RAW KINGDOM

The Story

High in the Mountain

The two walked the whole day long, and the forest rose about them—higher, darker, and ever more solemn. Firs and pines stood like dusky pillars, while aspens and birches whispered with pale leaves in the dimming light. In the black-green boughs of the pines hopped bright birds with curious, curved beaks, bent like the bills of distant parrots. They busied themselves tearing open the cones and pecking at the resin-scented seeds within.
Yoshi asked them which was the right way, but they were too busy to answer. Soon the companions met a troop of squirrels, chattering and friendly as before. These told them that the birds were called crossbills, and that when such creatures died, their flesh hardly decayed at all, for they lived upon seeds steeped in strong pine resin.

“You will meet the wild roosters higher up the slope,” the squirrels added, flicking their tails. “Proud folk they are, and full of themselves. Do not expect them to spare you even a glance.”

And so it was that, upon entering the deepest and most shadowed heart of the pinewood, Thumbelina and Yoshi beheld a strange sight. Great birds of gray-black plumage stood silent and still among the high boughs of the pines and firs, where tatters of dark moss hung like old, forgotten banners. The birds only lifted their heads a little, gazing down with a slow and absent air at the small commotion of our travelers far below.
These were the wild roosters of the forest. A few had descended to the needle-strewn ground, where they wandered with the calm, deliberate steps of farmyard hens, moving between the trunks as though they had long claimed the place for their own. Now and again they pecked thoughtfully at some hidden seeds, caring nothing for the two companions who watched them in quiet wonder.

At the edge of the forest our friends met the deer.
They were a whole family - a father, a mother and two fawns.
The father walked very proudly, with his head held high and listening, moving his ears in all directions. On his head were beautiful pointed horns that stood there like a crown. He looked stern, tense, ready to run away with his family at the slightest danger.
The deer were lying under the overhanging branches of a pine tree. Their beds looked like small holes dug by their hooves. Yoshi and Thumbelina had scared them and made them get up.
The Stag was angry that such insignificant animals had disturbed the peace of his family. He sniffed the turtle with his black nose, snorted angrily and waved his horns in a threatening way. The hedgehog got almost kicked by the deer.

“Where are you going, you little peanuts?” said the Stag.

Yoshi began, haltingly at first, to recount all their perils and small victories upon the lonely paths. Yet of all the forest-folk gathered there, only the Deer listened with true heed. The Stag, their father, stood somewhat apart beneath a leaning pine; now he bent to lick his bruised knee, and now rubbed his broad, many-branched antlers against the bark, so that a low creaking tremor passed through the tree. And near him a young buck, on whose small brow two tender buds had begun to swell, copied each gesture with a solemn pride, as though the promise of his future crown already weighed upon him.

“It is a marvel how you have remained alive,” said the Deer at last, and compassion shone in her great dark eyes—deep and gentle, like pools untroubled by wind. “Did you not cross the path of the Wild Cat? Only yesterday she sprang upon one of my fawns. It was a cruel meeting. But the father was near at hand, and with a single kick of his rear legs he sent her rolling. She hissed like a cinder in the fire, and her threats were as many as the shadows under the pines.”

“That’s how he kicked her,” said the young stag, his voice bright with reckless pride. And before his mother could fathom his intent, he darted forward and dealt poor Thumbelina a sharp kick with his rear feet.

“Alas! Such unmannerly conduct!” cried the Doe, and tears—hot with shame and sorrow—gathered in her gentle eyes. Never had she imagined that her own fawn could harbor such rudeness in his heart.

“Come back this instant! Let me chastise you—and beg pardon on your behalf!” she called after him. But the youngster was already fleeing, swift as a brown shadow between the tree-boles.

“See to him, will you?” she implored the Stag.

“He is a wayward one,” said the Stag, calm as the deep forest roots. With a few mighty bounds he overtook the fleeing fawn, guided him firmly back, and set him before his mother, who bade him offer his apology to Thumbelina until the ill moment was somewhat eased.
When silence returned and tempers cooled, the Stag turned to the hedgehog with a grave and steady gaze.

“Mark me well,” he said. “Take the narrow trail that winds down to the lowest saddle of the mountain ridge. From there you may cross to the other side. Beyond, the slope falls bare and steep; you will find an easy descent to your own field. But beware the Wild Cat that prowls those ways. And should you pass any of our kin—the deer of the high forests—give them our greetings.”

“And how shall we know them?” asked Yoshi, his small voice carrying a tremor of wonder.

“Oh, they are so impressive and so representative that you would feel their presence long before they came into sight,” answered the Deer, her voice low as though she spoke of some ancient and distant kin. “Far greater are they than we. The stags bear upon their brows vast crowns of horn, gnarled and strong, with which they contest the mastery of their glades. And the females are like me, without horns. They are called hinds. That is their company.”

