Stormy Skies And Windy Boys

Ask any grandfather, and he will tell you that any four-year-old grandson is a bundle of energy.  Ask any grandfather, and he will tell you that any four-year-old also is a bundle of questions.  This four-year-old grandson was the most energetic and the most inquisitive of the bundles.  As grandfather and grandson played in the yard on this hot, hot and sunny summer afternoon, his little grandchild had tons of questions.  He also had tons of energy.  As the hot, hot sunny afternoon wore on, grandfather had less and less energy, and fewer and fewer answers.

So, it was very welcome when the bright blue sky above began to be pushed aside by the dark, rolling billows from the west.  It meant that grandpa soon would be able to say to grandson, honestly, “We need to go inside.”  What grandpa really needed to say was, “I need to go inside.  I need to rest.”

But the little bundle of questions and energy was not afraid of the menacing black sky, or the rumbling sounds, or the flashes of light far away.  No, he was not afraid, and he had not run out of questions.

All the questions started the same way.

“Why does,” or “why is,” or “why will.”

It was a marvellous thing that granddad knew all the answers.  Or at least he knew how to make it sound like he knew them all.

“When I was a boy,” or “well, a long time ago,” or “you see, this is what I heard from a little bird .. or butterfly… or doggie” started all grandpa’s answers.  Some even were true!

But grandpa was no longer a little boy, and he no longer had a little boy’s energy.  Indeed, he quickly was running out of energy.  He was not sure he could answer many more “whys” to the boy’s satisfaction.

“Why does,” the little boy began, “the sky make so much noise? Why does the light get so bright over there?  Why do my feet seem to shake when that loud noise comes from the sky?”

It just wasn’t fair!  Three whys before he could catch a breath!  Just then, the rain started to fall.

“Why does the rain not fall all in one spot, but bounces all over the place?”

Four!  Four whys!  Grandpa hurried to answer the first, before the boy could ask a fifth.

“Why does the sky look like it is pulling a blanket over itself?”  He pointed to the thick, billowing clouds.

Five!  And grandson didn’t appear to be even out of breath!

Quickly, granddad started off, in such a hurry to pre-empt the next question that he forgot his usual format.

“Well, you see, it is like this.”  He was too exhausted to even try to pretend he heard it somewhere else.  He was also getting quite wet, and grandpas do not enjoy wet as much as boys enjoy wet.  Grandpas have forgotten how much fun wet can be – wet feet, wet hair, wet all over!  The boy was delighted, and tugging one way as hard as grandpa was tugging the other to hurry him indoors. 

It was a lucky thing that grandpas are bigger, even if little boys are more determined.  Grandpas usually won the tug-of-war, and this grandpa at least was winning a little bit.  He almost had his little bundle to the gazebo.  If not warm and comfortable, it would be dry and safe.  At least, drier and safer than standing in the thunderstorm.

Grandpa was panting, out of breath.  The boy was excited, breathless.

“Look, grandpa!  More light, and louder noise!”

Grandpa didn’t need to be told.  The ground shook and his ears rattled just a second or two after the lightning nearly blinded him.  He hurried his grandson inside the gazebo, just as another bolt of lightning flashed above.

“Why does the sky get so angry?”

Grandpa needed to stem the tide of whys.  In fact, he needed to use his “wise” to stop the “whys.”  He smiled to himself at his clever play on words.  But only briefly.  He didn’t want to get hit with another why.  They were beginning to hurt his head!

“That’s not the sky that is getting angry.  That is the teacher.”

The little boy had heard about teachers.  In his nursery, the ladies that looked after them were sometimes called teachers, and some of his playmates in the nursery school had older brothers or sisters that talked about their teachers.  For the most part, they talked about how nice their teachers were, but some (most often, older boys) thought that their teachers were mean.  So the grandson knew what an angry teacher was.  He just did not know that teachers could be in the sky.  He thought he should ask why there were teacher up there.

