A Care-avan
Written by Jessica M. Knightley
Part I
For all of its young life, the mountain goat had been afraid of heights. Their father chided them. “Mountain. It’s in our name. And yet you remain on the soft, easy ground? How will you ever become worthy of our title?” The young mountain goat felt sad but chose to ignore their father. They *liked* the soft grass on their hooves. They *liked* roaming the flatlands amongst the wildflowers. And they *loved* gazing up and all around them, at the beloved, majestic mountains surrounding. The young mountain goat didn’t *want* to climb them. They were satisfied to feel held by the height and strength, at the foot of them.
Then one day, the wild herd the young mountain goat belonged to received a message from their Tern friends in the sky. The sailing white birds called out from the gathering dark. A shock of a storm was arriving their way, carrying with it powerful rains the region had ne’er yet seen. It was a warning. A cry to move. An imminent catastrophe. Go. Anywhere but here. The Terns instructed their wild herd friends to go up and over the mountain’s pass, before they got locked into the storm; gather up high – high – on the mountain pass, where a sturdy cave existed that could shelter them. A sturdy cave that would surely hold up in the coming rains.
The leaders of the wild herd made haste and began loading the smallest kids onto their backs; mothers strapped great weaves of plucked thistle around their midsections to keep their kin close.
The young mountain goat afraid of heights began to shiver and panic. They did not want to be left behind, did not want to get trapped in the flood, but they were terrified of the climb.
They had been instructed to quickly pick wild grasses enough for the journey with eight other members of their herd. But as the call was made for final orderings, to check all supplies and get ready for the climb, the young mountain goat completely lost their nerve. They stumbled, moving further away as the others turned with their plucked grasses to join the rest of the herd. No one looked around to see the young mountain goat flee, whose hooves stampeded on the moistening ground; they ran without reason, into the growing dark.
Left behind. That’s what became of them. The young mountain goat afraid of heights was left behind by their herd.
The young mountain goat shivered in a patch of tall grass as the sky eclipsed. They could no longer see even a speck of their wild herd, they had run so fast and far away in their fear. And now what? What were they to do?
Once, the young mountain goat’s mother had told them, before she died, whenever they felt fear creeping up, all they needed to do was get low to the ground and breathe until their fear passed. “Take refuge,” their mother had said, “Instead of fighting against what is clearly present, take refuge until the storm within you passes.”
But what about a storm outside of themselves?
The young mountain goat continued to tremble as they sunk low to the ground, quickly weaving a blanket of grass to shelter their quaking body.
A Tern streaked above and shouted a call into the whipping winds. The wind responded in kind and sunk low next to the shivering young mountain goat, glossing a rare gust of warmth over their trembling body where they lay.
“Young mountain goat, what troubles you?” The nourishing wind asked. “Why are you not with your herd? The rains will be coming and you will not be safe here, low on the ground.”
The young mountain goat did not open their eyes to the voice of the wind, but clutched their legs closer to themself, yearning for the warmth to remain.
”I am frightened of the climb,” the young mountain goat trembled. “My fear overtook my need to survive. For in that moment, to not climb was how I was to survive.”
“I understand,” the gentle wind said, and lay another warm gust over the poor darling goat. “I understand your fear and the need to protect yourself. It would have been difficult for you to make the pass, perhaps impossible, causing more suffering to you and your herd.
You have wisdom in you, for listening to your fears,” the wind said tenderly. The young mountain goat began to cry.
“I do not want to get caught in the storm and die,” the young mountain goat said. “I love the pasture, the soft grasses and the flowers. I love the sun on my face and gazing up at the mountains from the foot of its rocks. I would like to have another day amongst such beauty.”
“You shall,” the wind promised.
“The rain is coming,” the wind warned again. “There is nothing I can do to stop it. But I can help. It will be frightening. If you long to have another day in soft grasses, amongst the wildflowers, another day to gaze at the sun and stretch your neck at the foot of your beloved mountains, I need you to listen and do as I say.”
“I will,” the young mountain goat said quietly, as another blanket of warmth calmed their frantic heart.
“When the rains pour down you must keep low and sheltered as you are, but keep your head and neck above the water as it begins to fill this basin. You must breathe. You must breathe slow and controlled breaths and only focus on that soothing rhythm for your survival.
Next you must release your body to the water, as it will grow so high it will sweep you away. Keep your head and neck above the water but do not attempt to control your body, you must let the water take you. You must release control. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” the young mountain goat said, heart pounding thick but steady as they began breathing in and out in a rhythm their mother had taught them.
“I will be there for you as the water sweeps you away. I need its momentum for your flight. I will hurl you up in a cyclone of my own making. It will not be pleasant, but it also should not last too long. I will get you high up in the mountain’s pass, away from the storm. When you are in a cyclone, you will be able to breathe but it will become restricted. You will have to shift how you breathe and think in the cyclone. I cannot tell you how best to do this. Only you will know, when you are inside of it. Let your instincts and intuition guide you. Allow yourself to shift in the process.”
