RAW KINGDOM ENTERTAINMENT

 Yoshi and Thumbelina deemed at once that these were the very stags of whom the Deer had spoken in hushed warning. For there in a small glade, ringed by shadow and trembling light, two mighty bucks contended fiercely, while the hinds stood in a frightened circle about them, shifting uneasily upon their slender legs.
 Each lord of the forest sought to drive his tined crown hard into the flank of the other; yet every time one lowered his head and swung with deadly aim, his foe turned the stroke aside with swift and practiced grace. Then they set their foreheads together and pushed with a sound like bark grinding on bark, straining as though each would lift the other bodily upon his branching antlers and cast him down.
 For a moment all the forest seemed to hold its breath. The stillness pressed in beneath the great boughs overhead, as if the ancient trees themselves leaned close to watch the trial.
 Then, all at once, one of the deer let forth a bellow—sharp and full of pain—that rang through the clearing and died among the darkened trunks like a cry lost in some deep cavern.
 Yoshi and Thumbelina beheld the contest as though set upon some ancient stage of the wild. One of the great stags, pressed sorely by the might of its rival, sank at last to its knees; its proud head drooped until its brow lay upon its forelegs. Then there came another roar—deep and raw as though torn from the roots of the forest itself.
 The other stag reared high upon its rear legs, towering for a heartbeat like a creature carved of living wood, before crashing down with terrible force. Its antlers struck true. The fallen deer shuddered once and lay still, run through by the conquering horns.
 The victor stood over him, and from his throat rose a triumphant cry, echoing under the boughs like the call of some ancient herald. Blood darkened the leaves at his feet. After a moment, he turned and strode away into the dim trees, gathering the hinds and leading them like a king returning to his hall.
 Then silence crept back over the glade—deep, watchful, and old—until even the echoes of the struggle faded as though the forest had swallowed them whole.
 When at last the clamour of the struggle had ended, and they were assured that no other creature lurked in the clearing except the fallen deer, Yoshi and Thumbelina crept forth from the sheltering bush. Hesitantly they came near to the place of the combat.
 The fallen stag was still alive. A harsh, ragged breath stirred its heaving flanks, and from his mouth foamed blood that steamed faintly in the chill air. His great dark eyes, once bright with challenge, had grown dim and sorrowful, as though they beheld a far-off meadow fading from sight
 Much as their hearts longed to help the dying creature, the two were far too small and frail to ease its passing. And a deeper fear pressed upon them: that the tumult of the fight might draw some prowling beast down from the wild places. So, heavy with pity, they turned away and hastened on their road.
 They passed through tall, wind-swept clearings where the grass, yellowed and brittle with the year’s first frost, whispered beneath their feet. The land soon rose in broken shoulders of stone, and they found themselves wandering amid vast granite boulders, strewn as though giants had flung them down in ages past. Here no trees grew—only wiry weeds and a few stubborn bushes clung to the cracks. The air sharpened and grew thin, and the path twisted upward, rough and narrow.
 Thumbelina laboured sorely now; her trough scraped and jolted between the stones, and from beneath them there rose a strange murmuring—like water whispering secrets under the earth. It followed them as they climbed, a hidden voice beneath was heard of underground water.
 Suddenly Yoshi stopped, and his keen gaze was fixed upon the heights before them. Along the steep and stony flank of the opposite peak something grey moved, sure-footed upon the crags. At first it seemed a common goat strayed from some distant herd, yet it came unwavering straight toward them. Its muzzle was pale as hoarfrost, and upon its brow rose two small horns, hooked and sharp as the talons of a mountain hawk. It was near the size of a young stag, though lacking the stag’s noble grace or slender build. Beside it capered two lively kids, leaping from stone to stone like sparks from a fire.

“It must be a goat that has escaped from the herd,” Yoshi murmured to his companion.

 The creature came closer, and they saw—large, clear, and watchful eyes—looking carefully around. It paused, studying them as though weighing some unspoken choice.

 Then, with a slow and wary tread, it stepped closer. Lowering its head, it sniffed at Thumbelina, its breath warm and strange, as though carrying with it the wind and wildness.

“Why have you wandered so far from the herd? Are you not afread of the shepherd’s crook?” asked Yoshi, for in his simple mind the creature before him was but a common barnyard goat.

“I do not grasp your meaning,” came the quiet reply.

“Are you a goat who slipped the hedge to taste a little wild freedom?”

“I am the Wild Goat,” said the creature, and there was a glimmer like starlight on stone in her eyes. “And these are my children.” She inclined her horned head toward the two younglings, who stood braced upon trembling legs, staring with wide and wondering dread at the hedgehog before them.

“Do you live in these barren heights?” asked the Yoshi in wonder, for the sun beat harshly upon the stony waste. “What are you grazing upon such naked rock?”

“Ah,” replied the wild goat, and a quiet pride shone in her bright, fearless eyes, “you would marvel at what grows where few dare look. Here the grasses are sweet as any found in the gentlest glades, though they hide in narrow clefts and cling to ledges where only the lightest hoof may tread. The springs run cold and pure from the heart of the mountain, and the wind is clean and untainted, whispering of far lands. All lies open here—broad, solemn, and still. Only the clouds wander low at times, stooping to veil the sun.”