“Why …”

Grandpa was learning.  Grandpas learn more slowly than little boys, but this grandpa knew he had to learn fast.  Before the boy’s second word was out, grandpa spoke quickly.

“Things are a lot different up there,” he said, pointing to the sky.  “But there are a lot of things the same.”

He picked his grandchild up, lovingly, carried him to one of the soft cushions on a gazebo bench, and wrapped the little guy in a soft blanket.  He then wrapped his arms around the blanket that wrapped the boy.  His grandson loved these moments, even if it was a hot day and he was feeling a lot hotter.  He was feeling just nicely warm inside, and he liked that feeling.  He never thought to ask why he liked it.  He just did.  He waited for grandpa to continue.

Grandpa took a deep breath.  This was going to be his best answer yet!

“You see, in the sky, schoolchildren go to school in the summer, spring and fall.  You will go to school in the fall, winter and spring.”

Grandson did not want to ask why.  He didn’t want to interrupt a good story, and when grandpa took a deep breath, the story was always good.

“In the school up there, there are only four children in the classroom each day, and only two at night.”

Grandson squirmed, wanting to ask more, but not wanting to lose the path of the tale.

“The four children in the day, those are the ones that I am going to tell you about today.  If you remember, you can ask me about the other two children when I tell you a bedtime story.  Remember, now.”

The little boy nodded vigorously.  He would be sure to ask.  Particularly, If this story was very good.  He didn’t ask why.

“Let me see.  I think, if I remember right, that their names were Reynold, and Tommy and Flash and … No, wait.  Flash was one boy’s nickname, not his real name.  I guess I never knew his real name.”

The little boy couldn’t resist.

“What’s a nickname?”  He knew a boy named Nick, and it seemed strange that someone else would have his name.

“Well, a nickname is…  You have a nickname.  Your real name is Dustin, right?”

The boy nodded hard.

“And I call you Windy, right?”

“Yes, yes.  I like that, because it’s special.  But why do you call me Windy?”

Grandpa answered carefully.

“Because you move as fast as the wind.”  That answer would do, until the boy was a lot older.

“Oh, okay.  So is that my nickname?”

“Yes, and the child up there, his nickname is Flash.”

“But that’s only three.”

Dustin could count, and there were only three names.

“Right you are.  Well, there were four, and two of them were brothers.  There was Reynold, his last name started with the letter E…”

“You said his name already.”

“Yes, I did.  He had a brother, his name was Claude.  Reynold, his friends shortened his name to Reyne.  So it was Claude E and Reyne E up there.”  He chuckled to himself.

“Why are you laughing, Grandpa.”

“I don’t know.  Sometimes, things just seem funny to me.”

“Why? Is that because you are old?”

That didn’t seem funny, at all, to the grandfather.  He hurried on with his story.

“So there was Tommy, and Flash, and Reyne, and Claude.”

“You said that part.  Didn’t Flash or Tommy have last names?  I have a last name.”

“Again, you are right.  Boy, you are one smart cookie.”

“I’m no cookie.”

“Flash, I guess I didn’t know his last name.  But Tommy, his last name was Hunter.  T. Hunter.  Up in the sky, there was a Flash.  It was Reyne E. and Claude E. and there was T. Hunter.”

He chuckled again, at his inside joke as he saw the spelling of T Hunter in his head. 

“ T Hunter.  T Hunder. Thunder.”

The boy knew better than to ask why he was laughing again.  Grandpas were funny that way.  They laughed at stuff that made no sense.  The boy’s dad said it was because Grandpa was getting old.

Grandpa thought he should add some more detail to the tale.

“His friends, they gave him a nickname, too.  Because of his last name, and the first letter of his first name, they took to calling him Thunder.  So, there was a Flash and a Thunder up there.”

Just then, the sky lit up with lightning, and the thunder boomed, as if it wanted to be part of the story.

“So, while all these kids were great friends, they were all different.  As different as night and day.”

He smiled to himself again.  This story was more fun for him than for Windy!

“And, even though they were in school, they liked to play a lot.”