“Keep my head and neck above water,” the young mountain goat said.
“Release my body.
Let myself be swept away.
Breathe.
Shift in the process.”
“I will be with you soon,” the wind said, and brushed herself against their cheek in a nurturing farewell.
The young mountain goat tried to ignore the gathering cold as they closed their eyes and went inward to count their breath.
“One…two…three…four. Hold…two...three…four. Exhale…two…three…four…five…six.”
Water began falling harder and faster, collecting under the young mountain goat’s belly; and still they counted and still they breathed, cloaked in the warmth of their own, internal fire, and the love they held for their mother, the wind, and the promise of more days in the soft grasses, amongst the wildflowers, at the foot of the mountains they loved so dearly.
The young mountain goat counted as they lift their neck and chin above the cold water, now enfolding them. The young mountain goat breathed as their hooves and legs lift off the soil, their blanket of woven grasses long gone. The young mountain goat released their body, other than their neck and their head, still above the water to breathe, surrendering to the current that began to sweep them west and away.
The young mountain goat counted and breathed and released and the water rushed them onward. They missed rocks and the edges of things as they kept their faith in the wind, the memories of their mother, and the promise of another day in the soft grasses, amongst the wildflowers, at the foot of the mountains they adored so dearly.
The water was quickening as the pasture began to slope slightly downward and here is when the wind lift her prowess into action. She swept herself up and around and with all her might blew and whirled creating a monumental, dazzling cyclone of water and air. It thrust the young mountain goat high into the air and pressed them against the cone of the wind and rain. The young mountain goat gasped and found they could not breathe; the deep rhythms they had employed were no longer available.
Shift, they remembered the wind saying. And so the young mountain goat curled in upon itself, in the midst of the cyclone, like a rolly polly shielding itself from the bright light under the safety of a rock, and there, tucked into the heart of a whirling cone, a pocket of breath emerged where the young mountain goat could let out a bleat of relief, as it allowed the wind to rocket their passage to safety.
Their landing high up on the mountain was not-so gentle. There was only so much the wind could control at the tail end of a self induced storm. The young mountain goat hit hard against a wall of rock and rolled down a few paces, onto sludgy, firm earth. The wind, in a final act of shelter before her own rest, pushed a net of grasses over the two rocks the young mountain goat lay between, so they might have a little protection from the rising sun, which they would meet in a few hours time.
Part II
The young mountain goat stirred feebly from a chaotic dream where little cones of water had been dancing round in the navy blue ether like ballerinas, before they began mocking the young mountain goat and pelting them with small black bugs curled up like little pellets.
“Owe. Owe. Stop… you’re hurting me… stop pelting me…!”
The young mountain goat startled away to find a sheep staring them directly and up close in their face.
“Yaaaagggghhhhh!” The young mountain goat scrambled up, the nest of grasses flying off as they backed against the rock they had hit upon hours before.
The sun was out. It was no longer raining.
The young mountain goat blinked hard and tried to focus on what had been directly in front of their face.
“Naron! I told you not to wake them! Give me those,” another sheep butt the side of the sheep that had been right in front of the young mountain goats face. “Drop them,” the sheep bid with another butt of their horns. The first sheep grinned slyly and coyly dropped the pebbles it had been holding in its mouth.
“I’m so sorry about them,” the second sheep said, casting a stern look at the no longer pebble-mouth sheep. They sauntered off after a spicy look at the young mountain goat. “Naron means well,” the second sheep continued. “Truly, they’re a sweetheart. Can just be… a little fiery on first meet. We think it may be a love language. Are you ok?” the second sheep’s long face turned to concern as it gazed at the young mountain goat still against the rock.
“I’m Ruhan,” the sheep said kindly. “That was Naron, as you now know. I am also with my companions Ardon and Ma’on,” the sheep gazed at the young mountain goat. “Who… are you?”
“I’m… my name is…Ar…ar…Aria,” the young mountain goat said, a little feebly.
“Nice to meet you, Aria,” the sheep said. “That was some unprecedented storm in the Eastern Pastures, wasn’t it? I think we’re supposed to blame the humans for those kinds of things.
Are you alright? Did you get lost from your herd?”
“I…” the young mountain goat named Aria began. And then another sheep entered their view.
“Ruhan, we should continue forward. The Terns are saying we’ve missed the worst of it, but the recommendation seems to be to reach Gelding Cross before nightfall, just in case. There we should be free to more easily rest and roam again when we’re ready.”
“Ardon…” the sheep called Ruhan moved away from the young mountain goat who began to test out their hooves and legs a little more precisely, to make sure everything was intact.
