moni uddin

The Secluded Village

The pleasant comfort of a bed was something Sable had not felt in a long time, not until he arrived at the secluded village. As he drifted in and out of sleep, he could feel his body begin to heal, resting deeply for the first time since he left Mowton. He promised himself he would never take a bed for granted again.

Blurry figures moved quietly around him, their shapes muted in his half-sleep. He caught glimpses of trays being set down and then taken away, each movement carrying a careful dignity. Some of these figures had horns, while others did not. They were bringing food and water, but exhaustion anchored him to the bed. The simple act of resting was all he wanted for now.

When he finally awoke, he was greeted by the distant sound of children’s laughter drifting in from outside. Rays of sunlight slipped through small holes in the shack’s roof, illuminating a rotting wooden frame draped with mould. The shack was sparse—besides the bed, there was a single chair and a bucket in the corner, each object worn and scarred by time. The place seemed to whisper of hard years and hidden stories.

“We don’t have much,” came a voice from a dark corner. Sable jolted upright as a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a cattlefolk, an old brown cow dressed in simple rags, her faded white spots dotting a wrinkled, ancient face. “But it wasn’t always like this. These lands were beautiful once. Our village used to thrive.”

Sable nodded and his silent gaze softened with understanding.

“My name is Tess,” she said, stepping closer. Her eyes were sharp with curiosity as she looked him over. Her frame was gaunt, frailer than most cattlefolk that passed through Mowton, and she leaned heavily on a wooden walking stick, each step slow and careful. “I see . . . you can’t speak, can you?”

Sable shook his head.

“You were born this way,” Tess said, more as a statement than a question, her insight remarkable. “Well, make sure you eat up. You’ll need your strength if you’re planning to go wherever you’re headed. You’ve rattled the spirit of one of our ancient protectors . . . now the source of our troubles.”

Sable’s ears perked up, his curiosity sharpening. He glanced at the bowl of vegetable stew on the floor beside him. It was thin, with only a few pieces of green floating in it. But the promise of a story held more appeal than the food.

“I don’t blame you, but that’s all we can offer for now,” Tess said, noticing his look. “This is Horntree village, once a thriving crossroads. We sat on a key path connecting the south with the north, welcoming traders and visitors from far and wide. But as we grew, we neglected the land and our spirit grounds. One day, a terrible roar echoed through the village—the spirit bull had returned to reclaim the land. Overnight, tall grass sprang up all around us like thick weeds, trapping us here. Anyone who tried to hunt the beast or escape never came back.” She sighed, glancing toward the thin walls of the shack. “Few cattlefolk remember it now . . . what led to it. Some, like Apollo, think we should fight back.”

Sable felt the weight of her words. His journey to the Blue Mountain now seemed distant as he felt tangled in the village’s plight. Sable looked toward the shack’s entrance, where the door should have been—a worn piece of fabric fluttered in the breeze.

“You’re free to explore,” Tess said. “But you have a choice to make, little cat. Not many here believe my ramblings. If, by chance, you can help us see that healing the land may be the way forward, you would be doing us a great service.”

With a soft nod of gratitude, Sable rose from the bed and stepped out of the shack, realising they had given him the best room they could offer. In the village centre stood a stone well, surrounded by the cattlefolk’s homes that stood in a loose, uneven circle. Everywhere he looked, he saw boarded windows, lopsided rooftops, and walls cloaked in moss and decay. Two calves chased a frightened mouse around the well with a stick, stopping suddenly when they noticed Sable. They ducked behind the well, sneaking curious glances at the strange visitor.

Beyond the central area, Sable saw a few oxen labouring in small, ragged fields while the tall grass loomed in the distance, its brown tips ever-present like silent sentries. As he wandered, the cattlefolk watched him in silence. Some stopped their work to glance his way, while others continued carrying water or stacking firewood, their focus wholly on survival. A few sat on the ground, their gazes fixed downward, lost in quiet despair. They were all thin, much thinner than the cattlefolk who would pass through Mowton from time to time. 

