Descending White Death Mountain: The Third Steps
Fear gripped Chaha as it stared at a goat taller than her, heavier than her, angrily snorting and lowering its head as if to charge.
If that hits me, dead. She thought. She held one hand out, and the other hand, she felt around her backpack. If any of that broke …, She shook her head, not even willing to think the thought. The Wild Chyangra saw her as a strange goat that already rammed him. Her willful denial was seen as a threat to charge again, challenging it for territory and mates. For this male, such a thing was unacceptable.
It reared up on its hind legs, kicking its front feet out, belting “Ger-m. RaAaAaAa!” It had no shame displaying to the world that it was a proud male defending its place before slamming into the ground again, bringing its head low.
“What do I do?” She asked herself.
Turn your body to the side. A memory responded, lasting only a moment. Wild Goats. Stubborn and afraid. Everything eats them. Charge at sudden movements. Still and slow things. Safe. A bald one with a thin yet long beard said that to her once. He liked giving her cheese, and the memory calmed her. She took a deep breath, inhaling a chill with snowflakes cooling her physically and mentally.
As she looked behind, steep slopes surrounded her. Slipping down would be fatal. She looked back at the goat slowly, and it did not approach her. She noticed right behind the goat was a path. It, too, was steep, but she could see herself walking down it to the trees below.
“How to get past you?” She asked herself.
The goat seeing her move slowly and away from it, rose its head. It stood its ground, as nothing was taking its territory from it. However, this weird thing was not coming closer. The beast was wary. Maybe this odd thing would not charge after its display.
Slowly she took her feet and shuffled to her right along the edge, scraping her tiny, worn brown shoes across the ground. The Chyangra, in response, slowly walked to her left, maintaining her distance. With every step dragged across the land, she could feel her heartbeat in her chest, screaming to run.
The goat suddenly screamed, “RaAaAaAa!” and quickly dashed towards her, closing the tiny gap in a moment.
Chaha screamed as well, fear taking her, and she fell backward, feet and hands scrambling away from the beast, too terrified to turn around and run.
However, where her feet scraped, the goat stopped and bent its head down, nose sifting through the upturned ground. It yanked its horned head back to reveal a large patch of black moss that it quickly devoured with worn teeth. It then walked closer to Chaha, and she could not move. The goat bit at her worn boot once and got a piece of moss stuck to it. It then turned around and went back to where it was before, staring at her with one eye.
Chaha slowly got up and carefully walked away from the goat, and as she got further and further from him, the goat relaxed more and more. He slowly laid himself down but did not fully relax until she finally reached the tree line.
She ducked behind the first tree she could and sighed in relief, saying, “I’m alive.” Compared to the goat, the forest with all of its trees seemed so much safer. “To my left is the road.” She breathed on her hands, the fingertips chilled, and yet hope warmed her heart. “The treeline is quarter way down the mountain. I might be able to make it soon if I don’t stop walking” Chaha then carefully walked her way down, weaving between the many trees. They were high enough up that what few trees could grow were small, stunted, bent and warped, from living in such a place. She had to step between withered Rhododendrons, bent Junipers, damaged Deodar Cedar, broken Chir pine, sad-looking Blue Pines, and Morinda Spruce. Yet, she could not hide her wonder. All she knew was the lifeless, cold halls, with her fellow sisters and the ever-watching maidens. There were some trees in the courtyard, but this steep mountainside was covered in trees. Trees she never saw before. Wonder and delight slowly wrapped around her, guiding her footsteps as much as the path down. For the first time in her whole life, she touched the trees beyond the fence.
As she walked to a stubborn tree, half of its branches broken off, bent to the side, something called to her. Even from a distance, she could see the short, stumpy pine needles, with a pale sky blue tinge to them. Carefully walking up to the tree, fingers touched the streaky, brown, and pale snow blue bark. It was rough, woody yet wonderful to her as it reminded her of those in the valley below. She gazed found a wound, golden-hued sap oozing from one of the broken branches. As if a cruel taunt, it was the only branch with new buds on the entire tree.
“Your Bleeding,” Chaha said, and upon closer inspection, she could see that the broken piece of the branch was barely attached by small, stubborn fibers.
Grabbing the dangling branch, she tried to put it back, whispering, “You can do it. You can make it.” For several minutes she stood there in the cold holding the branch in place, watching the sap slowly ooze out all over the wound. The world faded away into nothing more than this branch for Chaha.
She let go and sighed with relief as the branch stayed in place, said, “You did it. We can make it.” Like the sap, a golden, radiant smile flowed on her face. She hugged herself, and even though the coat, she could feel the scar on the left arm. For a brief moment, Chaha remembered a bitter disagreement with one of the sisters. The ice shard formed with a snap of the fingers and flew too fast. It cut deep into the flesh, leaving behind a pale white streak to this very day.
“We can make it.” She said to herself. She also remembered the hairy chinned adults that bandaged the wound, applying what they called a poultice to the injury. They cried while hugging her that day.
“Well, if we get a little help,” she added and went walking again, a grin following her down the mountainside.
On the top of the mountain, the bearded man in his personal ice prison moaned. Alone, except with the oldePatriarchlooked much older than before, due to the stress.
“I truly hope that Chaha is ok, Head Matriarch. I don’t know if I could forgive-“
“You wonder if you could forgive?!” the older woman stood up, fury flickering in her eyes. “Rich, coming from you, Head Patriarch!” she said, spitting out his title, “The blizzard is coming, and if that fool of a thing does not turn around, it’s only her fault!”
She walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
The man groaned and thought, I hope she turns back before reaching the forest. Caves, creatures, and climate are always searching for new lives to take on White Death Mountain.
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What an imagination that gives life to the characters of this story!! Keep writing…. 🙂