“I think this young mountain goat is lost from its herd… Do we have enough meal and supplies to ask them to come along with us…? If the Terns are saying Gelding is the place to rest, it is likely their herd may be there as well.”
“We have enough,” Ardon said in a steady, easy voice of calm. Ruhan let out a smile of relief and briefly touched their nose to their partners. Ardon looked pleased and shuffled back a few paces to let Ruhan shine in their light of invitation.
“We would be honored to have you join our travels,” Ruhan said to Aria. “The Terns are saying Gelding Cross is the way to go, we should be able to be there by nightfall. Come, we will get you some meal and make our way steadily together.”
The young mountain goat named Aria looked up from their hooves; everything seemed to be in order.
“Gelding Cross?” Aria said. “Where are we now? Isn’t Gelding Cross high up on the mountains? We will have to climb, even higher up, to get there?” Aria began to shake uncontrollably and then remembered their breath. Ruhan watched, concerned, as the young mountain goat went through a strange ritual of composition.
“No no, I’m fine here. The wind brought me here and so it must be safe,” Aria finally said.
“It’s not… not safe,” Ruhan started, acknowledging this moment needed more care than first expected. “But the Terns are warning this area may receive rains, too. And with the conditions from last night, it’s safest to move to the highest ground, over the pass –”
“No, no,” Aria said, stumbling in her breath. “No. I’m fine, I’ll do just fine right here.”
Ruhan continued to look concerned. Yet another sheep broad-walked up to them.
“Ardon says its time we should go,” they said to Ruhan. “Are we to have another companion?” the somber sheep asked, glancing at the young mountain goat.
“They seem to wish to stay Ma’on…” Ruhan said out of the corner of their mouth.
“It will not be safe…” the sheep called Ma’on said, also concerned, glancing again at the young mountain goat again. “Did they extrapolate why?”
Ruhan shook their head, their whole face affected in worry.
“Let me try?” Ma’on offered fluidly, and moved toward the young mountain goat like a steady, gentle creek.
The sheep named Ma’on nipped from its side pack a piece of flat, grainy bread. With a small shell spoon it spread a creamy yellow substance across the crumbly offering and nudged it toward the young mountain goat.
“I know you are likely used to only grasses. These are both made from my sister, back home with our wild tribe. It’s very good. Baked under the earth. You should give it a try.”
The young mountain goat looked uncertain at the mixture, textured offering, but the patient eyes of Mo’an, and their own rumbling hunger, lead them to scarf down the lot of it. Mo’an smiled as the mountain goat was hit with the salty brine of creamy butter and the delicate, nutty, earthen flavor of the ground baked bread.
“Good, isn’t it?” Mo’an said.
The young mountain goat nodded and chewed, in a kind of acute, rich, indulgent bliss.
“There is plenty more for our travel. Is there a reason you wish to remain here? We will not make you come with us, but you should know, it is not the safest place you could be. We would like to help you.”
The young mountain goat named Aria swallowed and lift a hoof to their mouth. The creaminess of the spread lingered on their tongue, a comfort they hadn’t felt since…
“I’m afraid of heights,” Aria said, quietly.
Mo’an smiled and hung their head with some humbleness.
“Me too,” they said.
“You?” Aria asked, surprised. “You’re afraid of…? But how did you? But you’re here now…!”
“As are you,” the sheep named Mo’an said.
“But I had the wind. And I wouldn’t be here unless the storm had come through and the wind had helped me.”
“We wouldn’t be here either without certain help. Well, not exactly. We do travel, quite regularly, actually. Although we weren’t expecting to be here.
We left where we had been days ago. A dear Tern friend knows my fear of heights – knows I need to take the longer, slower routes, and gave us early warning of the storms.
They said they might be wrong but… It turns – oh! ‘Turns’... ‘tern’... that is funny… –” the sheep named Mo’an looked a little embarrassed about their interrupted discovery and continued, “But they were, in fact, correct.
We took their heed and had enough time to take the longer route to this sanctuary.
It does not bother my companions to move more slowly. In fact, they prefer the unrushed pace; to enjoy the passing scenery. To contemplate. To dawdle within our chosen direction.
And this allows me to feel like my fear… what some in our wild home herd view as an impediment… to be a gift. A different way of viewing and moving in the world. We take the windier, more spirolic paths on our journeys, so I never quite feel like I’m going up a hill. And then I reach the top and am even able to look out… and I am no longer afraid. Just… in awe. Proud. Humbled. And amazed at what I see, what we have been able to do, together.”
The young mountain goat named Aria glanced out beyond them, beyond the sheep named Mo’an, and for the first time took in the height they were at.
All out and across the way they could see pastures and mountains and even the Great Sea stretching out far beyond them. Yet, Aria felt a part of it in that particular moment. Awe swept their body and mind… there was no fear at all.