A pang of appreciation stirred in Sable’s heart. He thought of his own village, of the morning markets, the lively debates, the familiar faces. He had taken those comforts for granted. Now, he saw them with new eyes—the nourishing meals, the warmth of home, even the petty squabbles of the mayor vying for re-election. The cattlefolk here had different concerns: finding their next meal, staying warm through the night, and being deprived of freedom from the beast who lurked outside. He felt grateful not only for his own home but for this village, too—for its resilience and quiet dignity, even in the face of such hardship. Why had they helped him? A stranger who had almost brought the beast into their homes. Perhaps it’s because they knew what it was like to be downtrodden. 

In that moment, Sable felt a new resolve. He didn’t know how he might help, but something told him that his journey here was part of a larger path that had led him to this hidden village at the edge of despair. The stone could wait, at least for now. There was something here, in Horntree village, that needed his help. 

Amidst the sombre quiet of the village, a distant clanking of steel caught Sable’s ear. Drawn by the noise, he wandered to a field where a few cattlefolk trained, their swords clashing awkwardly together. Their stances were unsteady, their swings barely slicing the air, let alone any beast.

“No, no, no,” came a low, commanding voice from the tallest of the group, a towering white bull with broad black horns nearly the length of Sable. Dressed in leather armour and draped in a worn grey cloak, the bull’s presence was hard to ignore. As his gaze settled on Sable, he raised a hand, signalling the others to pause. “All right, take a break.”

Sable looked up instinctively, feeling the weight of curious eyes on him. He glanced around, trying somehow to blend into a village full of cattlefolk.

“Cat, come here. I’d like to speak with you,” the white bull called, approaching with slow, deliberate steps. As he came closer, Sable had to crane his neck to meet the bull’s gaze. Every inch of the bull’s massive frame radiated strength, yet, like Tess, his body bore scars and signs of exhaustion. Sable gulped, feeling extra small under the bull’s towering presence.

Then, to Sable’s surprise, he crouched down, bringing himself closer to Sable’s level. The bull’s voice softened. “Don’t be afraid, little one. There are far fouler things out there than old Apollo . . . as I’m sure you’ve seen.”

Sable nodded, relaxing slightly. He cast a glance toward the tall grass that swayed softly at the village’s edge, whispering.

“You’re special, little one,” Apollo continued, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re the first outsider to make it to our village. You’ve given us something we haven’t had in a long time—hope.” Apollo’s eyes wandered briefly back to the village, where the weight of his responsibilities seemed to settle on his shoulders. Despite his weariness, there was a fierce determination in his face. “I heard you escaped the beast. Did you truly encounter it and outrun it?”

Sable gave a small, hesitant smile. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done to survive, only that he’d escaped by a whisker. 

Apollo seemed to sense his modesty and pressed on, his eyes alight with curiosity. “How close did you get?”

Sable took a step back, gesturing the short distance with a sweep of his paw.

Apollo’s face fell, but a spark of hope soon lit his features. “Remarkable . . . truly remarkable. The beast did not recognise you. No, of course not . . . a village cat, something it’s never encountered before!”

Around them, a few cattlefolk had edged closer, trying to listen to the conversation. Apollo cast them a stern look, and they quickly busied themselves, though their glances kept darting back. Then, with a hopeful smile, Apollo called out to them. “We might have a way. We may finally have a chance to save the village!” He turned back to Sable, his gaze unwavering. “Little cat, will you help a dying village? We’ve lost many good cattlefolk . . . some of them were my closest friends. But with your help, we could catch the beast by surprise and end this once and for all.”

Sable hesitated, remembering Tess’s words about the beast being a spirit of the land itself. She had spoken of it not as an enemy to be conquered but as a spirit wronged. Yet, the memory of its relentless pursuit flickered in his mind, the terror he felt as it closed in on him. All he knew was that he wanted to help. He looked back at the village, where calves chased each other around the well. He thought of his own kittenhood—of school, toys, safety from danger. These calves had none of that.

Apollo’s eyes narrowed as he read Sable’s silence. “So . . . Tess has spoken to you already,” he murmured. “I won’t sacrifice good lives in hopes of appeasing a so-called spirit. We either hunt, or we perish.”

