Interlude 1

The mid-afternoon sun was still warm on his back when the wind changed, adding the scent of ocean brine over the smell of sweet grass and meadow flowers. Lifting his head he could see the ocean waves breaking on the shore below the cliff top pasture. His weak eyes failed him then, turning what he knew to be a herd of seal-kin into vague blots, detectable only by their weaving movements on the off shore rocks as they slipped on and off to play in the whitecaps.

A shadow passed overhead, momentarily obscuring the sun’s rays. A hawk, he knew, perhaps hunting, perhaps merely enjoying the shifting wind. He registered the bird’s distant scream, tracking his sudden swoop towards the forest below with one sensitive ear. He could almost hear a crack when the hawk back-winged at the last minute, and did heard his cry when he caught an updraft, beginning another series of lazy circles over the island.

He dropped his head back down and tore up a mouthful of graze, chewing slowly while he ambled towards the cliff edge. There was a narrow trail there used by the forest deer to climb to his pasture in the night. Sometimes mornings would bring him the smell of carrion when a careless misstep plunged one of them down the sharp rocks to its death.  A few minutes patience rewarded him with a flash of movement at the top of the trail.

A dog-fox trotted over the lip of the trail into the meadow, tongue out and lolling in foxy laughter. Sharp green eyes flicked over him, then up and around in constant motion, watching for both predators and prey. Satisfied, the fox sat down and began chewing at his brush, patiently pulling out bits of grass and arranging the dark reddish brown fur until it fluffed perfectly, then with an absent scratch that promptly mussed it he trotted off towards the twisted olive tree in the center of the meadow.

Moving slowly, one plate sized hoof firmly planted before taking the next step, he joined the fox under the tree while the sun began to set. Reaching the spreading shelter he started to rub his horns against the bark, sharpening and polishing, as well as taking care of an annoying itch that had started at the base of one ear. It wasn’t long after that the branches above moved when the hawk landed, grasping tightly, scarring the old wood with heavy talons.

Shortly then the wind shifted again, as it did frequently across the tiny island, and brought the sound of two bare, soft feet running up the trail from below.

Distantly, from the northern mainland, audible only to the four that gathered under the olive branches in the night, came the baying of hounds.