A Brumby’s Best Friend
Reading can be exceedingly dangerous.
For example, one of the serfs was nearly executed when I overheard him telling the Pharaoh that his son Sadiki had been lost in a book for days.
Yes, very dangerous stuff reading. And it’s obvious that it ruins your eyes. Nearly everybody who reads wears a pair of glasses!
But take a risk. This bird knows adventure!
Part One
“Mooooooooove!”
Oh, that.
Don’t mind Harry.
That’s just his way of saying, “Coming through!”
Though, you’d think the snapping branches and scattering mammals would be a sure sign to the other Brumbys to make room for us down at the watering hole.
Harry can be a little excessive.
It’s nice to be the friend of the largest Horse in the community. He and I have a symbiotic relationship of sorts. I preen the louse, grubs, and occasional spider from his coat and he makes sure I get the respect I deserve.
The land of Duskiny isn’t all that bad. They missed the memo at the last two turns of the century. However, the gnats and the dust are a trifle compared to the horrendous heat back in Egypt.
The other birds are okay, though some have a tendency to be a little risky. Carl likes to call it bravery. I just think it’s dumb.
What? At least, I can admit that I was born with brains instead of brawn!
I know, I know, most people think it’s the parrots with all the brains. But, if you had known Polly as well as I, well, let’s just say there was a reason the pirates were always shoving oversized crackers into his beak!
I prefer to minimize risk. Hence, the reason for tagging along with the largest horse in Terra Austris. It’s also why I used to spend a lot of time in books. Albeit mostly for the worms.
Other people could minimize risk as well, if only they would read books.
Of course, reading can be risky business in and of itself.
Take Omari for example. He was the Pharaoh’s late advisor. Omari was found at the bottom of a cliff along the Danube, his nose still buried in the spine of a self-help book, ‘A study in alertness and the pitfalls of gravity.’
Then, one of the serfs was nearly executed when I overheard him telling the Pharaoh that his son Sadiki had been lost in a book for days.
Yes, very dangerous stuff reading. And it’s obvious that it ruins your eyes. Nearly everybody who reads wears a pair of glasses!
No. No. These are for my near-sightedness.
A Twit doesn’t need glasses to show off his intelligence. You can look in all sorts of books these days and find the term ‘bird-brained’ any number of times.
It’s a Twit’s obvious acclaim.
If only there were books here on Terra Austris like there were back in Egypt, I could show you. But, no one reads here. The mix of species is a bit diverse so we tend to communicate using semi-moral quandaries.
That is, we do our best to understand one another.
Though usually, by the time one realizes that they’ve have had a misunderstanding, one guy is feeling a bit less hungry, and the other, all of a sudden, becomes much more agreeable, especially to the stomach.
That is unless you happen to be Spurge, who is never agreeable.
Spurge is rumored to be the most regurgitated insect in the stinkbug family. It’s been said that his taste and smell are so foul that his opinion is always held in high regard.
But personally, I don’t think anything could smell any worse than Carl.
He’s been on a mission to bravely breach the canopy of the forest.
Ugh. Here he comes now.
“Niceum um to seem yaumum Cecil mm, hhm, hmm.”
Don’t worry, we actually speak the same language. He’s just being rude.
“You really shouldn’t talk with food in your mouth, Carl. You know what they say about meal worms. They have sensitive ears. No need to torture them needlessly. You’re already stinking them to death.”
Slluurrp.
“Uem. Sorry. That’s better. A few meal worms always help quaff the flavor of the dung.”
…and here comes Jeff.
When Carl shows up, you can always count on Jeff being not far behind. You know what they say about birds of a feather. But, at least Jeff has a bit better taste in meals.
“What’s that?” Jeff asked.
“Oh nothing,” I said. “Just commenting on Carl’s unusual desire to enter into one orifice what has exited through another. Apparently meal worms help.”
Carl hopped down from Harry’s shoulders to where we were perched at the hind end. If you’re hitching on Harry, it’s the best spot to nab a fly.
