Gods of Green Mountain Read Free

agile, giving him a singular kind of grace that made all others seem unnaturally clumsy. But it was more than his odd beauty--if it was beauty. There was something in his face, behind his eyes, something different, something unknown, something that hinted of mysterious forces. When the boy was singing, although Baka would never admit it, a heaviness would lift from his spirit. He could almost forget all the troubles and anxieties that besieged him daily. That was the trouble with things like singing: one should never allow this lightness of spirit; it took the mind from current problems. Forgetting one's troubles made one unprepared--and that was when disaster was sure to come. It had, time and again. Precedent and experience made the truth. Of necessity, to survive, pleasure had to be snuffed out quick.
    As for Far-Awn, he had none of the conflicting doubts that so plagued his father. He knew from his very first remembering that he was different from all of the others. He was unique unto himself. He didn't have to peer into a pool of underground water to see his reflection to recognize the differences. He felt it inside, deep. Though, loving his father, he would please him by conforming, if he could. When he was very, very young, and very needing of affection, he had struggled mightily to fit the mold his parents would press him into. After awhile, he realized he could never be what they wanted, so he gave up trying. Though it pained him to see his parents so distressed, it pained even more to deny the differences that flowered within him.
    He knew his older brothers only tolerated him, considering him weak and feebleminded, if not outright crazy. His slender body was much stronger than any supposed, but who would believe that? Not his father, not his brothers. Condescendingly he was given the easiest of chores; among them, he was shepherd to Baka's flock of one hundred and forty puhlets.
    Just to think of the puhlets caused a smile to curve Far-Awn's lips. Of all the farm animals, they were his favorite, his pets. There were other animals, but none had been so successfully domesticated and bred as the sturdy and tractable puhlets. No other animal had evolved so physically advantageously, so they, and they alone were able to survive the sudden and drastic climate changes without one bit of shelter. And that alone was a marvel.
    Sad though, that the very animals he loved most was the main meat supply. From their hides all on El Sod-a-Por fashioned coverings for their houses. They used the hides for beds, for chairs, for coats. Their fur was spun into a coarse cloth and sewed into dull, unimaginative clothes. Their fat was boiled down and made into soap, their hooves and horns into utensils. Oh, they by far contributed more to the survival of those inhabitants than any other single element--with the exception of their own tenacious, diligent nature.
    Besides the weather, the puhlets had only one natural enemy--the warfars! Against the warfars' sharp fangs and ripping claws they were defenseless. All they could do was run, bleating pitifully all the way. The slinky dark warfars could race like the wind, and howl like evil spirits of the night. But during the day hours, the warfars were notoriously afraid of men. One man or boy alone could scare off a whole pack. Yet, in the dark of night, it was a far different story. At night, those that lived on El Sod-a-Por were just as defenseless as any puhlet, even more so. For the puhlets could at least stay awake.
    When the burning winds blew from the desert, a remarkable change would occur; the long straight hairs would stand on end, with each hair follicle fluffing out at the end to form a thick brush of many fibers too transparent to be seen. Plus the fur turned silvery white. The intermeshing hair fibers kept the winds from reaching the delicate pink skins. White reflected the heat away. Years of instinctual behavior patterns had taught each puhlet to tuck its head under the thick