The boy wrinkled his forehead, the same way grandpa’s forehead wrinkled all the time.  But Windy was thinking.  That worried Grandpa.

“Grandpa, if there is a school, and a playground, and a teacher, and children up in the sky, how come most days I can not see them?”

“But Windy, you can see the school.  Every day.”

Dustin looked up.  All he saw was the black and grey where blue had been.  And he saw rain, and still it rumbled and light flashed.

“Remember how blue the sky was a little while ago?  Well, think about when you went to visit your other Grumpy and Granny in their apartment.”

This was another of Grandpa’s inside jokes.  He liked to call the other grandfather “Grumpy,” because then, when Dustin visited that grandfather, he would call him “Grumpy,” too.  And that seemed to … well, it seemed to make the other old man even more grumpy, and that, in turn, made this grandpa smile.  Again, and again.  He liked causing trouble, just like Dustin did.  Boys would be boys, his wife would say.

“Well, remember that they lived on the ground floor, but there was another home – an apartment – above them?  It is the same here.  When you look up and see blue, you are seeing the ceiling of our world, and the floor of theirs.”

Strangely, the little boy understood that.

“So, let me get on to the story again.

“All four of these children, they had a tough time doing what the teacher would tell them.  She would call out, ‘focus, children, focus,’ but the kids didn’t seem to pay attention.  Like you do, sometimes, with your mother.  The lessons, every day, required that the children listen and pay attention.  That is what focus is, for teachers.”

“And for mommies and daddies, right?”

“Right.

“But each child learns in his own way.

Now, Claude E., he was the quickest to learn.  And he was the quickest to obey.  Older boys are the most responsible.  Older boys are the best, you know.”

“Except old grandpas, right Grandpa?”

Dustin was quicker than his grandpa knew!

“Hmph.”  Grandpa cleared his throat.

“Every day, the four would enter the school room from the rear, and make their way toward the front.  Day after day, day after day.  It was boring, especially for young boys, who can’t seem to sit still for very long, or listen without interrupting.”

He hurried the last line, so that Windy could not interrupt.

“Can you imagine doing the same thing, day after day after day?  Wouldn’t you want to do something different?”

Windy nodded.

“So, every week or so, the four secretly would decide to pull a prank on the teacher.  Instead of coming in the back door, on the floor above us, they would sneak under the floor, and they sneaked along the sky.  That’s when you see them – when they are underneath the floor the live on.  Does that make sense to you?”

The boy nodded energetically.

“Sometimes, they would sneak by quietly, then surprise the teacher at the other end of the sky.  You and I could see them, then, flat against the blue ceiling up there. Sometimes, they would make lots of noise and puff themselves up, big and black, just to annoy the teacher.  You know, noise, like you do when you ask me why, why, why.”

The little boy didn’t really agree with that point, but he said nothing.

The teacher wasn’t really fooled, though, because  one of the most important things that he wanted to teach them was that they had to learn how to live life, to explore, and to discover the world for themselves.  So, he pretended to be fooled.”

“Do you do that, too, Grandpa?”

Grandpa realized he had a smart grandchild on his hands.

“Maybe.  Yes, maybe, I pretend things.”

He continued with his story.

“Now, even when the four were together, and not  in their classroom, they did learn.  Much of what they learned came from accidental lessons.  You just saw the four of them dashing across the sky.  What did you learn?”

The boy was puzzled.

“All I saw was clouds.”

“You mean Claude.  It was Claude E.”

He laughed at his own wit.

The boy got it.  He laughed, too.

“Claude was a smart cloud, not too dense.”  Grandpa knew he was on fire.  He was funny today, even if the boy didn’t know it!

“You noticed how, as he moved forward toward the front of the classroom, he didn’t ever turn around and go backward.  He was focused.  But you noticed that he didn’t rush.  He sometimes slowed down, sometimes rushed quickly as he spread across the sky.  That was Claude’s way.  He liked to pause, and learn things along the way.

Now, you remember how the rain came down?”

“Yes.  It was really hard, then it just came down a little, then hard again.  Why?”