“You’ll see. Both of you, when I’m flying out above the forest — ”
Carl’s always so sure of himself. “ — Can either of you even reach the branches of the great pine?”
“Oh, he’s on again about Harry’s magical diet, eh?” said Jeff, bobbing opposite of me in accordance with the Brumby’s canter.
“The great pine? Unless there’s breath mints up there, I don’t see why you would want to fly away. We have everything we need down here.”
That was about when Harry chimed in.
“You are what you eat. Have a bit of my dung with every meal and you’ll be as strong as a horse. Trust me.”
“You see?” said Carl. “Harry’s the strongest on the island. A little bit of his excrement is like… what are those things you called them, yesterday?”
“Steroids?”
“That’s it. Avian steroids,” Carl seemed even more sure of himself at the statement, as if that were possible.
As we neared the water, I felt more uneasy. Of all the stories I have read and throughout my experiences, anytime someone says, ‘trust me,’ something terrible always happens.
Probably due to the fact that what they are asking you to do is listen to them based on no factual reasoning whatsoever.
“I’ll bet one more serving is all it will take!” said Carl.
Jeff grimaced at that.
“That’s good because, well, we’re your friends, Bud, but one more serving is about all we can take.”
Part Two
The other horses departed as Harry sauntered up to the edge of the water. One suspicious looking crocodile turned tail and swam off when he reconsidered the sudden change in the size of his potential meal.
It’s fortunate to have friends like Harry, Jeff, and yes, even Carl at times. Down here, under Harry’s feet is the safest place on the shoreline. The other birds are always a nervous wreck. Besides Matilda, I mean.
Look at her, out there on that crocodile’s back. I guess lack of water wouldn’t be an issue while hanging out like that. Though, I do wonder what it is that she eats. Crocodiles don’t carry lice you know. Though come to think of it, I didn’t think they carried birds either.
Talk about keeping your enemies close.
“Jeff, you really shouldn’t wander that far from Harry.”
Now I’m the one talking with my mouth full.
I’d thought there had been a strange absence of Jeff’s lunchtime banter.
There’s Carl back there waiting on his next meal to exit beneath Harry’s tail —
And, there it comes.
SPLAT!
“Ug. How do you eat that, Carl?”
“Well, comparatively this is quite pleasant,” he says between nibbles. “I once had a run in with a particularly distasteful beetle. Ever since losing that argument, I seem to be able to stomach about anything.”
“Ech. Don’t you think Jeff is being a bit risky?”
I’m telling you, these birds need books in their lives.
“I could have sworn he was right behind me.”
I take back my previous statement. You can normally find Jeff close behind Carl, except when Carl is close to the behind of Harry.
I have to give it to Harry. They say that the more brawn you have the less room you have for brains, but it takes a real thinker to trick an avian into becoming a walking, talking, pooper scooper.
“Don’t worry about Jeff, the crocodiles have to eat too ya know,” says Harry.
You see! As strong or as smart the brumbys may be, their lack of appreciation is insufferable.
Harry should be thankful that Jeff helps keep his coat so bug-free. Cleanliness is godliness you know? Though ask any brumby and they will tell you that we are simply paid laborers.
And that’s fine, working for food was never beneath me. In fact, the food I’m working for is nearly always beneath me.
“Really Harry, you should consider the service we provide.”
Harry lifted his leathery snout from the copper-tinged water of the pond in angst.
“You mean the bedtime stories?” he asked.
“What on Earth can you mean? We Twit’s are known for our intelligent conversation.”
“Oh? I always thought the things you say at length were intended to help me nod off. Well, it must be the all-day back scratching, then?”
“I suppose my nails could use a trim.” He always has the advantage when I’m under hoof. “No, I mean — “
“Or is it the constant jabbering away? I suppose that could be called a service, as it keeps away company of any sort.”
That drew from me a quizzical look, “Well, I would suspect that Carl’s breath may have something to do with that dilemma — ”
then back to the subject at hand, “ — No, Harry. The Gods!”
“Do you know that I haven’t had a decent conversation with an equine female since last spring?” asks Harry, as he makes a tight turn between a wallaby and a wild pig.
