"Badger, what are you doing in that tree?”
The Bull clinging to the high branches of the tall tree grimaced. He had been in the tree a good while now, enjoying being alone, away from the others, nothing but the rustling of leaves in the wind singing to him. He leaned around to see the person calling at him. It was his master, no doubt concerned of his whereabouts because he had been gone so long. Reaching up, Badger plucked another ambercorn from the tree and tossed it down towards the small pile of young seeds he had already collected.
"You said you needed more and the younger the better, so I came up here."
"The ones already fallen would have sufficed, my boy. And how do you intend to get down?"
Badger grimaced again. He hated being called "his boy". But he tried his best not to show it, turning his face away as he looked down towards the base of the tree. His master's question was not out of order. The tree he was in was not the easiest kind of tree to climb. And less easy for someone with hooves. But somehow he had managed to climb up it. Looking down, however, he started to doubt his ability to get down.
He glanced back at the old bull watching him, a wry smile on his face. Badger returned the smile. Closing his eyes, he took one last breath, leaned back and let go of the tree. He felt the air pass smoothly around him as he plummeted. Then a sudden gale pushed on him sending him flying and tumbling until another gust of wind grabbed him, gently placing him on the ground. Opening his eyes, he saw his master standing over him, the wind that he had called doing one final swirl around the shaman before dancing off between the trees. Offering a hand, he helped Badger get to his feet.
"And how do you know I would have helped you?"
"It's in your nature. You can't let me go."
"If that were true, I wouldn't have lost you in a tree." The old shaman could see he was not amused by his humor and he sighed.
"Stubborn as always, my boy. Stubborn and tenacious. So many years and still you have not let go. This is why you have your name, you know," the shaman remarked, both a hint of humor and disappointment in his voice. "I swear, one day it will be the death of you. Or. . . . perhaps one day. . . . your salvation. . . ."
The shaman's voice grew quiet as he continued to look upon his ward. But he wasn't exactly looking at him, more like through him. Badger recognized the look. The shaman was seeing something. A spirit. Or a vision. Perhaps a vision of him. And if it was, whatever truth it held Badger wanted nothing to do with it. With a derisive snort, he turned away and began to gather up his collection of seeds.
Behind him, he heard the shaman come out of his reverie with a saddened sigh. "You have been with me a long time. Grown up in my house alongside my boys. Been a part of our lives. Learned with them, shared with them, grown up with them to become a strong thriving bull like them. But despite it all, despite the life I have tried to give you, you still hate me.
"What wrong have I done in this? I have never treated you like a prisoner, have I? I have never tortured you, chained you, held you back. You have always been free to do what you wished. To find your strength. To follow your instinct. To be a part of a family. But you would not let yourself have it. And you could have always just walked away. You could have left at anytime. There was nothing I did to keep you from leaving.
"My boy, the only thing that has kept you where you are is you."
"I. . . . I am not your BOY!"
Badger spun up, flinging an armful of ambercorn at the shaman. Brandishing a heavy, broken branch, he swung it at the surprised bull, hitting him squarely in the jaw. He charged at him and pushed him to ground. Raising his makeshift club, he beat down on the old man, yelling with such a terrible anger in his heart.
Enough of his words. His 'lessons'. From day one, he didn't want this "new life" the shaman had promised him. He had wanted his home. But this man had taken him away from his father and his family. He could never forget that. And he hated everything done to try and make him forget. Giving him a new name and making him forget the one his father gave him and the name of his own tribe. Making him a part of his family. Making him work for them. Do labors and chores for them while the old man prattled on, giving him lessons he should listen to. Making him stand before his sons and fight against them while they trained. Everything he did with them reminded him that he could have been with his father doing the same.
He was so small when he was taken away. Leave? How was he going to leave then? A lone, scared little boy! But he wasn't that little boy anymore. He had grown big and strong just like his master had raised him. He had grown waiting for a day just like this, when he could punish this man for the years of hate for taking him away. Laying there, beaten and bleeding on the ground before him, there was truly nothing to keep him from leaving now.
And the voices in the distance told him he should. Someone had heard him yelling and were coming to see what was wrong. He took one last look at the beaten body of his former master, briefly wondering if he was dead or alive. Then he took off through the trees, not knowing where he would go and not caring as he fled for his life, the branches and brush of the forest snagging and pulling on him as he ran as if begging for him to stay.
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