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Monarch of the Back Country - Part 1

Theo S. Bernard

Dairmid slid wet and gasping into the world on a clear morning in the fresh green of early summer. His mother was a tawny coated Red Deer, medium in stature but confident in her bearing, and her heart filled with love and pride as she licked her new calf clean. A gentle breeze stirred the ferns around the glade, and she could smell good grass and cool water from the stream which splashed down from the mountains above. The rest of her herd grazed just down the valley, some with calves already at foot. The winter had been tolerable, and all of the previous year's offspring had survived. Some - the males in particular - had wandered away as they grew fat and energetic in the warmth of spring. They were driven by an urge to escape their siblings and mothers, to test their strength and find their own identity in a new herd. Thus were the genes disbursed and mixed; Sorcha knew all this instinctively, knew that it was normal and right. But her tiny calf knew only that he was hungry as he struggled to stand and totter to his mother's side. He could barely see in the bright sunlight, but she smelled of food and safety, and instinct guided him to her milk.

At first, the world was nothing more than bright colours and the cycle of hunger, satisfaction as he suckled on Sorcha's teat, and comfort as he snoozed. She was never far from Dairmid, and his complaints of hunger always drew her back to him, so he could once more bury his nose in the velvet dark between her thighs. Every day he grew stronger, and he exercised his new legs by exploring the glade, sniffing at the ferns and grasses.

As he grew, Sorcha began to take him further from his birth place as she roamed through the nearby thickets and paths in search of food. After two weeks, Dairmid walked confidently and had started to explore on his own. His mother led him down the valley, and his nose detected smells which were like his mother and yet not like; they also smelled safe and friendly, but different. The greetings from the other hinds were not effusive; social restraint was at the core of any successful herd. But Sorcha welcomed their friendly nudges and polite sniffs, and she relaxed as their familiar smells surrounded her. At her side, Dairmid sensed her ease, and he too relaxed as the other hinds inspected him. He already carried himself with some of his mother's innate confidence, and the hinds nodded their approval.

The fullness of summer was upon them. Dairmid frolicked with the other calves in the cool of morning and evening, scampering around the hummocky tussock grass of the valley and among the beech forests which flanked the hills. They slept through the heat of the day as one or two of the hinds kept watch for danger. The calves knew nothing of danger, however, or of cold or hunger. As the fresh green of early summer faded into the dusty heat of late summer, they learned which plants were good to eat, and they grew strong and steady and fleet of foot. Dairmid still drank from his mother, more from habit than necessity. The closeness of his nose to her udder still brought him a feeling of comfort. But one day, she pushed him away as he nosed beneath her belly. He moaned his disappointment, but still she refused to allow him to suckle. A few weeks earlier, such a rejection would have terrified him. Now he felt a growing independence, and a clump of new fern shoots enticed him from her side. The following day he missed the sweet taste of her milk, and he made another half-hearted attempt to drink. Once again she pushed him away. Dairmid learned that everything changes.

The days grew shorter, and summer faded into autumn. Dairmid played every day with the other calves, and now he sensed differences among them. Some smelled sweet and milky like his mother, and yet the scent no longer comforted him as it once had. Others had a different smell, stronger and wilder, and he could see the physical differences even though he knew nothing of what they meant. All he knew was that the other males were more fun, and he discovered a new feeling: fraternity with his peers.

As the weather changed, so too did the herd. The hinds ate as much as they could, growing strong and sleek. But they also grew restless, and their scent changed. A new smell infused over their milky aroma, a smell which stirred something strange in Dairmid's belly. It was disquieting and a little repugnant, and yet somehow exciting. But his young mind and body, nowhere near to sexual maturity, had no language in which to express desire and no action to pursue in response to it. Like a bright quartz stone at the bottom of a pool, it shimmered within his core and hinted at some future greatness, but remained a mystery.

One morning, Dairmid rested after a game of chase with the other calves. He watched his mother, who still protected and comforted him even though he no longer depended on her milk. The hinds circled about each other, sniffing and rubbing shoulders. Dairmid saw his mother nosing under another hind's tail. Suddenly she reared up, climbing onto the back of the other hind. He expected to see a kick or buck in retaliation at this violation of personal space - something he'd already learned about while playing with his peers. But instead, the other hind seemed to arch her back and flick her tail as if she enjoyed the sensation. Dairmid shook his head at this inexplicable behaviour - one more facet of a world which grew larger and stranger with each passing day.

The fading light of evening brought a new mystery. A bellowing call echoed down the valley, and Dairmid looked up to see a dark shape moving through the distant trees. The breeze brought a new scent to his nose, rank and wild, and yet also familiar. He glanced at the adults, and their interested gaze reassured him that there was no immediate danger. The stranger lingered on the margins of the forest, and Dairmid realised that he was a deer, like himself and his mother and the others, only much larger. His head carried a wide spread of antlers, and Dairmid watched as he tested them against the shrubby trees on the forest margin. Even from a distance they could hear the branches crack.

