The Shepherd and the Goat

I’m falling.

My stomach lurches violently as a maelstrom of green consumes my vision. I hit the ground with a solid thud. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, and a little bit of urine from my bladder.

“AAahhh, damn you Newton!” I yell in pain and alarm.

Wait, recurring dreams have recurring outcomes, I usually wake up in bed.

Rolling around for a few minutes, cradling my arm until the aches begin to subside. I slowly digest my surroundings, only now realising I was in a forest. That explains all the twigs and leaf litter caught in my brown curly hair, I ineffectively comb it out with my hands.

Thick roots carpeted with emerald moss spread like bloated fingers. A gloomy eeriness hangs like mist in the air. Little light penetrates the canopy overhead, however, wisps of a soft green hue are visible all around. This strange ethereal glow offers the slightest illumination that helps define the edges of roots and trunks, it even allows you a peek into the darkest shadows, washing away the creepiness with a beautiful natural warm glow. The pleasant sounds of nature fill my ears, birds singing and insects buzzing. Unknown critters charge through the branches, their shapes hidden by the dense treetop. A soup of fear and wonder feeds my internal monologue.

Where am I? I need to get my bearings, ask a local. Looking down at my pyjamas, lounge pants and vest, feeling very exposed. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa because I am still wearing my trainers. Did I sleepwalk into this forest, then climb and jump out of a tree? Or is this my diagnosed dream disorder reaching a new extreme?

The sound of yelling and rustling bushes interrupts the debate, causing me to spin on the spot. Just in time to see an antelope charging through the bush, on its hind legs, and into my bruised side.

We go down in a tangle of limbs. The strange goat creature bleats with distress.

Before I can unwind myself from our involuntary embrace, the bush erupts from three scrawny boys led by a voracious hound.

"Oi prick, get yer hands off our game." yells one of the young lads.

I manage to push my body from the panicking creature, just in time to avoid large rotten teeth biting my ankle. The dog's mouth, frothing with saliva, changes target and clamps onto the fleshy calf of its original prey.

"Bbaaaaaaahhhh!" Screams the goat.

It starts kicking the scruffy dog’s head with its' free hoove in desperation.

With the hound so close to me, I realise it resembles an unhealthy border collie, its fleece patchy and thriving with lice. The protruding ribcage and filthy fur reflect a lifetime of neglect and abuse. The young boys circle the animal and start whacking with sticks, stabbing with pointed ends.

“Mother help, please help me!” screams the goat, its wild frantic eyes searching the treeline before locking with mine.

I’m in shock for a second, the tall sheep can talk. It sounds like a young woman and she’s begging for her mother. With the dog still clamped onto her leg and the boy's relentless assault, I stand up unnoticed, grasping a large stone in my hand.

“Leave her alone!” I yell at the back of their heads.

Clenching the jagged stone with no hint of intimidating bravado, the Pajamas aren’t helping.

One of the boy’s looks over his shoulder. “By Orda, this ere is our bounty, so piss off.” he snaps at me.

“Pleaseeeeeee!” the goat woman moans, covering her body from the beating as best she can. Her leg was red and raw from the dog’s vicious fangs.

I rush the lads, they’re only half my size and maybe a third of my weight. With the momentum of my short sprint, I kick the first one in the back using as much force as possible. He flies through the air, crashing into a second with a yelp of shock and pain. The third boy turns to me with his makeshift spear, but before he can use it. I open-palm slap him across the face. His light frame crumbles under my strength. I'm not a trained fighter, but I have kept fit and healthy my whole life.

The lads resemble children you would find in a Victorian-era workhouse. It’s not exactly fair, but neither is four on one and I'm not going to waste time arguing the moral high ground while they torture a frightened animal person.

The boy's head whips around sharply from the impact of my slap, his body follows the movement in a full corkscrew as he collapses to the forest floor.

