Gods of Green Mountain Read Free Page A

neck ruff and protect its eyes and the sensitive membranes of its nose.
    When the icy winds screamed down from the bleak, black land of Bay Gar, something equally miraculous happened. Their silvery fur would curl tightly upon itself, keeping the strong winds from separating the hairs, and as the hair began to curl, it changed color, turning to ebony black, thus retaining the natural body heat. Again, the thick neck ruff was used to hide the delicate facial areas. Many a young shepherd had saved his life by lying down with the flock when the devastating winds blew.
    Still, a very young puka had a very vulnerable time, just after birth, when they were naked, without even the protection of the yellow-green fuzz. An entire nursery of pukas could be wiped out from the slightest draft, the slightest chill. Too much heat, and they would collapse prostrate, and quickly die. So delicate, so frail, so sensitive were these small creatures at this time, the pukas spent their first few weeks in the sod houses, romping with the human babies.
    Because of this intimate closeness, and the daily care of the baby animals, it was a sad and mournful day when the full-grown puhlet had to be slaughtered. So much was this unhappy day dreaded by the tender-hearted natives, often the most compassionate would wait until their animals were old and ready to die anyway before they could bring down the heavy mallet on the paper-thin skulls. The meat was tough and stringy by then. The fur long past its prime. But there was the satisfaction of knowing the animal had reproduced many times, and been allowed to live out its allotted days.

    There were many shepherds on El Sod-a-Por, but in all the hills of the borderlands, upper and lower, not one loved his flock of puhlets more than Far-Awn. He talked to them as if they understood; he sang to them as if he knew they enjoyed it, and long were the miles he walked to discover the rare places where the lushest grasses grew. Far-Awn knew the puhlets were grateful for his care and love. They gazed at him with soft violet eyes of devotion, responding in all the quiet ways they could.
    When Far-Awn lay in a field, dreaming of how life could be different, and better, of how life should be happy and enjoyable, without fear of death always hovering so near, the puhlets grazed contentedly, glancing his way from time to time. Because of his presence, however distracted he grew at times, not once had a warfar stolen a calf, for Far-Awn was quick. In a flashing second he could leap to his feet and hurl a stone, and most of the time it found its mark. Cowardly the warfars slunk away--a stone or a stick was enough weapon during the day.
    Leaning back against a burran tree, Far-Awn ate his lunch of cheese and bread, and spoke aloud to Musha, his favorite animal, who also lunched nearby. "Men shouldn't have to hide in the ground like dirt diggers--like insects! Why should we grow old so soon, and die so young?--it's that work!--that everlasting, perpetual work! There ought to be a way, something, that we could devise to keep the weather out. There has to be some other reason for being alive, other than working--what do you say, Musha?"
    Musha bleated, apparently agreeing.
    Far-Awn turned his head toward the far Green Mountain, where the Gods were reputed to live. Thoughtfully he gazed. Did they really control the weather? Did they really send the storms as a form of punishment because they were rooted in one spot? If gods they were, couldn't they grow legs if they wanted? Of course they could. There was another reason for the storms. "Before I die, I'm going to find out," he said to himself, "just who and what lives in that giant green home."
    Musha looked up, still munching on the grass in his mouth. He too turned to stare thoughtfully at the distant Green Mountain. A soft sighing sound came from his throat.

Far-Awn Goes Searching
    O ne day three years later, when Far-Awn was ten, he led his flock of puhlets far from the