This was a “why” that Grandpa had set him up to ask.

“That was Reynold. Reyne E., remember?  It was Rainy.”

That joke was too obvious, even for Windy.  He didn’t bother to laugh, or smile.

“Why, grandpa?” he asked again.

“Reyne has a focus problem.  He stops here, rushes there, never planning ahead.  Sometimes he forgets to fall anywhere, and other times, he dumps pails of water on the earth.  He lacks focus.  And that is what Claude E. tries to teach him.  Everywhere Claude goes, he takes Reyne with him, but, so far, he hasn’t been able to teach Reyne when to fall, or when not to fall.  Reyne seems like he is too young to learn.”

 “I can learn,” the boy insisted.

“Of course you can.  You’re smart.”

Grandpa patted Dustin on the head with his free hand, the one that wasn’t hugging the boy.

“But there are two other classmates.”

“Thunder and Flash.”  Windy remembered.

“True.  Now Flash, he was worse than Reyne.  Claude would sometimes stop to ask Flash, ‘Did you see those beautiful trees that we just passed?’ Flash had not.  Without thinking, he would dash back in that general direction, but would often completely miss the mark.

Maybe Claude would ask him, ‘Can you see that tall building over there?’  And, without thinking first, Flash would streak over in that direction, sometimes hitting the building in his rush forward, sometimes missing and hitting a structure nearby.  The whole time, he would see nothing along the way.  But Claude, he saw everything, enjoyed every moment.  He saw the flowers opening their mouths wide to catch the rain, he saw how the breeze made the leaves dance, he saw the rainbow stepping over the clouds to touch the sun behind.  Flash saw nothing.  He, just like Reyne, had no real focus, even though he rushes toward something like he does.”

“What about Thunder?  I hear him running around up there.  He must be focused, because I hear him running, then he stops.  He must be finding what he was looking for.  Isn’t that focus?”

 “No, that isn’t focus, at all.  Thunder, he just follows Flash all over the place.  But Thunder is big, and slow, and everywhere he goes, he picks up more stuff to carry in this huge bag that he drags behind himself.  That’s the rumbling you hear – all that stuff in  the bag he drags, chasing after Flash.  His only focus is to catch Flash, and, of course, as that bag gets heavier, he has a harder and harder time catching Flash, so he rumbles along longer and longer, never sure where he will go next.  And you hear his rumbling longer and longer.”

“So, Grandpa, if they all focused, then, they would all go in the direction they wanted, but they wouldn’t have to rush.  They could keep going, as hard as they could, but they could also stop to enjoy things sometimes?”

Grandpa was happy with his grandson.  He roughed his hair, gently.

“Boy, I don’t even know why your mom and dad want to send you to earth school.  You’re so bright that you should be going to school up there.”  He pointed to the heavens. “You are bright as the stars in the sky’s night school.  Or the moon.  Maybe, if you focus really hard, you will be as bright, someday, as the sun itself.”

“I am a son, already. Daddy calls me “son.”

That’s very true,” laughed Grandpa.

“So, then here’s the good news, for you.  That school that Reyne E and Claude E and Thunder and Flash go to.  That’s the school that you belong too, as well.”

“Grandpa, that’s foolishness.” 

It was his grandma’s favourite line around Grandpa.

“That’s silly.  I’m in nursery school.”

“Oh, yes.  That’s true.  But you are also in another school.”

He picked up a blue crayon that had been left in the gazebo.  Carefully, he looked around, to see that grandma was not looking.  Then he wrote out four letters on the gazebo wall.  His grandson gasped!  Surely, he would be blamed!  He looked around, too.  More anxiously than Grandpa, because grandma would punish him, for sure.  Then, he looked at the four letters.

A. S. K. Y

“What does it say, Grandpa?”

“Well, it says two things.  First, it says A sky.”

He pointed to the first one-letter word, and then to the second three-letter word.

“That’s where the six children – the two in night school and the two in day school – go to class.”

“How can I go to A sky school?”