The next morning, the stag approached their herd. He shook his antlers and gave a snort as the hinds circled respectfully. He turned to face Dairmid, and the young calf tensed. But the stag looked right past him, as if he wasn't there. Dairmid and the other calves backed away, unsure what to make of him.

The hinds were distracted and edgy, and every time Dairmid tried to nuzzle his mother's flank for comfort, the stag would be there. Dairmid waited for him to move on, but he remained with the herd. The calves retreated to the fringes, still playing and sleeping and eating, but always nervous about the stranger who moved between their mothers, sniffing beneath tails, nudging shoulders, and shaking his huge head. When he wasn't fraternising, he would roam the flanks of the group, pawing the ground and bellowing until the ridges echoed. He seemed to be full of restless energy, and ate little. An unusual white pattern marked his shoulder, so Dairmid thought of him as White Patch.

On the third day, two more stags appeared on the fringes of the forest and roared a challenge. Tension swept through the herd as White Patch shouldered his way out to meet the newcomers. After a few minutes of roaring back and forth, one of the new stags emerged from the trees and crossed the open grass. White Patch strode forward, head held high in a bellow, then lowered his antlers as the newcomer lunged. They met with a crash, horns locked, each straining to throw the other off balance. White Patch slipped and half fell. The motion threw both sideways, and the other stag couldn't recover fast enough to capitalise on his advantage. They parted; a draw. Panting they eyed each other, then lunged again. This time White Patch seemed possessed; muscles bulging, he ploughed forward, and the other stag skidded and tumbled sideways. Scrambling to his feet and leaping to avoid the sharp antlers which raked across his shoulder, the newcomer turned and fled as fast as he could for the trees, his white tail bobbing with each bound. White Patch pursued for a few paces, then stopped and bellowed his victory. Then he turned and sauntered back to the hinds, head held high.

Dairmid was awed; he didn't understand the interest which White Patch showed in his mother and the other females, but he did understand strength and bravery, and after that he and the other calves spent much of their time playing at being stags. The female calves weren't very interested, but the males found it thrilling to play wrestle and try to knock each other over. Dairmid's favourite playmate was a male called Alban. He was smaller than Dairmid, but quick and cunning, and his light red coat was marked by dappled white patterns which stood out more brightly than most. They would prance about, playing king-of-the-hill on a grassy knoll.

White Patch grew more interested in the hinds and more rank in his aroma. Several other stags passed by, but none dared to challenge the big male. Dairmid felt a sort of pride to be part of such a strong herd, even though White Patch ignored him. When he wasn't posturing and bellowing, the stag spent much of his time sniffing at the tails of the hinds, and even sampling their urine. To Dairmid, it was disgusting and yet fascinating. One day, he saw White Patch saunter up behind Sorcha and arch his neck over the female's rump. He reared up and mounted her as Dairmid had seen the hinds do to each other. She took a step forward, and he slipped back to the ground with a grunt. He followed her and mounted again, and after repeating this process a few times, she stood still, leaning back against the big male as he pushed himself up over her back. He balanced for a moment, then leaped forwards and upwards, and Sorcha arched her back as she braced against his thrust. Then he dropped back to the ground, shook his antlers, and strode forward to nuzzle her neck. When he had ambled away, Dairmid approached his mother, confused and concerned. She still stood with tail up and back arched, but Dairmid saw a glazed look of satisfaction on her face. There was a wetness under her tail, and a new, bitter smell, but she seemed unharmed.

Dairmid gave up worrying about the strange behaviour of the adults, and spent his time playing with the other calves. White Patch repeated his strange mounting dance many times, at first with Sorcha and then with the other hinds in the herd, sometimes dedicating himself to one female for several days, and sometimes spreading his attention between several. He hardly ate, and he grew gaunt as the weather grew cooler and the days shorter. His head was held as high as ever, though.

And then one day in late autumn, it was over - as if a switch had been flipped. White Patch stood looking out over the valley in the evening light, and suddenly he looked very thin and tired. By contrast, the hinds all looked sleek and satisfied, and none moved as the stag turned and wandered away down the valley. He looked back from a ridge, as if to survey his handiwork, then vanished into the trees.

Now winter gripped the high country, and the deer put all their efforts into foraging for food as the snows blanketed the mountains and the wind made them shiver. Their winter coats grew out, red and coarse to protect them from the deepening cold. But despite the harsh weather, it was a time of excitement for Dairmid and Alban as every day brought new magic - the sparkle of frost on the grass, the fluffy white of fresh snow, and the rumble of avalanches in the distant mountains. Food was harder to find, but not dangerously scarce, and the calves grew larger and stronger every day. Dairmid began to see himself and the other calves in a new light. Once timorous youngsters who needed guidance for every step, they were rapidly becoming deer, strong and fast and sure of themselves. Sorcha still kept a watchful eye on him, and showed him where to find the best winter grazing and how to cross safely over rain-swollen streams. However, her milky aroma and swelling belly indicated that a new calf was on the way. Dairmid knew that before the calf was born, he would no longer need her.

