Primordial - Sarah McPherson
Anna stared at the wall of the cave, daubed with marks made more than 10,000 years ago. If she squinted she could see the bulge of a shoulder, the curve of horns. The image had a sense of movement that belied the simplicity of its lines. She stood there for a long time after the others had moved on.
***
In the over-warm hostel bunk room Anna lay awake, staring at the ceiling. There was a patch of damp, a crack in the plaster that suggested a rough shape; haunches, hooves. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, tried to ignore the snores coming from the other beds. From outside she heard a noise; a stamping, a snorting.
She stood up, wrapping the sleeping bag around her shoulders, and, moving slowly, a sleepwalker in the shadows, she went out into the night.
He was standing on the edge of the meadow. Like a bull, but bigger, higher at the shoulder than any bull she had ever seen. Long legs, great muscular shoulders and neck, heavy head crowned by horns that curved up and out, almost three feet long. Coat so dark it was almost black, steaming in the cold air, marked down one side by a jagged scar.
She imagined him fighting, horns locked with another in combat.
Slowly, slowly, Anna moved towards him, close up. So close she could feel the heat coming off him. She stretched up and twined her fingers in the curling hair at his forehead. He huffed, great nostrils flaring, breath hot on her cheek and neck. He turned, haunches bumping against her and began to walk away across the meadow. Anna let the sleeping bag fall and followed, drawn across the grass in his wake.
Legs strong. Shoulders rippling. Grass waves in the pre-dawn light. Tail brushing flanks, back and forth, back and forth. Bull leads, cow follows.
***
Jessica stared at the wall of the cave, daubed with marks made more than 10,000 years ago. She squinted at the information board: ‘Paleolithic’ it said. ‘Aurochs’. On the mottled stone, two figures almost seemed to move; expressive lines suggesting their broad shoulders, their curving horns.
Originally published by Reflex Fiction, July 2021
Sarah McPherson loves folk tales and myths and finding the weird in the everyday. Her flash fiction has been widely published, nominated for Best Small Fictions, longlisted for the Wigleaf Top 50, and selected for Best Microfiction 2021. She lives in Sheffield, is a serial crafter, and spends her weekends doing live action roleplay in the woods. Find her on Bluesky as @summermoth.bsky.social, or at https://theleadedwindow.blogspot.com/.