“You don’t.  You go to this one.”

And he pointed to another three letter word and a one-letter word.

“You go to the school of Ask Y.”

With that, he laughed out loud, rumbling as loud as the thunder.

Dustin shook his head.  “Boy, Grandpa must really be getting old,” he thought.

He knew Grandma would agree.

`

The Wrath of The Virgin Goddess

Man eternally has been the bane of the gods, even as the gods and goddesses look down on man as a father and mother might do.  And, like parents, the deities sometimes discount the wayward behaviours that their charges might instigate.  Like strict, authoritarian custodians, though, they, most often impose their wills on man.  But man has always had his own will, determination, and an independent nature, to the chagrin of the goddesses and gods above.

And man has always had the urge to surpass the gods themselves, taking dominion over the beasts of the wild with whom he finds pleasure and favour.

Gods, like their human wards, hold biases and play favourites, and Artemis was no exception.  She loved all her dependants equally, but she loved man and her hunting beasts most of all.  They were, truth be told, her favourites because they were so similar, with their love of the wilds, of pursuit, of the conquest and kill.  Man may have two legs, but he was the equal – no more and no less – of the dog-like beasts who were Artemis’s constant companions.

There were four of these canines, and one man.  They were the family that Artemis, the virgin goddess, called her own.

Artemis, pure and chaste, nonetheless felt the weakness of possessiveness and jealousy, whenever she was challenged, confronted or disobeyed.  And it was one of her two loves that most often aroused that green ogre in her.  It was man.

Man, who yet had not been granted a name other than “Man,” displayed the youthful insolence that today remains the hallmark of his nature.  He embarked on his own path, frequently, and chose to flaunt the rules or ignore the boundaries that the gods had set for this child of the world.  Routinely, one or another god would pose and posture, threatening to bring his wrath down on this puny animal.  Routinely, Artemis would intercede, casting her own curses on any who offered to harm her ward.  And man continued to toy with the limits and restrictions that Artemis placed on him.

Man was, while not wild, wild at heart. He loved to explore, and strove to understand why he was restrained by the gods, time and again, whenever he ventured on his own.  Artemis was not accustomed to having to explain her preferences or repeat her admonishments.  She was not used, also, to hearing the word “no.”  She heard it often, when she chastised and reprimanded her man-child.

Artemis demanded respect and obedience from all the creatures of the wild, over whom she had dominion.  With only one exception, all of the beasts of the forests and fields obeyed.  All, except man.

One of her sacred dictums was that she, alone, would rule the fauna of the earth.  It was her father, Zeus’ wishes.  Few other gods or goddesses dared exercise any liberties with her animals, for fear of her powerful retribution.  On occasion, some, though, did venture across the bounds she had established, and they perched high in the skies as punishment, forever condemned to roam the night world, as constellations, or, worse yet, solitary stars.  Artemis understood the impact of solitude, and used her abilities to isolate her challengers for eternity.  She knew that loneliness was, among the gregarious gods, worse than destruction.  It destroyed the soul.

With her powers, Artemis could mete out any imaginable penalty, and her creativity knew few limits.  The camel, castigated for its vanity, bore its hump and disfigured face as a badge of reprove. The snake, formerly a fanciful creature who bragged of his great speed, was denied of legs.  The great gorilla, fond of proclaiming, not only his superiority to man but his equivalence to the gods, passed his remaining days without true voice, and a posture that humbly forced him to drag his mighty arms along side him as he lumbered through the jungles.  Orion, once Artemis’ hunting companion, dared to imply that he was her superior, and found himself to hunt only the other stars in the heavens until time would end.  She was, indeed, a fearsome foe, but a loving matriarch.

Man needed stimulation.  Man loved company, too.  While young, he was content to rest in the protective arms of Artemis.  As an adolescent, he savoured the moments when he ran, alongside her canine creatures, pursuing a hunted beast of the forest.  As a teenager, he strained at the bonds that isolated him from freedom to explore the world around him.  Now, as a young adult, he longed for the power to choose, to be what he wanted, to select his own companions.

