Valley of the Bull

As the sunlight crested over the valley’s edge, its warm rays and bright light fell upon a dark figure in the center of a large pasture. The figure stirred, first failing to turn away from the intruding sun and then lengthening in a deep stretch, welcoming the new day.

It craned its neck skyward, displaying a pair of thick, sharp horns attached to its broad, bony head. Then, one at a time, it elongated its four jet-black limbs each capped with a massive, mud-covered hoof. Finally, with a great yawn, the bull rose to its feet.

The pasture had once been a corral, meant to keep the animal trapped. But time and the changing seasons had rotted away much of the lumber that made up its former barriers. Now, it barely afforded the creature any protection from wandering intruders, let alone kept it inside. Still, the bull knew the pasture as home. And it is where he slept each and every night, even in rains when the skies crackled and boomed with light and sound.

The bull did not fear the lightning and thunder, its flashes and crashes so far overhead. The bull did not fear anything anymore.

After circling the pasture five times over, as the bull was wont to do, he began his journey down toward the valley’s center, one great hoof in front of the next.

Once, the journey from the pasture down to the valley center was a treacherous one, fraught with steep switchbacks and loose gravel. But the bull had never known this danger, as the original path had been, for a long time now, covered by a wide swath of jet-black stone marked by broken white lines.

The bull made its way downhill, following the white-accented black stone path, stopping occasionally to graze on tufts of grass that had sprung up along the path’s edges or from cracks in its center. The crabgrasses were coarse, unpleasant, and offered little nutrition, but the bull had known worse in his younger years, back when dried-out bails of hay were all he was afforded.

Further down toward the valley center, the bull’s black stone path splintered off into several smaller tributaries, each flanked by reddish clay structures at least twice as tall as the bull stood. He remembered, long ago, that humans used to dwell within these cold, hard walls. He also remembered watching from up in the pasture as the day turned to night. It was then that the structures were illuminated by legions of tiny flickering flames, most of which emanated from within the clay structures, visible only through the square-shaped holes in their walls. Now, even on the darkest of nights, the only flickering lights the bull saw dotted the skies above.

The bull wandered the pathways, meandering between the structures and snacking on whatever grasses he could find, continuing downhill.

Finally beyond his distractions, the bull entered the valley center. He gazed around the square, glancing at the remnants of what had been. There were ropes strung between the tops of the buildings where multi-colored flags used to hang, now all tattered and weather-worn. And some of the stones at his feet still showed the imprints of the human’s hooves, though most had washed away in the many, many storms that had come through since they left.

The bull did not know where or why the humans had left. He only knew that it had started slowly and that, eventually, every single one was gone. Even those who he had known his whole life.

Slowly, with one great hoof in front of the other, the bull lumbered toward the center of the square, where there sat a large, ornate fountain fed by an underwater spring, the clean mountain water still bubbling up. He dipped his nose into it, taking huge gulps of the refreshing liquid.

Once satisfied, he raised his head and looked forward. There before him, on the side of one of the large reddish structures, was an extensive mural, as weather-worn as the tattered banner but still as clear as the day it was painted. It depicted hundreds of people all gathered in a massive arena, some with their hands clapped together and others with their arms raised in the air, but all with their mouths agape in cheer. And, at their center, a man dressed in ornate clothing waved a flowing red cloth before a beastly, charging bull, dripping with blood.

The bull snorted and began his journey back up to his pasture.