He spent most of his time with Alban. They still liked to tussle in bouts of play-wrestling, but now they played with more restraint, because with their increasing strength and weight, they could easily injure each other. Dairmid liked the deep musk of his friend, and admired the curves of the adolescent stag's developing muscles. The young hinds were changing too, but to Dairmid they were an enigma. No longer the lanky playmates of six months earlier, their shape had become pleasing, but they treated the males with disdain.

The streams filled with snow melt as the weather warmed, and tender new leaves appeared on the beech trees to announce the arrival of spring. Dairmid discovered the mouth-watering taste of fresh spring grass after a long winter of nibbling on old growth. Everything was new and green and smelled of life, and their spirits soared.

Dairmid's head grew very itchy, and as he rubbed it against a tree branch, he realised that his first antlers had started to grow. A week later, he saw that Alban's head also showed small nubs of new growth.

One day, Dairmid noticed that Sorcha was missing. The herd had moved into a sheltered valley where the grassy flats were rich in juicy new growth. Here they lingered for a few days, and the calves frolicked and wrestled in the warmth. Dairid wondered where his mother had gone, for the hinds usually stayed together. It was over a week before he saw her again, and when he recognised her distinctive dappled flank emerging from the forest, he raced across the meadow to greet her. But when he drew near, he saw that she had changed. Her belly had shrunk back to normal size, and a new smell reached his nose. Then he saw the new calf as she tottered behind Sorcha, and the hind's head was held proudly high as she bought her to meet the herd.

When Dairmid drew closer to greet his mother, she tossed her head and gave him a warning look, moving protectively between him and the new calf. Dairmid felt bewilderment, which quickly turned to jealousy - even though he hadn't needed his mothers support for months. The feelings soon passed, though, replaced by a new feeling of freedom. He was no longer a calf; the world was his to explore.

As the weather warmed and the spring turned into summer, Dairmid's antlers grew steadily. They were small compared to the magnificent twelve-pointed trees sported by White Patch during the autumn, but the young buck was very proud of them. Soft velvet protected the smooth bony curves, and he could feel their weight as he shook his head.

Living was easy as rich spring growth filled the valleys, and the hinds grew fat along with their new calves. Dairmid and the other yearlings loitered around the outskirts of the herd, instinctively giving space to the hinds and their calves. He spent his days eating and exploring with Alban. His growing antlers felt tender, discouraging him from sparring. Instead, they took to climbing the ridges above the valley. As the weeks passed and the heat of summer arrived, they ventured further, but always they kept within sight of the herd, and the companionship of their mothers and heard-mates drew them back every evening.

Dairmid's new antlers grew itchy, and he took to scratching them on tree branches. Soon he had rubbed off their velvet coating, to reveal the hard bone beneath. He carried them high as he trotted about the valley, showing off to the hinds. Dairmid and Alban resumed their sparring as their antlers hardened. They had to be careful, for the bony tips could do real damage. The two young males felt a strong bond of brotherhood. It felt good to lock antlers and try to throw each other off balance, but the tussles remained friendly, and they would lie down together to rest in companionable quiet when they became bored.

Dairmid watched with amusement as the new calves frolicked about on spindly legs. A year ago, that had been him! It seemed like a long time, and he couldn't believe he'd ever been so small or awkward. But the calves grew rapidly as the summer days passed, and the seasons turned once again towards autumn.

A restlessness grew in Dairmid's chest. He picked at the summer grass, dry but plentiful. But it didn't satisfy him. He looked out across the herd. His mother raised her head and shook then turned towards her new calf. She didn't seem to see Dairmid at all. And now a different feeling suffused over the young stag. The valley seemed smaller, and the rest of the heard seemed dull in their familiarity. Gripped by impulse and instinct, Dairmid turned his back and walked away. He didn't look back.

Dairmid pushed his way through a thicket of beech trees, and up a ridge. He started when he heard a noise behind him, but then he relaxed when Alban emerged sheepishly from the trees. Dairmid had wished to escape the repressive confines of the herd, but he was glad to see his young friend. It seemed that they would escape together. He shook his head in greeting, and tapped his antler tips against Alban's in a friendly jostle. The other stag acknowledged him with a small push, then turned and started up the ridge at a determined trot. Dairmid followed, his spirits rising as they climbed through the tussock. They were familiar with the ridges and gullies to each side, but ahead there lay a high saddle, and beyond that, an unknown world. Just a few months earlier, leaving the safety of the valley and the herd would have been unthinkable, but now they felt strong and confident and ready for adventure.