it opens not to the West; it opens not to the East;
it opens not to the South; it opens not to the North,
it opens not to any who would enter our land.
The Hedge opens only at the command
of the First One and the Last One;
it opens for him the foul-smelling Wood Cow;
it opens for her the lazy Wood Cow;
it opens for the Wood Cows who defy the High One,
who speaks for the First One and the Last One.
The High One, by whose wisdom
the good live and the unworthy die,
provides three First Touch Days
for the Wood Cows to leave our lands.
By the First One and the Last One,
who alone is without equal, I decree this shall be
a means of purifying our lands and people.
Death to anyone who aids the Wood Cows as they flee!
The Forever End was to be opened! The Wood Cows were expelled from the Hedgelands!
So far as anyone knew, no creature—except for the High One’s own favored traders—had been beyond the Hedge in over a thousand years. Even the rivers that flowed through the Hedgelands passed through gates that barred entry by any creature. Now there would be an opening made in the Hedge!
Helga and Breister, with the other Wood Cows, listened to the reading of the proclamation from a dark and dusty cellar of the High Seat where they sat on the floor. Symbolic of their place at the absolute bottom of the Hedgeland order, Wood Cows were not permitted to sit with the other Hedgies. Being confined to the cellar, however, with sound filtering down faintly through vents, had the benefit of allowing them to comment on the ridiculous things they heard.
“‘Death to anyone who aids the Wood Cows as they flee!’ the High One says,” Helga snorted. “Wood Cows would never run away from such a tyrant as the High One! We’re not cowards! We’ll obey this decree, as unjust and foolish as it is. But we obey without any idea of scurrying away in panic!”
“Aye, that’s our way,” her father agreed. “If we leave, we go peacefully with the will to make a new life in a new land. We go toward a new day. Let the High One and his ignorant kind hold to the old day, as they will. We go forward with our heads held high!”
Bad Bone Bound for Glory
The descent from the Desperate Ridges took Bad Bone longer than he expected. He arrived at his home village just as the festivities of Clear Water’s Day were drawing to a close. Conducting the group of furred creatures on the difficult route had been slow going. He was shocked to see how much the creatures he led had been degraded by their experience with the Jays. What had once been some of the foremost climbers and adventurers of the Hedgelands were now a bedraggled band of ‘scramblers and shriekers’ as Bad Bone saw them, scarcely able to move without fear.
He had to constantly shout encouragement to one or another that had suddenly frozen up with fright. “Come on, my stout hearts! There’s Salamander Nuggets and Squint Buns awaiting! There’s dancin’ and hollerin’ in the streets! Frog’s Belch Ale for all if we make it back before Clear Water’s Day is over!” Little by little, the tiny band made its way down.
Leading the ragged band into the village square, Bad Bone did not expect much of a reception. For him, it was simply another mission completed successfully. But for the families of the furred creatures he had rescued, he was a hero.
Grateful families of the long-lost creatures flocked to meet the new arrivals. Joyful mothers, fathers, siblings and neighbors raised their tankards and mugs to celebrate the return of their loved ones. Surrounded by good company and as happy as could be, Bad Bone abandoned himself to enjoying the fun. Not sparing the Salamander Nuggets and Frog’s Belch Ale, he was especially touched when a wee little Lynx, happy to have her older brother returned, offered him her Squint Bun. Bad Bone was very happy.
The festivities went on and on, ever more raucous and spirited. One creature after another offered a toast to Bad Bone’s health in honor of a rescued loved-one. Frog’s Belch Ale flowed faster and faster. “Here’s to Bad Bone, liberator of my own dear Thudwit!” a Fox yelled, raising his mug high. “And here’s another for Smidtoker, my long-lost son!” an Otter cried. “Hurrah for Bad Bone!”
Wild singing broke out, with the entire crowd wailing half-tangled verses of a ballad they made up:
Ho-ho, have you heard the news, me Hedgie?
Bad Bone is bound for glory,
Ho-ho, hug him and rock him and bowl him over,
Bad Bone is bound for glory,
Ho-ho, one more day and the High One’s a-callin’
Bad Bone will be a glory story, glory story—
Bad Bone will be a glory story.
Completely lost in the frenzied celebration, Bad Bone was taken with the sloshing of ale, until something distracted his attention for a moment.
He glimpsed a familiar Wood Cow and her father passing down a side alley just to his left.