The faun had been snared by one of the rope traps that we’d set to catch bears. “Can you speak?” I said, though I’d already asked and received no response when we first came upon him that morning. Lying on his side, he scowled at me, and said nothing.Īs Anthony gathered stones and kindling for a campfire, I climbed into the back of the cart. Two large ears framed his bearded face, tall black horns jutting from his forehead. His legs, also bound by a strap, were covered in a shaggy brown fur that nearly obscured his hooves. His arms were bound behind his back with a leather strap, pinned in place on either side of his furry brown tail. I turned to look at the figure lying in the hay on the back of the cart.
We were heading back to the village with our precious cargo, but the old ox was tired and slow and there was no hope of completing the journey before night fell.
It was nearly dusk, though the heavy canopy of the forest had plunged us into near-dark for most of the day. “Keep an eye on the faun,” Anthony said, clambering down from the oxcart.