Artemis was not yet ready to permit his release from her enslavement.  She considered that he, like all wild beasts, was not capable of independence and wise decision-making.  She restrained man.  In truth, she wanted man to herself.

A fence, for man, was nothing more than an invitation to clamour over to the other side of the barricade.  Man was destined to explore, and the goddess was destined forever to find herself pursuing and rerouting this agile animal.  That, in turn, enhanced the thrill of escape for this two-legged beast.

But man also had been afflicted with intelligence.  As today’s man knows, intelligence is not always a sign of wise.  Man often fell short in the “wise” category. 

Man, like Artemis, longed for company, yet knew nothing of the company of woman.  In Artemis’ care, man knew his first bond with what would become man’s best friend, and he would spend hour after hour hunting or frolicking in the deep forests with Artemis’ other four favourites.  Clandestinely, though, since both man and hunting beast had been barred from their pursuits, unless the goddess oversaw their activities.  The gods intuitively understood that, to permit association and collaboration between the beasts could only lead to alliances that may threaten, however weakly, the jurisdiction of the gods.  It was more than a guideline: it was a decree.  In spite of, or because of it, Man found great pleasure in flaunting this special rule.

Artemis had her suspicions that something was amiss.  Often, when man vanished, several of her canine children did so, as well.  The joyous baying, laughing and howling deep in the dark recesses of the woods attested to the sinful pleasures that the collage of creatures enjoyed.  They enjoyed those thrills of the chase without her, and without her permission.  Both roused her anger, fed her jealousy.

One day, after a too-frequent scolding of man and a sharp rebuke by Artemis toward her canine beasts, the possessiveness and envy overwhelmed her, and she determined to uncover the treachery.  There would, she vowed, by very explicit and unambiguous punishments for all of her wards.

The sedition exposed easily, Artemis’ full rage was muted only slightly, accompanied by mild amusement, when man rose to defend his wild friends stoutly from her wrath.  To think that he would dare to be so thoroughly insolent, in the face of certain overpowering force, brought a hidden smile to her. It was like the immature growl of the lion cub as he tussled with his mother lioness’ ears.  It was puny, yet so completely brave that Artemis’ jealous heart softened slightly.  It was sufficient to avert her intended mortal punishment for both man and her four-legged beasts.  It was, in fact, their salvation.

Neither man or beast expressed remorse for their actions.  Indeed, man demanded that Artemis refrain from intervention in his life, insisting that he, and he alone, was responsible for his actions, and the actions of his companion beasts.  He, after all, had encouraged their rebellion, and had led them into the forest.  He could, he insisted, not only care for himself but care for his four-legged friends.

One by one, Artemis interrogated her wild subjects, demanding their individual responses.  She was not seeking separate, independent responses.  They would, she knew, all acquiesce to her authority, with, perhaps, one exception: man. Or maybe two.

The first approached the goddess meekly, its belly hung low, its ears flat, its yellowish eyes failing to meet hers, a gaping, toothy, sly smile playing at his lipless jaws.

“And you.  You disobeyed me.  You were ordered only to hunt in my company.  Explain yourself.”

The cur slunk even lower to the ground, a shrill whine emitting from his throat.

“I had no choice.  They forced me to go.  I was afraid of being left alone, and I had no one to protect me.  It is so lonely when you are not with me. And when the others are with me, and you are not here, they treat me so poorly.”

This deflection of blame irritated Artemis. 

“No choice?  No protection?  Lonely?  What do you know of lonely? And what of your goddess?  Am I no one?”

Second to approach was the smallest of the four, a joyously crimson coloured coat sparkling in the light, a bounce to his step.  His eyes reflected the life around him, and he appeared, at best, distracted by the impending punishments he was about to receive.  A butterfly bounced past on the breeze, and he snatched at it momentarily.

“You.  Come here.”

He was not only the smallest, but also the youngest.  His attention was not easily garnered.

