How the Pond came to be....

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"Here, children. Come and sit next to me, and I will tell you a story to fill in the afternoon and let the day pass quietly. Does anyone have a suggestion?"

"Miss Sorrel...what about the pond?"

"The pond! An excellent story indeed. Now get comfy, and I will tell you the story of How the Pond came to be. Remember it, and learn from it, my dears."

----

A long, long time ago, perhaps when the gods were new, there lived a young buck. His name was Burra. Whilst most of the bucks in the forest were in the rut, fighting for a herd of females to call their own, Burra sat alone in the birch forest. He did not care for fighting, but not because he was peaceful; it was because he was spiteful. Every year, his antlers failed to grow any larger, and so he was stuck with the smallest pickets out of all the bucks.

He was laughed at, taunted and teased, chased away from everyone. Driven to anger and pain, Burra allowed no one near him. He lived in isolation, and he began to enjoy it that way and grow assumed to it. One day, a doe approuched him, beautiful and young, flowers twined around her ears. She asked the loner what was wrong....and when he did not answer, she persisted, coming ever closer to Burra and making him more unnerved and angry.

He yelled at her angrily, tossed his head, and was deeply ashamed of himself when he heard his antlers tear across her beautiful face. So scared at the sight and sound, Burra turned and fled ever deeper into the forest. Without him realising it, his antlers had started grow bigger. Forgetting the lovely doe, he charged towards the sound of clashing antlers, to gain his place in the rut-

but when he arrived, he was downcast to find the bucks had grown too. Taller, bigger and mightier. Their antlers touched the trees and sky, heavy and thick. But so too had their bodies grown, and now, they were giants. Or perhaps Burra was a dwarf amongst giants? Again came the teasing and the biting and kicking. He was driven further away, until he was sure no one would touch him again.

And he sat, ears down and antlers curling, tail and eyes as still as the stones, when suddenly he heard a twig break behind him. An old, old deer approuched him, coat withered and eyes grey like clouds, antlers torn down to nothing but mere nubs. Burra did not speak, did not turn his head and bite and chase as the others did. He was not sure, but the elder seemed to be like himself; an outcast.

"Boy," he said, voice as gentle as the willow tree's leaves, "look into the water, and tell me what you see."

Burra was about to object that there was no water, and that the old stag was crazy, but he turned around and leapt back. A mighty surprize to him, there was now a body of water, in the ditch before that had been dust and rocks seconds ago. Slowly, the buck stood on the bank, and looked into the water to see a mighty stag, with antlers even taller than the others, reaching up and disraying the clouds. Eyes fine and gentle, coat thick and wooly.

Without warning, he leapt into the pond, searching for the wonderful stag in the cold, shallow water. After searching for a long time, he sloshed his way out, water coming up to the tops of his legs. Shaking the water off, he was sad to see that the old stag was gone too. So Burra was alone again.

The next morning he woke up, to find a doe beside him. Burra felt his face go red, before he noticed her face. Three slices across her lower jaw, hairless and bald. Getting up to leave, he felt shame again, and yet he felt no desire to fix things. She was ugly now, in his eyes. Even if it was his fault. And besides, who was she to bother him so?

"Don't go," was all he heard when she awoke, but he was already striding away. Why did she not go to the other bucks, and get herself claimed there? Why-

"Please," her voice quivered, and he had to turn around, although he kept a frown on his face. He asked her why she was following him, and he was angry to hear her answer. " I have no where else to go. I am alone. I am ugly. My face was torn by a brutish stag, and now I cannot be near anyone,"

She did not recognize him.
He turned towards the pond- but found only dust and rocks again.
Had he grown? Did he look so different now, that he was a different buck? Maybe he could go to the rut now and-

he stopped himself and turned around to the doe again, who was shivering in her misery. "I am sorry." She wouldn't understand what he really meant, but he allowed her to come closer, and they travelled side-by-side, away from where the water had once been.

They did not go towards the rut, but turned and hid inside the hollowed-out tree. Slowly, they became happier, closer to one another. No one bothered them. Long and happy years passed by; sometimes they could hear the clash of antlers in the distance. Burra was stirred everytime, and would of tried to find the source of the sound if his mate did not pull him back.

So happy they were, until one day, she was not there.
Burra awoke to find her missing, and so leapt out of the tree. The rut clashed in the background, tension rising in his mind; he could fix things now, but that would mean abandoning her. He was so torn up, when finally, his decision came.

He was positively sure his antlers were fine now, and correct he was. In his happiness and peace, he'd grown very tall and strong, he'd caught up with the buck; no, stags now. He clashed with them, won fights and lost, and just as one stag was tearing the skin off his shoulder he heard a scream. He- he had to go....but...one more fight. One more.

He continued to fight throughout the day, and it wasn't until he was satisfied, much later, that he remembered his home and his true happiness. Dropping the ruse, he fled to the tree, to find it empty. So afraid, and alone. He felt his buckhood coming back to him. When he turned around-

the old buck was standing in the shade of a new tree, on a bank, beside the pond.

And he knew what had happened.

He leapt- and as he leapt, he saw the mighty stag once again, and tears sprung to his eyes, before he hit the water, now filled deep with their tears and their lives....

.....

Some say that the fish beneath the surface are their children, that the bridge is their love, and the reeds are their longing. The frog is the spirit of Burra inside us all; a hope, a desire, a dream.

....

When he leap into the pond, we are just like him.

"Remember that next time you do."