A smile broke across the young mountain goat's face. They looked back at Mo’an, their kind eyes still gazing back in open invitation.
“Ok,” the young mountain goat said. “I will travel with you.”
And travel they did.
Part III
The five companions kept to a path known and journeyed before, with markers of blue to guide their way to the safety they moved toward.
The young mountain goat startled, often. Not from their fear kicking up, but from their wonder. At one pass they gazed down into a river below where smoke rose up like a conjuring.
“Geothermal vents,” Ardon said, a satisfied knowing crossing their stalwart face as Aria looked in awe and confusion.
“What does that mean?” the young mountain goat asked.
“It’s one of the ways the earth breathes,” Naron chided, skimming past them.
“Naron,” Ruhan said surprised, “That is actually incredibly poetic…”
“I am nothing but a poet,” Naron flickered. The three sheep laughed. Aria the young mountain goat looked around at their new companions laughing, then looked back to the vents, and also released a laugh, in wonderment and shared belonging.
They all continued on, stopping now and again for a meal of bread and spread, Aria pointing out edible flowers they could add on top, and all of them sharing stories of their homes and places they had been before.
“You’ve been that far north…?” Aria asked in admiration as she bit into yet another slice of bread.
“I love the mountains,” Ruhan said, a whimsical joy filling her entire aura. “I adore the cold. I think I am destined to circle the very tip top of this entire globe we are on.”
“What about you, Aria? Where have you journeyed to?” Ardon asked, repacking their bag of hardy supplies.
“Oh I um…” Aria began, glancing at Mo’an. “My… impediment sort of keeps me in one place.
But I do adore that one place,” they quickly said. “The pasture where I’m from… it has soft grasses, beautiful wildflowers, and tall mountains I gaze upon and feel like I am a part of something larger than myself…”
“That is beautiful, Aria,” Mo’an said encouragingly.
“And look at how brave you are trying something new!” Ruhan said spiritedly. “Never before had you seen… what did you say, Naron? ‘The earth breathing’?” Ruhan brushed Naron’s shoulder in her own animated joke, “And now you have! You have tasted Lava bread and fine sheep’s spread. Have made new friends and just you wait til we get to the Gelding Cross – a gorgeous fall awaits us, stunning lupine stretching up the whole region, and you can see the snow capped towers of Vatna and Husa. They say when you see their peaks, you will be protected the rest of your days.”
“Until they fall down on you,” Naron roused. Ma’on laughed. Aria let out a real laugh too.
“Onward?” Ardon asked the group. They all nodded and finished the last of their meal, wiping their hooves on the ground and shaking off grasses that clung to them. Ardon took his place at the front and the four traveled behind, Ruhan next, with Naron and Ma’on alongside each other, matching gate for gaiety, and Aria filling the back, taking their time, feeling at ease and without pressure or urgency from their new found companions.
When they reached Gelding Cross the wind paused the young mountain goat in their steps.
“I am proud of you,” she said, brushing against her young friend with care. “You overcame your fears and found your way to true safety.
“Yes,” Aria said. “I am safe. Thank you for your push into this passage. I could not have done it without your support,” the young mountain goat glanced at their companions now making their final steps to the cross. “And I could not have done it without the care of my new companions. I did not think this passage would be possible. And here I am, on the other side, safe and even renewed. Thank you for your guidance and lift. Thank you for helping me find my strength and courage to try again.”
“I will always be here for you,” the wind said, gently.
“Aria!” Ruhan called from a distance away.
“Your father is here! He is worried sick about you. He is so relieved you are safe. Come, come – he has a bad hoof and needs to rest it. Come say hello to your father.”
Aria glanced up at the wind, who nodded her encouragement. “You know your strength,” the wind said. “Just because we have been harmed and abandoned in the past does not mean we have to return the sentiment. You know what you are capable of. Move forward, forgive and remember.”
“And I will be with you,” the wind said, as it brushed away, lifting Aria into the air for the tiniest moment and setting them down just as gently. Aria laughed. They looked out beyond the pass which they had spiraled slowly up. There was the gorgeous Steadifall before them, stretching, crashing, falling, roaring down in resplendent, other worldly wonder. There were the towering, snow capped twins, Vatna and Husa; still and stable goddesses, like limbic breathing statues, like a dreamland awaiting to be wished upon. And there out far beyond encircling it all was the Great Sea; a constant companion as Aria and their companions moved steadily through the rocks and grasses and flowers to their upward destination.
Aria would meet their herd. Would meet their father. Would introduce their new friends. Would share of the bread and the butter and their tale of the wind and rains, how they were saved by a cyclone and a group of four wild, slow-traveling sheep. The young mountain goat would return, and they would remember and tell of the care that held them, as they shifted into the text tale of their life.
Photography by Jessica M. Knightley