“Explain yourself.  Justify your disobedience, if you can.”  She expected little of this canine creature. He always was lost in the moment, and the consequences of his actions never clouded his choices.

“I can not.  It just seemed that it was going to be so much fun.  We were all going to have a grand time, and, if you never found out, so much the better.”

“You thought that you could deceive me?” Artemis was almost screaming her question.  “Me?  Your supreme one?”

“It was a beautiful day.  I could hear the voices in the woods calling out.  All of us heard them.  I didn’t mind that they came with me.  The more the merrier, you know.” 

Artemis understood his nature.  He loved to be with his friends.  He loved to be with Artemis.  But he also loved to be with all the other creatures around him.  He was a beast of nature, a part of it, and he loved all around him.  The little fellow had not so much chosen to disobey her as he had chosen to obey the beckoning of the forest. He could spend hours alone, or in the company of any others.  It hardly mattered to him.

“And you didn’t think that I might be in need of your services?  That I might want you to be here, when I called?”  They were rhetorical questions.  Normally, she enjoyed his free spirit and playfulness, but not when it was inconvenient for her.

The third lumbered forward.  He was a sizeable, heavy-set animal, with a massive head and soft, brown eyes.  Never one to disobey, he merely went along with whatever others chose.  Although loyal to Artemis, he could transfer his devotion to whomever chose to want his company. 

“You I can understand.   You are no more than a follower, but you also are a good friend.  But, when you choose to disobey me, you know that there will be consequences.  Are you ready to face those penalties?”

The beast merely lowered his head slightly, in acquiescence.  He had nothing to say for himself. 

Last to be castigated was the largest of the four, and the most intelligent.  He had deep set eyes that, at times appeared steely grey, or penetratingly dark, depending on the light and on his mood.  He did not move toward Artemis, opting to let her move to him.  He sat, erect, on his hindquarters, looking slightly skyward and not at the goddess.

Artemis knew that, whatever her punishment, he would disdainfully endure it, and would neither resent it or react.  More than man, he was independent.  Artemis raised her staff high above her head, as if to strike this rebellious beast.  The canine turned ever so slightly to impose his glare, not on the rod, but on the holder of the rod, almost sneering disregard.  Artemis lowered her long cane, realizing that this form of punishment would only alienate the animal.

Lastly, she moved back to confront man.

“You, more than these four, have most to be accountable for.  You, whom the gods have endowed with reason, you whom the gods have granted a measure of respect from other beasts, you whom I have encouraged to use your innate intelligence.  It is you, with the greatest gifts, who has chosen to abuse those assets.”

“You have forgotten, Artemis.  I have also been granted choice, and the ability to bond, with affection.  You, who demand obedience, should also know that you cannot demand love.  Fear, yes.  But not emotions of the heart.  And, I am now more than the child that you have held, have helped, and now seek to keep in bondage.  I need to choose my own way, my own friends.”

His willingness to challenge the authority of this goddess had grown exponentially as he matured.

“I do love you, as a mother.  I do appreciate you, for all you have given me.  But I now need to be free.  It is in the heart of man.”

Artemis knew he was right, but she was not yet willing to acknowledge the reality.

“I am a god.  I make choices.  You do not.”

“Yes, I do.  You chose to give me the qualities that the gods have always reserved for themselves.  You can no more take those traits away than you can cause the world to end.  I have chosen to befriend these beasts.  I have chosen to be free.  And I intend to guide them toward their freedoms, as well.”

Artemis felt the rage rising at this act of insurgence. 

“You puny animal.  You think you can usurp my power.  You think you can act in my stead.  And you drag these, my favourites, into your revolution.  I will allow your freedom.  And with it, you will face the consequences of choice.  On your head will be the responsibility for the futures of each of these four.  On your head alone, will be the future of these curs, who have placed you above me.”

With that invective, Artemis again raised her staff. 

“Step forward, each of you,” she directed at the four-legged entourage.

First to step forward was the obedient, slow and heavy-set one.

