Caves was now only a speck in the distance when Antler next looked back. She was now crossing a prairie which, in her opinion, was prime habitat for prairie dogs and hawks. Mountains loomed overhead, its purplish color and ice-tipped caps blocking the way southwest. She tried to go as silently as she can.
She tiptoed through the long, dry grass, light wind tickling her fur. She kept low, not raising her tail. The sun beat down hard on her, making her narrow her eyes because of the bright light emanating from the sky. In spite of the searing heat, she kept at her brisk pace.
Despite her best efforts not to get noticed, she was spotted by a hawk, which was apparently scanning the area. By the time she had already found out that the hawk had spotted her, all she could see was claws and feathers swirling all around her; then a feeling of complete shock as she was taken to the winds. Heart racing and claws digging into her skin, she let herself faint.
When she woke up, she clutched at the ground around her. Branches and down! It was everywhere so the nest was soft. Digging deeper, still with eyes half shut, she was startled and pulled her paw out of the nest’s framework.
She was pricked by the branches underlying the down. They had thorns in them. As she tried to get up, she flopped down again with a thud. A roaring pain in her side prevented most of her movement.
Wincing, she looked up to find a mother hawk descend on the nest. She leaned on the side of the nest and found two hawk chicks snuggled in the down. They were nearly full grown; with wings resembling those of their mother’s. She was about to think inwardly of the cuteness of the hawk chicks’ eyes, when a peck from behind made her jump up and try to flee despite her intense pain.
That should have been the father hawk! She tried to leap the side of the nest, but it was too high so she had to climb it. A quick look out the side of the nest made her heart stop for a couple of beats and made her quickly retreat back in the nest.
Soon, the heap disintegrated into black ashes. As she jumped off the tree bough, she thanked the tree for the safety it gave her. As the tree thanked her back, back came the warmth.
Had she continued to jump without looking, she would have found herself freefalling a thousand feet down the spiky mountain range, effectively closing any chance of survival she had. Once I hit the ground, I’ll break to bits, Antler thought. Panting with fear, she lay on the nest ground.
The father hawk urged the children, “Okay, Roar and Cloud, like I showed you; go for the head first, then the neck.”
What he said made Antler throw up a little in her mouth but she mustered up all her courage to plead for her life. “Please, Mister Hawk, don’t eat me! I’m on a mission for my friend, the apple tree, and it would truly sadden him if I never return.”
At this, Roar and Cloud were stopped by their father. He stepped up and looked down at Antler with sharp eyes and hooked beak. “My name is not ‘Mister Hawk’, okay, I’m River. Clearriver to be exact. How many times have prey called me that?” Roar hopped up and down.
“42 times already as I’ve counted, Dad!” he piped up enthusiastically.
River sighed. “No, Lionroar. Even higher than that! Before you were hatched, they have called me that for many, many times.” The two stayed silent as their father confronted Antler. “So, you’re on a mission you say? What exactly is it and how that apple tree is concerned?”
The mother hawk screed, “Get on with it already, Clearriver! My Lionroar and Stormcloud are hungry! I’m hungry! I can tell you’re hungry from the sound of your voice.”
River sighed. “Please, just wait, Pineforest.”
He turned back to Antler. “My answer now, or I eat you.” This was emphasized by a snap of his beak, right in front of her snout, which frightened her nearly out of her wits.
She stammered, “I-I-I have an apple tree friend who wants to make his life m-more happier and meaningful by f-f-finding out why he was ever p-planted.”
River considered this. “Hmmm, really?”
“Yes!” Antler quickly answered, “Maybe you could tell me why trees were made?”
River paced around, picking at a few stray branches by the side of the nest. “I don’t know much about trees, but I find my life meaningful in caring for my family.”
He looked back at Roar, Cloud, and his wife, Forest. “I love them, and I could never, ever imagine life without them. Life is wonderful once you open your eyes and fly. I’m talking to you, Cloud. Please stop being scared of flying training. I mean, your sister, Roar, is not one bit scared.”
Cloud shivered. “I might fall!”
“Nonsense!” screeched Forest, “Just open your wings! You keep bunching them near your body. It’s as if you want to nosedive!”
Cloud refused to speak more as River continued, “I’m happy, as long as I have my family to care for.” He opened his wings a little. “You seem happy. How come you didn’t tell him yourself how to be happy?”
Antler twitched her whiskers. “I did tell him that. However, his case is different. He, being a tree, cannot move and see more than his current field of vision. When I told him about my way to happiness, service, he was wondering about the number of creatures he would be able to help with his immobility.”