“Right, right. But have you had any trouble from the Gods?”
Harry looked rather thoughtful, well, as thoughtful as a horse can look.
“I wouldn’t think I would know either way.”
Harry’s hoof stomps square in the middle of the lovely patty Carl had been nibbling on.
Both of us take up the rear as Harry makes to depart. Lighting near the tail.
“What a waste of a good meal,” says Carl smartly.
“I can’t believe you are so gullible.”
“What’s gullible?” asks Harry as he plods by two crocodiles and up toward the trailhead.
“Carl. Carl is gullible,” I said.
Nearby, where Jeff was wringing a legless lizard from the shoreline, a crocodile eased its jaws open. Its tongue was practically hanging out in expectant ecstasy.
“Gullible means what you’re telling someone is a total croc of…”
The crocodile stopped mid-bite and its pupil shot arrows of accusation in my direction.
Jeff took the opportunity to narrowly escape with his life.
“Eh. No offense to the crocodiles,” I said while wringing my wings together, “just a turn of phrase.”
The crocodile missed its meal and slid back into the swamp only slightly disappointed.
“Like Harry says, you’re not the best at making friends,” says Jeff perching next to Carl.
“What it means, is that eating a pound of Harry’s poop is not going to make you any stronger!”
There, finally right to the point.
“Well, we’ll just find out who is the gullible one when we make it to the great pine. Besides, it’s common knowledge, you know? What doesn’t kill you and all.”
“In Carl’s defense,” offered Jeff, covering his nose with some feathers, “he is definitely stronger…
er… smelling.”
Part Three
The great pine really is a magnificent sight.
It stands atop a mound which only adds to its height. Blue skies can be seen through sparse needles at its top. It’s as if the rest of the woods were afraid to impose on the great pine’s domain.
Harry was busy rubbing his backside on the bark. Jeff was holding a wing aloft to shield himself from falling debris, and Carl had flapped his way up to the lower branches of the conifer as some testament to his new found strength.
“I’m going now!” harped Carl from above.
Then, once Harry had satisfactorily scratched his hind end, he circled the pine and lay down right there in the dirt for a rest.
They do that, ya know?
It is a misconception that horses sleep standing up. While they do have that amazing ability, they also enjoy a nice lay on occasion. On such occasions, we twits and egrets have to do our best on the ground. Well, everyone save Carl who had been eating his way to freedom.
“I’m going now!” Carl harped again, clearly wanting an audience as he departed on his virgin voyage.
“We’ll miss you, Carl!” said Jeff, high-footing it among the roots of the tree and craning his neck up to see.
Then, the strangest thing happened.
At first, I thought it was Harry’s snoring.
Carl was making great progress. One or two branches at a time; He climbed higher and higher toward where the sunlight breached the canopy.
It sounded like theme music. Something I hadn’t heard since way back on the pirate ship. As Carl climbed, the distinct sound of a base drum beat out a rhythm that only intensified what Jeff and I were witnessing.
With every branch, the drum beat grew in volume and cadence.
Jeff was captivated.
“He’s going to make it!”
As if the whole thing had reached a brilliant climax, the sun broke through the clouds and shone bright down on Carl as he breached the canopy. The drums had reached a furious march like a double bass at full throttle.
The light embraced all of his plumage as he finally flew up and beyond.
I could almost envision the look in Carl’s eyes when he first took to wing in the bright radiant beam of sunlight. But the truth was, his look was probably one of sheer terror, because it was then that the talons of a Peregrine falcon seized our late friend Carl from the sky.
The drum beat ceased.
No sound but the fading, “Iiiiiieeeee…” of our beloved Carl’s last surprise, and of course, the fading smell of fecal matter.
What would have been a legendary decree for an egret had been snuffed out over a Falcon’s quick spot of lunch.
“Oh, dear!” I cringed.
Jeff, suddenly jarred awake from the enchantment of it all and we looked at one another in a brief moment of quiet horror.
Harry, gently lifted his head in only slight interest. That big black marble of an eye reflecting the Peregrines circling ascent.