The small hound, fixated on its prey, pays me no attention. Its mouth finally tastes blood and food for the first time in days, it’s shaking with anticipation of a decent meal. The dog doesn’t even look up as my arm swings through the air with the stone in hand. My full body goes into the movement, like a professional tennis player serving a ball. The stone connects solidly with the mutt's skull. It makes no sound as it's head caves in, blood and brain spraying the area. It was a ravenous beast, and although I’m a dog person I could see the wild fiend it had become and I wasn’t going to take any chances. The jaws slide off her mutilated leg as its body goes limp. The goat woman pulls herself into a protective ball as she quietly moans in pain.

“My dag… yah killed me daag.” The first boy I kicked squeals from the floor.

My heart is pounding from the short fight, adrenaline racing through me. Turning towards him, still wielding the bloody stone.

“I’ve hit you once, don’t think I won’t do it again.” I snarl at the little evil cretin.

I stand protectively over the goat woman, lifting the stone towards the boys.

They grab the unconscious lad between them and drag him towards the surrounding shrubbery.

“Order knows we’re in the right ere. Ye’ll bleed for tis” he yells from a distance he believes is safe. I throw the stone hard at them, hitting the small of his back. Crying out in fear, he abandons his friends to escape my fury. I watch them until their malnourished frames disappear amongst the bushes and glow of the forest.

I hear the goat woman crying softly, still curled in a ball. Looking at her destroyed leg, I see the flesh has been ripped away leaving exposed muscle and tendons.

“Those little Daemons,” I whisper to myself.

The goat stiffens at my words, she looks up to me with a petrified expression.

“Daemons?” she practically mouths the word, the sound barely audible.

Her whole body is stone still, no longer shaking from the pain.

“How else could you explain their behaviour?” I ask the goat woman.

I stare down at her in wonder. I'm talking with a goat. I observe her body now that we have a moment of peace. Her legs, like an antelope, are cloven hoofed and hock jointed. The doe’s body frame is humanoid, long and upright. Everything is covered in short light fur, except from the waist down where it darkens and thickens like she’s wearing trousers. Embedded in the thick hair is mottled green moss, particularly over her shoulders, back and head. Her eyes match the colour of the moss and the forest with a uniquely emerald depth. I see her hands tentatively exploring her mauled leg. Her face wet with tears reflects an adolescent woman, encroaching fur leaves a bare skin circle around her features. Long ears stick out the side of her head in alarm. Little stubby horns decorate the top. Her nose is wide and caprine. Underneath is a small, definitely human mouth, which trembles with fright.

“Are the Daemons near?” she whispers up to me.

“No, the boys have gone now.” I reassure her.

Lifting her head slightly, she looks towards the dead dog and then back at me.

“You saved me… Why? Why would you save a Satyr.” she asks, her confusion is evident.

She’s a Satyr, like from a folk tale. Where the hell am I? Something strange is going on here. It must be the dream disorder. Possibly a deep coma?

She continues to stare at me in wonder.

“Sorry I’m a bit lost right now, Did you say you are Satyr? Like a goat person?” I ask awkwardly, not sure how to form the question.

“We are not livestock! Our people’s knowledge and wisdom were once sought by humans.” She shouts with anger and disdain.

“My bad, I don't mean to offend you. I’m not from here.”- I indicate all around- “In fact where are we right now?” I question the Satyr, hoping to understand my predicament. She stares at me for a short while, not sure if I’m playing a cruel game or if I’m a bit mad.

“This is Silva,”- the Satyr gestures to the ground - “The forest and land. What settlement are you from?”

I should hold the truth close to my chest for now, if I start telling everyone I meet that I’m from another world it will draw a lot of attention and maybe the wrong kind. I am not even sure of my situation right now.

“England, I guess you haven’t heard of it.”

“Don’t assume we are stupid beasts, but no I have not heard of this land.” she practically snarls back at me. They’re used to some sort of prejudice from humans, what am I saying they hunted her through the woods and called her game.

“What country or landmass would you find Silva in?”

“This is my home, Silva is all I know. My tribe only travels within the forest and humans fear what is hidden amongst the trees. At least they used to. Maybe you should follow your kind back to their settlement and ask these questions?” She says it with pure intent to try and get rid of me, clearly suffering from trust issues. I look down at the mangled dog's head. I can’t blame her if this is how they treat Satyrs.

