Why Goats have Horns, and Why they Bleat "Ma"
Oct 15, 2018 20:52:09 GMT -5
𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓵𝔂 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓭𝔂 and Redfleck like this
Post by 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖐 on Oct 15, 2018 20:52:09 GMT -5
So for English, we had to write a myth that explained something. I chose this- warning though, it's pretty depressing in my opinion. Enjoy!
In the mountains, there once lived a small herd of goats. It wasn’t much, but to the goats themselves the herd was a way of life. Within the herd there was a mother and her young child, Kid, who seemed small and sickly for his age. This herd was under the constant threat of a lone wolf who seemed to enjoy the taste of goat, picking off the weak ones like flies. It was thought by many of the rams and does that Kid would be one of the unfortunate goats who would die in the jaws of the wolf, however, his fate would turn out to be quite the opposite. Late one night, it was unnervingly quiet, only the slow breathing of sleeping goats audible in the silence. Ma and Kid were awake, watching the stars in the night sky. Kid turned and whispered to his mother, still being young and not knowing much. “Ma, why are there specks of light in the sky?” he asked with a frown.
“Those are stars, they have been gifted to us by our ancestors so we aren’t blinded by the dark.” coaxed Ma. Kid nodded, seemingly accepting this to be the truth. It was when the two had only just begun to sleep that it happened- the howl that shattered the silence into a million pieces. In a split second, the herd was broken into small groups as they frantically ran from the wolf as he chased them with vigor. Kid hadn’t gotten up in time, and Ma was swept away with the herd. He let out a cry in an attempt to reach her, but he didn’t know it would be drowned by the noises of his panicking herdmates. The little goat was left alone in the darkness as the others bolted for their life, the wolf snapping at their heels and trying to bring one down. Only minutes later, he was completely alone and lost. "Ma?” he called, his tone shaking with fear. Repeating ‘Ma’ many more times throughout the next hour, he walked until he couldn’t walk anymore, trying to find his herd and lost mother. He walked until his hooves quaked, and kept walking. Kid walked, his legs quivering with pain, screaming for him to rest. He pressed onward. Walking for days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, months to years. Three years he walked, crying and grieving, growing and strengthening. Kid stepped in a soft, muddy sort of dirt and looked down at it. He saw the edges of the patch had started to dry in the sun, and was struck with an idea. I’ll make horns to protect my herd. he thought proudly, and worked at sculpting the muddy patch. Finally, after many days, he placed the horns on his head and laid in the sun to let them dry. As a test, Kid stood and rammed against a tree, which split in half with an echoing crack. Satisfied, he trotted onward, continuing his quest. Only moments later, faint voices came into earshot. That was when realization shot through him, the recognition of those voices. He charged forward, the voices growing, until he burst into fields filled with goats. My herd! thought kid with great joy. “I’m home! Ma, it’s me! Kid!” he cried, searching the herd for his mother. The goats were in awe to see him, but as he called out for Ma, they grew quiet. One old ram stepped forward, bowing his head. “Kid, your mother fought bravely. She died protecting the herd..” he explained quietly. He bellowed sadly, calling Ma repeatedly as if he couldn’t say anything else. In fact, it was all he could bring himself to say. When he had children years later, Kid found they had small nubs where he had horns, and could only say a single word. ‘Ma.’
In the mountains, there once lived a small herd of goats. It wasn’t much, but to the goats themselves the herd was a way of life. Within the herd there was a mother and her young child, Kid, who seemed small and sickly for his age. This herd was under the constant threat of a lone wolf who seemed to enjoy the taste of goat, picking off the weak ones like flies. It was thought by many of the rams and does that Kid would be one of the unfortunate goats who would die in the jaws of the wolf, however, his fate would turn out to be quite the opposite. Late one night, it was unnervingly quiet, only the slow breathing of sleeping goats audible in the silence. Ma and Kid were awake, watching the stars in the night sky. Kid turned and whispered to his mother, still being young and not knowing much. “Ma, why are there specks of light in the sky?” he asked with a frown.
“Those are stars, they have been gifted to us by our ancestors so we aren’t blinded by the dark.” coaxed Ma. Kid nodded, seemingly accepting this to be the truth. It was when the two had only just begun to sleep that it happened- the howl that shattered the silence into a million pieces. In a split second, the herd was broken into small groups as they frantically ran from the wolf as he chased them with vigor. Kid hadn’t gotten up in time, and Ma was swept away with the herd. He let out a cry in an attempt to reach her, but he didn’t know it would be drowned by the noises of his panicking herdmates. The little goat was left alone in the darkness as the others bolted for their life, the wolf snapping at their heels and trying to bring one down. Only minutes later, he was completely alone and lost. "Ma?” he called, his tone shaking with fear. Repeating ‘Ma’ many more times throughout the next hour, he walked until he couldn’t walk anymore, trying to find his herd and lost mother. He walked until his hooves quaked, and kept walking. Kid walked, his legs quivering with pain, screaming for him to rest. He pressed onward. Walking for days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, months to years. Three years he walked, crying and grieving, growing and strengthening. Kid stepped in a soft, muddy sort of dirt and looked down at it. He saw the edges of the patch had started to dry in the sun, and was struck with an idea. I’ll make horns to protect my herd. he thought proudly, and worked at sculpting the muddy patch. Finally, after many days, he placed the horns on his head and laid in the sun to let them dry. As a test, Kid stood and rammed against a tree, which split in half with an echoing crack. Satisfied, he trotted onward, continuing his quest. Only moments later, faint voices came into earshot. That was when realization shot through him, the recognition of those voices. He charged forward, the voices growing, until he burst into fields filled with goats. My herd! thought kid with great joy. “I’m home! Ma, it’s me! Kid!” he cried, searching the herd for his mother. The goats were in awe to see him, but as he called out for Ma, they grew quiet. One old ram stepped forward, bowing his head. “Kid, your mother fought bravely. She died protecting the herd..” he explained quietly. He bellowed sadly, calling Ma repeatedly as if he couldn’t say anything else. In fact, it was all he could bring himself to say. When he had children years later, Kid found they had small nubs where he had horns, and could only say a single word. ‘Ma.’