“Shame, that,” he said before resting his nostrils back onto the shady turf.
“Shame that?” accosted Jeff. “Carl was bloody knapped by a raptor! So, much for your advice, Harry!”
“P’rhaps he shoulda had two servings on Wednesday?” replied Harry lazily.
“Did ya see that, Cecil?” asked Jeff. “That was almost legendary.”
I couldn’t say I was overly surprised, as I had been nearly eaten by a falcon myself, and would have been, if I hadn’t been eaten by the whale.
“Well, I suppose that’s what you get when you let someone feed you a load of horse crap.”
At that, an abrupt snort emanated from Harry’s nostrils sending a drift of red dust into the air. It may have been the only time I ever heard him laugh.
Then Jeff, after another moment of aghast shock, was back to pecking about at the great pine’s base again, Harry was back into the controlled breathing pattern of a professional napper, and I, well I knew that those two were going to have a beautiful relationship from here on out.
And here’s that primal selfishness.
I’ve read somewhere that it is the reptilian brain which helps us cope with loss, but I am convinced through experience that it is more likely the avian one.
Birds are all the same. Take penguins for example. The poor egg wouldn’t hatch if the father didn’t take a vacation and stay home for three months. The mother just sods off and leaves it behind. Always thinking about themselves, birds.
Sometimes, I miss my old friends from Egypt. Well, by friends I mean Marcus. He was good for a decent conversation, but most importantly, at least he could be trusted. And he was a bloody cat!
Now, just where were those drums coming from? If Carl and Jeff are complete imbeciles there may just be more intelligent species in Terra Austris than they’ve let on?
Strange, the light from Carl’s ascendance has suddenly disappeared, and the general gloom of the forest has overtaken things again. And, there’s that drumbeat.
Almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Coming from that reddened path there right south of the mound.
What doesn’t kill you… right? I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time that a bird had been duped around here. Let’s just see what this is all about.
I say, it is getting dark underneath this trellis of vines, but there is definitely a clearing up ahead and the drums are getting louder. There really is something diabolical to be said about the contrast of greens and reds.
Is… that… shadows dancing? Human shadows?
“Cecil!” Screamed a threatening flurry of feathers, while bursting into the pathway in front of me.
“By God, Matilda. I’ve nearly laid an egg!”
She looked only a bit apologetic, but her distress wasn’t going to outweigh my own.
“By my beak, I tell you Carl was just plucked from the sky by a Peregrine, and I swear there’s people down there stoking a fire. I’ve seen the shadows and heard the drums.”
No sense in trying to save face, she’d scared me senseless.
Her face softened a little when she’d realized I was on my butt in the dirt and she reached a wing out to assist me.
“Sorry, Cecil,” she said as I pulled myself up by the beak, “but you really shouldn’t go down there.”
I looked past her at the shifting light of an obvious fire. She probably thought it was a wildfire, going to engulf the continent and we all should RUN!
“It’s okay, Matilda. I know things. There’s no danger here, they will contain the fire — “
She gave a look that I could not discern.
“ — They’ve made it intentionally!” I insisted.
I was getting more excited by the second that I may have found some beings that might actually share in social and moral quandaries again. And books, there might be books!
Cautiously, I wedged my beak beneath her wing and between a frond, easing by to get a bit closer to the action.
I was trying my best to insult as little of her intelligence as possible. But, she was relentless.
“Cecil!” she said, “You’re just going to be disappointed.”
But, Twit’s do it better, I know what I am doing. Besides, she’s a woman. And you know what they say about women.
Not that they always have to be right!
The other thing!
The End
In Closing
Thanks for Enjoying
A Brumby’s Best Friend
By: Jay Horne
Find more of Cecil’s adventures and other works by the author wherever books are sold.
Specifically,
Twits Do It Better
It stars our bird, Cecil, as he rides along the shoulder of a native Duskin named Garuk. He recounts his entire tale of migration and quickly finds himself in hot water. Friends are not always what they seem.
But, on a brighter note, one twit may realize that Love is truly for the birds.
Available now, wherever books are sold!