“You speak overmuch of them,” added the Stag after a while, with a shake of his head. “For they are a very proud and keep to their own. They will not know us, nor bend their heads in greeting.”

So Yoshi and Thumbelina bade farewell to the Deer and went on their road. Higher and ever higher they climbed upon the mountainside, where the forest thinned and the trees grew older, standing like forgotten wardens of some elder age. Beneath those towering trunks the two small travellers seemed but faint and fleeting shapes, as if the mountain might swallow them without ever taking note. A chill of helplessness fell upon their hearts.
Yet now and then some little sign of life greeted them—a squirrel running through the boughs like a flicker of shadow, or a jay crying out in shrill indignation as it flung pine cones after them, its voice echoing long among the branches. On a tall beech Yoshi beheld a great wood-pigeon, broad of breast, with a white collar shining like a sliver of moonlight and pale feathers glinting on its wings. It cooed with a deep, throbbing tone that seemed to fill the quiet air.
The hedgehog stated, that he knew the bird. “A Wood Pigeon!” he murmured, for he had crossed paths with it before, gleaning fallen grain together in the stubble fields of seasons past.
Another bird soon drew their wandering eyes—a great black woodpecker, sable as the deep places of the forest, with a crown marked by a single flame-red patch, as though some ember of a dying fire yet smouldered there. It gave a shrill cry that quivered through the stillness, and its broad wings beat the air with a noise like the snapping of dry twigs.
Before long Yoshi and Thumbelina strayed into the midst of a merry wandering host of birds: long-tailed tits no larger than walnuts, bright kinglets flitting like sparks, and many woodpeckers besides. At their head went a pied woodpecker, bold and tireless, and the whole feathered company followed in his wake as though he were some chieftain of their kind.
From tree to ancient tree he passed, driving his beak into rotting trunks with a sound like small hammers in a dark workshop. With deft flicks of his long tongue he drew forth pale worms and creeping maggots from hidden hollows. The little tits and their kin swarmed behind, eager and unashamed, finishing whatever morsels the woodpecker’s haste had left behind. So the forest seemed, for a brief hour, less silent and strange, alive with the soft fluttering of wings and the cheerful chittering of tiny voices beneath the dim canopy.
The Spotted Woodpecker, swelling with no small pride, tapped his beak upon a crooked bough and declared, “That great bird with the crimson crown is of my own kin.” His words came in answer to Yoshi, who had asked after the shrill cry now fading into the misty gulfs of the mountains. “Ours is no meagre house,” he went on. “Beside myself and the solemn Black Woodpecker, there dwells yet another in these woods—a slight fellow, but keen of tongue. They call him Rusty, for his voice hisses like wind through reeds.”
So the feathered company wheeled and danced upon the air, following the Spotted Woodpecker down into a quiet valley. There they parted with many cheerful trills, and once more the two companions were left to their wandering. Evening was drawing its dim cloak over the highlands. The fog thickened, coiling like pale smoke among the trunks. High upon the crags the eagles circled—vast shadows gliding in and out of the tattered hems of the clouds, vanishing at one heartbeat and returning at the next.
Little by little the forest waned. The trees grew stunted and sparse, bowing beneath age and wind. In the open glades, between low fir and thorny juniper, great shoulders of granite jutted forth, blue as old steel in the failing light. The way became harsh, for the briars clutched at fur and skin, and the ground was strewn with hidden roots. Yet even here the wanderers found a welcome bounty: blueberries, deep-blue and glistening like drops of dusk. They gathered them gladly, and ate until the sweet, cool juice eased their weariness and refreshed their spirits.
As soon as she had eaten, Thumbelina felt the weight of sleep upon her, gentle yet irresistible. She snugged herself among a scatter of stones, slipping into the narrow hollow of her trough as though seeking the embrace of the earth itself. Yoshi lay down beside her.
The night was cold and heavy with damp, and the old mountain murmured in its ancient tongue. From the deep-clad forests came the endless sigh of boughs that had stood for centuries; afar, the streams roared in their stony beds, and high above, the wind ran fleet through the treetops like a wandering spirit seeking forgotten paths.
Before falling asleep, Yoshi cast his thoughts back over the long road they had trod that day, and reckoned with a weary heart that still many miles lay ahead. The mountain loomed over them—dark, immense, and unfriendly—and its shadow seemed to press upon his courage. He drew his limbs close, curling himself into a small, tight ball, and so at last drifted into uneasy slumber, his heart as heavy as the night that wrapped them.

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