Breakfast

or

Onward and Upward

When the billy goat woke up the sky was still dark. In it were the echoes and splashes and promises, skyline to skyline, of the sun flexing its muscles not too far below the horizon. “Here I come. Fun, fun fun.”

The nanny goat’s eyes were fixed on the spot, the silhouette of a line of trees on a distant ridge, where the sun would rise a couple of hours hence. She knew by the way the billy goat’s breathing had changed, the increase in nervous energy and fidgets, that he was awake. She didn’t need to see him. He was nestled in her belly, reminding her fondly of the numerous children of her own who’d occupied the same spot. It was a long time since she’d seen any of her children. She didn’t expect to see any of them ever again which wasn’t a cause for sorrow.

The black snake, a huddle of coils in the warm rotting heart of a long dead branch, hadn’t slept. He rarely did. What looked like sleep was withdrawal deep into himself. He found it restful and invigorating to forget his body and travel to all sorts of interesting places. The tip of the black snake’s nose was visible. An owl might see it in this light but would probably mistake it for a stone.

A couple of feet from the black snake’s bivy the grey horse was also awake, gobbling lungfuls of the delicious dew, carrying on a mostly one-sided conversation with a number of stars in the cloudless sky.

“What’s for breakfast?” the billy goat said. His high-pitched, warble-free, crystal-pure voice floated away down the hill into the valley below, fluctuating in pitch, surrendering purity of tone as it made its way around and through bushes and trees, disturbing acres of low-lying mist that resolved to dissolve earlier than it might have done otherwise. It startled nanny goat, snake and horse and families of birds and numerous, mostly small and mostly reposive, mammals.

“Corn?” said the nanny goat.

“Oh,” said the billy goat, surlily.

“The corn’s very good, isn’t it,” the grey horse said.

“It’s okay,” the billy goat said, his voice abrim with doubt.

“Perhaps we should spend another night here,” the horse said.

“At the edge of the corn field?” the nanny goat asked.

The horse nodded.

“For epicurean reasons?” the nanny goat sniffed.

“Well, no, there’s nothing wrong with me,” the horse replied. “And…”—he assessed his fellows, realising he didn’t know where the black snake was. “Where’s the black snake?”

“Here,” said the black snake, raising his head. The horse didn’t see the small black head bob against an all but black background. Had the sun been high in the sky he might have missed it. The black snake was far from flamboyant. The grey horse assumed the talking branch lying nearby knew something of his friend’s whereabouts.

“Do you need curing?” the horse asked.

“We’re not staying another day and night here for the sake of your tummy and tastebuds,” the nanny goat announced, then added, “Farmer!”, waggling eyebrows like steel brushes, adding “Dogs.” for good measure.

“You don’t think…?” the horse gasped. All sorts of ugly memories were ganging up inside him, jostling for dibs on the willies.

“Probably not,” the nanny goat said. The grey horse hadn’t noticed before quite how thick and wiry the nanny goat’s eyemantels were. Waggling them again the nanny goat puckered her lips into a smile that surely had malice in it. “But we should press on.”

“Press on to where?”asked the billy goat, full of beans and bounce, raring to go. He didn’t care where where was and could hardly wait to get there.

A good question, the black snake thought.

“To the next place,” the nanny goat said.

A good answer, the black snake thought. Touché. (In the realm of thought where forked tongues aren’t used and don’t turn words lispish, all sorts of fancy French words are servicable.)

“We're animals,” said the horse. He was removing corn from his teeth with his tongue so he was a little difficult to understand. “We don't really have a sense of purpose, per se. We can't plan things. And we can't know where we're going because we don't know where anything is.”

“What about birds?” the nanny goat said. “And whales? They know where things are and how to get to there. Their sense of direction is adequate, inspiring even. Are birds and whales not animals?”

“I would argue…” said the grey horse.

“I know you would,” the nanny goat retorted.

“I would argue,” the grey horse repeated. “That we only know where a place is when we get to it. That we can’t plan to get there. If you were to ask me which way somewhere was I couldn’t point the way to it, and I couldn’t tell you where it was, and I don’t think you could either, but I could take you there.”

The nanny goat suspected the horse was right. “And? So? What's your point?”

“I don’t have a point.”

“Jolly good. In light of that I think it best that I lead the way.”

The black snake wasn't used to breakfast conversation and decided this was getting too clever. It was going over his head, as most things did, his head being so close to the ground. Heartened by the knowledge the sun was on its way to warm his blood the black snake dozed off humming a Beatles tune.

“So? Where are we going?” the billy goat asked. “Exactly?”

The nanny goat turned her head and looked up at the imposing shadow of the mountain. “Up there,” she nodded. “Up and over.”

“Really!?” the billy goat squealed. “Wow! How excitement!”

“Why?” the grey horse asked. “Why do we have to? What do we do when we get to the top?"

‘We'll have a look around and see what looks promising and take it from there,” the nanny goat said, chewing her lip, though not from hunger or worry or affectation.

“I’m not convinced,” the grey horse said.

“Ye of little faith,” the nanny goat said.

“What is it about a place that makes it look promising?”

The nanny goat shrugged. “A feeling you get when you look at it. A hunch. I've never had to make decisions like this either, you know.”