River listened quietly, paying careful attention to every detail of Antler’s story. In the end, he concluded, “You are one of good will, um, what’s your name?”
Antler responded, “Antler, sir Clearriver. I’m a traveling squirrel.”
River continued, “You are one of good will, Antler, and for that, I shall set you free.”
In shock, Forest jumped up, nearly sending the nest into pieces. “Are you getting soft in the head, River? It’s food! What will we eat?”
River began flapping his wings, ready to fly. “I’ll just catch another one later.”
Forest retorted, “But the squirrel’s here now, and it can hardly walk for now. Are you going to wait until it gets its legs back?”
“She’s helping a friend. If we eat her, it would bring an end to the tree’s spirits.”
No matter how hungry Forest was, she had a good heart, being a parent, so she reluctantly agreed with her mate. Antler sat up, leaning on the side of the nest. Forest turned back to Antler.
“So, before you leave, you want to watch my children’s first real test flight?”
Forest gasped. “That’s today?”
At this, Cloud gulped. “Real test flight? What does that mean?”
When River had said, ‘real test flight’, Forest had begun picking off the down from the nest. “Looks like we won’t be needing this anymore,” she remarked.
“Wh-what?!” exclaimed Cloud, “Why are you dismantling the nest?”
“You’re seven weeks old now. Remember everything we taught you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!” cried Cloud.
Forest’s voice cracked as she said, “My precious Roar, it looks like you’re going to have to catch your own lunch today.”
“Why?” wept Cloud.
“At six weeks,” explained River, “It is customary for hawks to leave the nest. I’ll admit, we were rather selfish, keeping you here for one week more. But now is the time for you to glide and find your own path in life.”
The two chicks sadly began stretching their wings.
Antler, who was watching all this unfold, could not help but shed a tear for the chicks and their parents. For both of them, it must be very painful.
Now Roar, fully worked up, went to her parents and shared one last nuzzle together. Then, she went to the side of the nest and jumped off the mountain.
A long silence ensued and the tension rose for a couple of seconds; she was gone from sight. All of a sudden, Roar was seen rising over the mountains, gliding away.
She screed, “Bye, Mom, Dad!”
Forest and River screed in unison. “Bye, Roar! May the Maker guide you in what to do!”
“Your turn, Cloud.”
“No! I don’t want to go!” he shouted.
Forest came up to Cloud and whispered, “Love you.” With her sheer weight, she tackled Cloud out of the nest and off the side of the mountain.
Both of them went down, but Forest had already got her balance and flapped slowly in mid-air. She then returned to the nest as down went Cloud.
Meanwhile, Cloud, desperate to stay alive, began flapping his wings. He didn’t stop. He was still plummeting 1000 feet down to the ground.
He heard River’s call from above. “Remember, just open your wings and let the wind carry you!”
Cloud closed his eyes and opened his wings. The wind was knocked off his lungs as the swift change in direction took place. He was now soaring, up, up; until soon, he was seen by his parents and Antler.
“Bye!” he called to his parents.
“Bye, Cloud! May the Maker guide you!”
Soon, they were only specks on the horizon.
They turned to Antler.
“Okay, now it’s time to set you free. Hop on my back,” said River.
Antler complied and soon they were plummeting down to the other side of the mountains. The drop was exhilarating but terrifying at the same time.
When they reached the forest on the other side of the mountains, she rolled off the back of River and lay on the ground, breathing heavily. River re-stretched his wings.
“It’s about time I go back to see Forest. After we have lunch, we go our own separate ways--”
Antler was shocked. “But, I thought you loved her?”
River sighed. “Antler, you didn’t let me continue. I said, after we have lunch, we go our own separate ways for now. For now, Antler. Next breeding season, I’ll see her again. We red-tailed hawks, once we pick a mate, we stick with him or her for the rest of our lives. Forest is my mate for life. I would never, ever choose anyone other than her.”
“Oh. So, before you leave, who is the Maker?”
River began flapping, creating an immense gust of wind. He said, “In this forest of sweet yams, you’ll find three raccoons. They know more than I do about the Maker.”
He flew off. “So long, Antler!”
Antler smiled, then suddenly stopped.
She forgot something. She called loudly to River, “Thank you so very much! I’ll never forget you and your family!”
She heard a faint call from the dot far away that was River. “You’re welcome! Please find the answer for your tree friend for me!” Antler felt the warm feeling return; which was much appreciated since from the cold of the mountain, she was incredibly cold. She looked into the forest.
Aside from the few trees in her front, the whole path was darkness. Closing her eyes, she walked in.