Icy rulers looked on from high above the plains. These were their lands, that they had chosen to water or not for thousands of years. Unaware, hairy brown beasts grazed below; their senses numbed by the freezing air and lack of natural enemies. Their lofty position gave the lords a view of what was coming. Miniscule tremors across the rocks communicated the impending doom. How could they help?
Theirs was a static existence, but they no longer wished to stand by and watch another creature become extinct. Numbers already threatened, the bison would soon follow their ancestors into oblivion if the distant thundering hooves reached them.
It was ironic that an animal carried greedy predators to advance the wiping out of another. With no choice, being spurred by vicious whips they galloped forward. This was not about survival, it was commercialism. These attackers would only need a handful at a time to provide enough meat and fur to live. It wouldn’t warrant the amount of ammunition hanging from saddlebags.
The decision was made.
The lords began to warm, channelling the vibrations. They would sacrifice pieces of themselves as warning.
Small stones broke first, then the melting ice chisels caused larger pieces to dislodge and roll down the mountain surface gathering snow. Woken from their trance by the alarm of a few raining ice bullets they began to flee.
Shivers intensified to shake the land as waves from the stampede and the pursuing humans rattled banks of snow. The bison ran free as the avalanche buried the poachers.
by Debbie Gravett © 2021.02.17
FFFC: Flash Fiction Challenge #106
Image by Google Home Photo Frame