“In this high realm I am as free as the wind itself. I wander along the very lip of the chasms where a pale, bluish mist rests day and night, and I climb to the highest crowns of stone, whence I watch the sun rise like a golden herald and sink again in quiet fire. My eyes are sharp and range far, but my heart—loving freedom above all things—knows no trembling at the yawning deep. No dizziness takes me, even where the cliff falls sheer beneath my step.”

Then the goat regarded the stranger more closely and tilted her horned head.

“But tell me, who are you? Never have I seen a creature so thorned and strange. You seem like some ancient root torn from the earth, its many veins laid bare to the sun.”

 Yoshi, the little hedgehog, stood small yet steadfast before the wild goat, and his voice—soft as wind through meadow-thatch—told of his wandering.

“I am the hedgehog Yoshi,” he said, “born in the quiet fields. But the Eagle carried my friend and me far from our home, and so along these strange ways we must travel, if ever we are to return.”

 And there, beneath the lean shadows of the rocks, he spoke of all their trials since the great wings had darkened the sky above them.
 The wild goat listened in silence, though at times she bowed her wise, ridged head, as though each word awakened an old memory. When at last his tale was told, she answered in a low, troubled voice:
“The Eagle… he is an ancient foe to my kind. Many times he has swept down upon my children, lifting them up before my eyes while I watched, helpless as stone. And very often he attacks me too—most cruelly when I tread near the cliff-edge, where one beat of his mighty wings might cast me into the abyss below.”

Yoshi shivered.

“But are you alone in these high places? Have you no companions to stand beside you?”

The wild goat lifted her head, and in her dark eyes there glimmered a hint of laughter.

“Alone? You have not yet seen them, then?” she said, surprise ringing clear as a mountain bell.

“No,” admitted the hedgehog at last, his small voice carrying a note of reluctant truth.

“Look at those rocks—but, look well,” said the wild goat.

 Then Yoshi lifted his gaze to the crags the goat had marked. At first he saw only the grey roughness of stone, but as his eyes grew keen, he beheld a narrow ledge high upon the rocks. There, resting in the pale sun, lay a company of goats—no more than a dozen all told. One among them stood apart: a great goat, broad of shoulder, with horns sweeping like twin crescents of old ivory.
“That is our chieftain,” said the wild goat softly, and a hint of pride stirred in her voice. “He keeps watch for us, even when the winds sleep. Long has he guarded the herd from eagle’s shadow, from the cunning of hunters, and from the grey packs of wolves. Most perilous is winter, when the bitter cold and deep snow drive us down from the high places. Then the wolves roam boldly, lean with hunger, and their howls roll through the valleys like the cry of some ancient sorrow.”

“In such times, we run hard for our lives—but the snow betrays us. Its crust breaks beneath our hooves, and we flounder, caught fast by the weight of winter. Yet the wolves do not sink, for they bear no hooves, and the snow holds them up as though it were their own hunting ground.”

 The wild goat fell silent, and for a moment the mountain seemed to remember those dread midwinter nights, shuddering faintly in the wind.

 Suddenly there came a sharp, keen whistle, clear as a birdcall in the still air. At once the goats that lay scattered upon the stony platform started up, stamping lightly as if roused from uneasy dreams. The wild goat, more alert than the rest, flinched and lifted her head, her dark eyes turning toward the rugged slope above. There, upon the grey face of the mountain, a great shape was sliding slowly down, dislodging pebbles that skittered away like frightened insects.

“The bear comes this way,” she murmured, calm as one long acquainted with the wild. “Our guide has seen her, and with a whistle warned us of her passing. She means no harm.”

But at this Yoshi and Thumbelina trembled, for fear had taken hold of them.

“She is a lumbering, gentle creature,” the wild goat said, softening her voice as a mother reassures a child in the deep of night. “Do not fear her tread, though she pass close by. I will go to the herd.”

 So she turned away, moving slowly and with a quiet dignity, her two young ones pressed to her sides as though the very shadows might reach for them. Their small hooves clicked upon the stone as they walked, glancing back often, wide-eyed.
 Yoshi and Thumbelina stayed where they were, rooted as young trees in a sudden gale. The stillness of the mountains seemed to gather around them, and they dared not to stir a limb, fearing that the great creature’s wandering gaze might fall upon them and discover their presence.
 The bear passed nearby, a shadow vast and ancient beneath the boughs. Long had she hearkened to the startled cry of the deer, and now she was hurrying toward the place of the struggle, where a hearty feast awaited her. Age had silvered her great head as with the sheen of grey, and her heavy frame swayed upon limbs made strong by many seasons’ wandering. Yet for all her size her tread fell soft upon the scattered stones, as though she moved with the secret craft of the wild.
 Then she perceived the two companions, and muttered in her deep throat some gruff speech of her kind. With a single sweep of her broad paw she struck the turtle that lingered nearby; and Thumbelina slid and spun across the rocks, scraping and clattering as she went.