Apollo had a point, Sable thought; the beast would recognise the cattlefolk immediately with their strong scent. But he had a chance; he was smaller and quicker, and his scent was unfamiliar to the beast. He gazed down at the tilled soil beneath his paws, rows patiently awaiting seeds, a promise of future growth. Rebuilding the village and finding a way out of the grasslands could be another way to keep everyone safe. One way or another, Sable’s fate was now bound to Horntree village.

Beside the shack where the cattlefolk gave Sable food and shelter, a small plot of soil bloomed with life. Rows of bright flowers were spread neatly across it, leading to a stone shrine at the end. It resembled the shrines Sable had seen in the grasslands, but this one was smaller, free of moss, and well-tended. The garden seemed like a splash of colour in the drab landscape, its vibrant hues a stark contrast to the murky brown of Horntree village.

One morning, Sable spotted Tess tending to this garden. She was crouched by the flowers, watering them one by one, adding just the right amount. She took her time and treated every plant with care. When she finished, she approached the shrine, filling a clay cup with water and placing it inside the small compartment.

“You can come in,” Tess said without turning.

Once again surprised by her keen awareness, Sable approached slowly, his paws treading lightly through the garden.

“This is a garden of the old ways, from before the greed,” Tess explained, her voice soft. “There were many like it in the wider village once—some grand, with large shrines, stone carvings, and lush gardens depicting stories of our ancestors. But they were slowly forgotten. ” Tess placed leaves she had cut earlier from the roses into the cup. They floated gently on the water, like tiny boats on a still lake. A sense of peace settled over Sable as he tried to imagine what old Horntree village might have looked like, the cattlefolk at their peak, proud and strong. He pictured them welcoming guests, warm and generous as they had been with him, but also unyielding like the mountains.

“We have people who need our help right now.” Apollo stood outside the garden, a large stack of firewood resting on his shoulders, his arms and horns holding the stack in place. “We need to do something, Tess, or I fear the village won’t last much longer. It’s time to let the past go,” Apollo sighed, casting a final, pleading look at Sable before continuing on his way.

“He means well,” Tess said, her eyes following Apollo as he delivered firewood to each home and scuffed the hair of the calves who looked up to him. “Apollo has the biggest heart in the village. But he is also stubborn to a fault, and that can be dangerous . . . I know he asked for your help to hunt the beast. But would that make us better than our old mistakes? We have lost many; can we afford to lose another?”

Apollo continued his rounds around the village as the calves trailed after him, asking questions about the sword strapped to his cloak, his plans for the beast, and when they might train with him to fight. Their smiles and laughter seemed to ease his weary soul, and Sable even glimpsed the faintest outline of a smile on Apollo’s face. What would Horntree village be like without him? Could they endure if their bastion disappeared on the hunt?

“It’s not fair of me to ask this of you, either, little one. You would need to go alone to the spirit grounds in the north and restore them.” Tess handed Sable a small clay sphere with an opening at the top, where a sapling sprouted. “Place this in the central shrine.” 

The sphere was balanced so that the sapling always stayed upright, a vibrant green against the brown of the sphere. It seemed hopeful, a symbol of renewal, but so small against the vastness of their problems. Sable could now understand some of Apollo’s frustrations. These were symbols with little action, like a breeze trying to topple a mountain. The thought of travelling alone in the grass was also daunting; he wanted to help but hadn’t forgotten his own reason for the journey. The stone was still ever-present in his mind, a reminder of the promise he made to capture it.

Then, the idea surfaced again. What if he could show them a different path forward? Homes could be rebuilt, not just patched. Warriors could be tasked with cutting a safe path through the grass instead of preparing for battle. They might find new pastures and start fresh if they put their focus there. Yet, as he looked at the frail cattlefolk, weakened by years of poor harvests, he wondered if they could endure such a task. Then he remembered the pack of fish, nourishing from a single bite. It provided hope when Sable had needed it most, and he could share that hope here. Either way, he realised he had a choice to make.