“You, who always follows, who never thinks for himself, who cannot bear to be without company.  Forever forward, you will be bound to man, never to be capable of independent thought or will.  On man you will depend, for eternity, for food, for shelter, for attention and affection.  You will never be able to enjoy the freedom of solitude, of unique experience.  I give you the name, dog.  Go, and be with man.”

Next she turned to the grovelling gap-toothed cur with the mangy coat and whiny voice.

“You, the least of all.  You, who sneaks into the company of others, but steals anything you can whenever you think no one is looking.  You who whines and begs, and only seeks company for your own pleasure, not to satisfy the wants of others. You who is selfish, I condemn you to live a lonely life, even though, on moonlit nights you may bay and cry for the company of others.  You may run with others, but they will never share of themselves with you.  You will often not be alone, but you will always be lonely.  From today forward, no beast will trust you, no animal will welcome you.  You will be coyote.”

With that, the lowly cur slunk into the dark shadows of the bushes, to forever howl his anguish to the skies, and cry for the company of colleagues.

Artemis turned her attention toward the third canine, the youngest, but he was already distracted. Although she spoke her verdict, he paid little attention.

“You will play, all day, never finding rest.  But I cannot condemn you to the humble sentence of the other two.  You know no better.  You will forever be childlike, and never know the calm comfort that adulthood brings.  You will forage for your food, but it will not come easy.  You will play too often, and, too frequently, your prey will escape.  You will enjoy the company of others, but only briefly, since you cannot summon the will to focus yourself to the responsibility of friendship.  You will befriend man on occasion, but he will never fully take you into his confidence.  You will spend your days, often alone, sometimes lonely.  You will seek friendship, but it will be only fleeting, and irresponsible.  You will, from now on, be known as fox.”

With that, the fox, unaware of his future, frolicked after a bird that had risen quickly from the tall grasses.

The last of the four canines took little interest in the proceedings.  What would be, would be, and he would withstand whatever could be imposed on him.  He raised his chin to the sky with disdain as Artemis spoke to him.  He accepted her power, but he never accepted her authority.  He, like man, considered himself to be free.

Artemis admired this beast, almost as much as she admired man.  She knew he lacked the level of intellect that man possessed, but he had superior instinct.  While he seldom disobeyed her, he never obeyed her either. He, because his interests were the same as hers during the hunt, merely went along with the group during forays into the woods.  But, he, like man, craved complete freedom.  He had no desire to be rid of Artemis, or of man, but neither held the power to keep him in their company.  In the deep forest, he hunted on his own, bringing down game larger than any of man or the other three could do.  He had a voice, but he chose to use it only at select times, when he was alone and could express his thoughts to the skies above.

“You, I am certain, will take whatever punishment that I decide, but it will have no impact on you, for good or otherwise.  But you have disobeyed me, and have chosen to side with man.  If I do not punish you, I know that, in the company of man, the two of you may someday attempt to rise up against me, and steal my power.  I admit that I fear the potential that you and man, together, may achieve.  For that reason, I condemn you to the forest forever, always on the margins of civilization. 

“Yes, you may accept a temporary peace with man, but the price that you will pay for your association with man is that neither man or you will ever trust each other again.  At best, you will infrequently endure each other.  I cannot risk the potential for you and man to join forces.”

With that, she branded him wolf, and directed him into the wilderness.

Today, you will find the four favourites of Artemis throughout the wilds, sometimes gnawing at the limits of man’s world.  You will find, too, man, his tenuous relationship with these beasts true to the judgements handed down by Artemis.  Dog, never capable of being alone, glues himself to man’s side.  Fox, still immature, plays with his food and his friends, and often pays the price of hunger for his childlike behaviour.  Sometimes lonely, he knows both solitude and companionship. Coyote cries for love, never finding it in the occasional company of other snivelling carrion eaters.  Wolf, alone, remains solitary, enjoying his independence without feeling loneliness.  And man endures the emotions of each of his erstwhile friends, caving to loneliness at times, and at others, seeking solitude.  It is the will of Artemis.