The only thing worse than the dusty ocean of prickly cacti was the uncertainty that came with nightfall.
The goat knew this well. When its herder failed to return prior to sundown, survival became the animal’s primary objective.
I can hear the howls already. I only hope they’re few in numbers.
Hungry and in need of hydration, the goat’s attempts to locate a secure shelter proved fruitless. The hills were too widespread, the trees scarce, and any caves were absent of human scent. By the time full darkness had settled over the desolate land, the sparkling stars were hardly a viable source of illumination for further travel. The goat could do little but stop and lay down where it stood, hoping deep sleep would see it meet the ‘morrow’s sunrise unscathed.
Maybe the predators will avoid this area. Stranger things have happened.
Stranger, perhaps. But the strangest of all? That was a sudden appearance of the most ghastly creature the goat had ever seen. The beast resembled an overgrown lizard, its green, leathery exterior complemented by sharp quills protruding out of its back. The reddish eyes were the first thing the goat noticed in the absolute darkness.
“What have we here,” the creature said, snickering. “You look tastier than the little one I sucked dry yesterday.” The goat rose in an instant, standing to full alert. If only its hooves could carry it away as swiftly, it likely would have fled.
“Let me be,” the goat said. “Please.”
“Ha!” the beast replied in its slithery, slimy manner.
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m asking you to.”
“That’s not how this works. I’m the predator, you the prey. The prey makes no demands.”
“Then make this the one exception.”
The beast’s snickering continued. “Why are you out here all alone? Where is your human?”
“He left.”
“Left his stock at the mercy of the wild? How irresponsible.”
“He’s got a family to look after. I’m merely an—”
“I don’t really care,” the creature said. “All I know is, I’m famished. And you’re full of that sweet nectar that makes my quills tingle.”
“I’m famished, too. But you don’t hear me threatening you.”
The beast’s cackling intensified, resembling that of a frantic hyena. It echoed extensively across the desert, disrupting even the comatose cacti from their deep slumber. “As if you would,” the creature said. “Or could.”
It may have been the desperation, or the helplessness the goat was under. Or perhaps its eyes had become so accustomed to the dark that it could clearly see the beast’s ferocious fangs. They glistened like prickly blades under pale moonlight. When the creature charged, the goat did what it had to. Lowering its head just enough, it waited for the beast to get mere inches from it before raising its head into the creature’s belly. The aggressor emitted a high-pitched shriek, while the goat grunted in delayed relief. Its horns were covered with blood darker than ink. The creature roared in pain as the goat pulled its antlers out of its mushy stomach.
“Y-y…y-ou…” The beast struggled to speak as its eyes were extinguishing, like fragile flames in the desert breeze.
“You should’ve let me be.” the goat said.
“Y-y-you’re… I d-didn’t k-know… I…” The beast exhaled its last breath, and gradually bled out.
The ensuing sunrise projected the goat’s silhouette across the parched earth. In lieu of a quadrupedal mammal, the shadow was of a bipedal figure, walking on its two hind legs, leaving a scorched trail in its wake. Nothing would ever grow there again.
Barlow Crassmont has lived in the USA, Eastern Europe, Middle East and China. When not teaching or writing, he dabbles in juggling, solving the Rubik’s Cube, and learning other languages.
He has been published by British Science Fiction Association, Mobius Blvd, Amsterdam Quarterly and in the 41st anthology of Writers of the Future.