“Our likeness ends with our features, I can promise you that.” I say it with a quick kick to the dog to get my point across. This dramatic action triggers the strangest thing to happen all day.

A dull white luminescence appears on the corpse and is imbibed by my foot.

I jump back from the dog as a weird tingling sensation washes up through me.

“What the hell was that?” I shriek.

Runes appear in my peripheral vision, archaic and mystical, the strangest part is I can read them

Loyal / Hunger Spirit collected

The runes vanish before I have time to digest their meaning, the fall must have shaken my brain. The hallucinations are getting more intense.

I look over to the flabbergasted Satyr, I should find out her name if I want her to trust me.

“It's spirit. You just collected it. But… but you are of Order.” she says.

Brilliant, I think, I’ve ended up in a religious fantasy world created by C.S.Lewis.

“Spirit? Like a soul?” I’m going deeper into the rabbit hole with every passing minute.

“Spirit empowers. Humans do not collect from their own kind.”

Empowers. That can only be positive. The alien runes stated I had collected Loyal Spirit and Hunger Spirit, however, the Hunger part was almost redacted in a mental strikethrough.

“Well, firstly that’s a dog.” I point at the mangled corpse as another strange light raises out and above its flesh, hovering a foot above the ground. The ethereal glow contains flickering symbols that randomly alternate shape and colour. Similar in initial appearance to what was present in my peripheral, except this time I couldn’t translate them.

Still pointing at the mutt in shock. “What in Merlin’s wet dream am I looking at?”

“Have you lost your roots human? Or did the spirit corrupt your limited sight?” The suffering Satyr is not happy about lecturing on such juvenile subjects.

“Those changing symbols? Are they also Spirit?” I ask while pointing directly at the ever-shifting runes. The Satyr squints with mistrust.

“I see not what you speak of, is this another nasty human ruse?”

“Here, I swear they are right here.” I energetically point directly at the runes. How can she not see them?

“Describe these ‘symbols’ to distract me from my pain.” She mutters through clenched teeth.

How do I describe them without sounding completely insane?

“There are several runes that change randomly, both shape and colour. Two are white and they show for a few seconds. The others flick through almost too quickly to see.” I explain the strange sight as best I can. I must be witnessing a magical event or having a stroke. I'm hoping for the former.

“I don’t know the ways of Order. I assure you, no Satyr sees these things.”

Magic. I repeat the word over and over. Who hasn’t wanted to believe in magic at some point in their lives? I am empowered by the Spirit apparently, that was simple, though I don’t feel more powerful. These runes could offer me more. If they appear only for me, it’s for a reason. Hell, I'll take anything I can to escape this Silva. What if this is an exit? A way home. I reach towards the hovering runes, the ethereal aura radiating onto my hand.

I hesitate.

What if the symbol I touch matters? The white ones linger around for a few seconds, the blue rune only a second. The purple is gone in a blink. However, the final two runes. Red and gold, flicker like a strobe light at a rave. Took me a while to even register the gold light showing at all.

Go for gold.

I observe the pattern, memorising the timings. I'll have to start moving my hand as the purple comes to an end. Two more cycles flash before me, entrancing my desires.

“Human not all things should be tampered with, a colourful berry warns our eyes to the hidden danger.” States the Satyr from her foetal position, her breathing finally slowing from the traumatic event.

A warning. Magic is probably more complex than our most advanced technologies. What if it isn’t an exit but a magic sign saying ‘Here lies a dead dog!’ Or the runes indicate a spiritual parasite is living inside the manky hound's soul. I could think of a hundred thousand hypotheses. Let's face the simple fact that I may as well be interpreting ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics while blind and high on acid.

But, something in my loins tells me this is key. Key to wielding magic or taking me back to my world. Or I just really want it to be.

I time the shifting cycle and snap my hand out like a praying mantis on an unfortunate golden bug. My fingers brush the alien letters and the cosmic image flashes and disappears.