around. Pie Witch. She supervised the food tables with terrifying efficiency. Age had not softened her. Likely due to the dark forest magic she practiced.
I shifted among the trees, enjoying my view of the happy herd. They had endured. Birthed calves and were in the midst of raising them. The dangers had passed. It gave me hope for my own wild herd.
Broken Wing spotted me and approached slowly. Behind her, Quiet Beard hovered, looking gravely concerned.
Broken Wing cradled a round object in her hands.
And as she took another step, then another, the scent hit me.
Blueberry. Maple. Butter.
My knees nearly buckled.
Broken Wing stopped next to a tree stump and lowered the pie to it. “This is for you.”
She took a big step back, smiling at me, and Quiet Beard pulled her back farther.
“I thought you might stop by,” she whispered.
Quiet Beard looped a limb around her, encouraging additional distance.
She ignored him, her face warm, her demeanor gentle.
I stared.
An entire pie. Not just an ordinary pie either. This was a Pie Witch pie.
And the humans had given it to me freely. A gift.
This herd’s behavior was confusing. But still heartwarming.
I lowered my head in a gesture of thanks.
They returned to the chaos of the calves and the other Beard Brothers.
For a moment, I only stared, my mouth watering.
I shouldn’t eat it too fast. I wasn’t young anymore.
But I had no self-control when it came to Pie Witch pie.
Filled with delicious pie and appreciation for the humans and having collected many ferns for Marsh Queen to snack on, I considered tonight’s encounter.
In my youth, I’d believed survival required food, shelter, and aggression.
I knew better now. The forest had taught me many lessons. Calves grew, families changed, herds expanded. Marsh Queen remained exceptional. Little Fern remained exhausting. The work never ended.
And love, I’d learned, was a lot like pie.
Best when shared.