“Far Walker” is a bite from Larry Leonard’s classic tale of the same name. Think about Larry, “iconoclast” is the first word comes to mind.
Ornery, too. Portland didn’t just suddenly get weird on its own. From Wild Dog #5: NO WHINING. (1993) – JDW
Not that it was all bad for him.
Sometimes his naturally curious nature pushed the fear and the loneliness back – for the night was beautiful for him. The moon was entrancing. He spent endless hours at its face. The moon’s changing shape was a curiosity. And the way it flew slowly across the sky, it must have great, dark wings this bird, to catch the high winds above where even Hawk could go!
Sometimes, David would talk to the moon. Sometimes, he sang little songs to it as he grazed in the silvery light. The moon did not answer. Probably too far away to hear a little lemming. He kept on as the mood struck him. It helped – a little.
And some nights, when the air was very clear and quiet, the sky would explode with twinkling lights. Of all lemmings, David was sure he was the first to see these. He wondered how they lifted up from the river where he had seen them during the day. It was a puzzle.
Deep in contemplation of these lights one evening in midsummer he lost himself and did not hear the approaching footfalls. He was not disturbed until he felt the hot breath on his neck. Startled, he looked around.
His heart stopped. Towering over him like some gigantic tree was the most fearsome creature he had ever heard of, let alone seen. It was Wolf.
The swollen tongue hung loosely from Wolf’s huge jaws. His eyes were green slits. He panted lightly as he studied David. He bent forward, his teeth glinting in the moon’s light.
“What is this?,” Wolf said in a very deep voice.
“My n-name is David, s-sir,” stuttered the lemming.
“I know what a lemming is,” said Wolf,”which is what you certainly look like. Is a ‘David’ something else?”
“No, s-sir, I am a lemming.”
The beast regarded him. Blood and a tuft of brown fur adhered to his jowls. Wolf had just eaten a fat rabbit.
“I have never seen a lemming out with the night people. Have you lost your way?”
The first terrible fright had passed. Though David was still scared. It seemed the animal was not going to eat him immediately. But, what should he do? David needed time to think. He sat on his haunches and began to lick his paws and wash his face. That’s when he felt the scar on his forehead and was instantly ashamed. How would Hawk think of him, standing here tongue-tied, weak-kneed and stuttering like some mere… lemming?
David’s wits began to return. Well, he thought, I can’t outrun or outfight Wolf. I’ll have to outtalk him. He will probably eat me in the end, but he will know he’s been in a scrap!
“Lost my way?,” said David, stretching up to his full insight – which was just a little above Wolf’s paw – and continuing to wash himself. “Why, not at all. It is my custom to enjoy the evening after dinner. The fields are pleasant at night, don’t you agree?”
“Ahhh,” sighed Wolf. His muzzle curved into a grin of half astonishment. “He walks the fields after dinner.”
“A pleasant excursion that settles the meal,” said David.
Wolf tipped his head back and laughed.
“Sir!”, snapped David. “If there is humor here I see it not.”
Wolf laughed again, then caught himself. “Your pardon – uh, David, is it? Yes. Well, no insult was intended, I assure you. It is just I have lived many years and walked many miles. I thought there was nothing more to discover. You give me hope.”
“Well, then,” said David, his heart beginning to beat again. “No offense intended, none taken is my policy.”
David felt a strange power, a giddiness. He felt reckless. How far could this go? He stared at the great animal, at the twin moons shining in Wolf’s eyes. A strange idea crept into his brain.
“And have you had your dinner this evening, sir?”, David asked.
Wolf nodded slowly. “Why, yes, David, I have.”
“Then,” said David, taking the plunge, “perhaps you would care to join me in my stroll. You would be most welcome.”
Wolf was quiet for a moment. Then his shaggy head began to shake slowly from side to side. Yet he said: “David, I believe I would consider it an honor to walk with you.”
“Then, let’s be off, sir. A glorious evening is wasting away!”
Wolf laughed. “And where, young David, are we going?”
“To the top of the hill, of course. There is a moon to serenade, my good Wolf!”
“You sing, too?”
“The highest of arts, I should think,” said David, setting off up the path.
“I should’ve known,” Wolf softly. “Somehow, I should have known.”
“What’s that?” called David, pausing to look back. In truth, he had heard every word.
“What? Oh… I said I should have known, ah, we would be going up the hill.”
He really was quite polite, thought David. He liked Wolf.
“If there is somewhere else you would prefer, good Wolf, then name it. But, do make up your mind. The moon is well up and these short legs of mine make long work of hills.”
Wolf smiled gently. Smiling was an astonishing accomplishment for that ferocious face. He glanced upwards.
“You are right, David. We are late and I have been the cause.” He looked back at the young lemming. “Perhaps you will allow me to make up for our tardiness by giving you a lift. We will save time, and besides, it is well known the strain of climbing is not good for the digestion.”
“Why, Wolf!” exclaimed David. “That is most gracious of you, indeed!”
With that, Wolf dropped to his stomach. David hopped up and gained a purchase in the deep fur at the great animal’s shoulders. And off they went.
The sight of the lemming riding the wolf was reported by so many of the night people, thereafter no fox or ferret or badger dared attack the strange lemming with the face mark. But that was not what brought the night people on such long journeys to the field in the weeks to follow. It was the spectacle of Wolf and David performing their strange harmonies there on the hill, joining together in fellowships of song with each moon.
That, no one believed until they saw the disparate duo for themselves.
Some didn’t even believe their own eyes.
The strange thing about it all, thought David as he rested on his rock in the warm summer sunshine, with all his accomplishments, he was still an outcast. What lemming could claim experiences so grand as this? What lemming could walk the night paths alone? There were none; all knew this to be so.
Why should he of all lemmings be considered unworthy? This puzzled and frustrated him. And as much as he tried to deny the pain to himself, it still hurt. He was, after all, a lemming. No matter how independent he seemed, and no matter how many friends he had among the other peoples, he needed his own kind. But they refused him. Why?
One evening after song he broached the subject with his friend, Wolf. Wolf looked at him and nodded sympathetically.
“David,” he said, “do you know what a ‘far walker’ is?”
“A term for one of your people, is it not, Wolf?”
“Yes, David, we had one. But it is not a common thing. A far walker appears only once in many generations and only when a great need occurs. My people have not seen one since the most ancient of days when the ice covered these lands and those far to the south. It was a time of great hunger and death.
“Our legends tell us the people were lost among great mountains of ice, confused by the snow that fell even in summer. And they were starving. It was then a far walker appeared, whispering in each ear that one should grasp the tail of the next. In this manner he formed the people into a great line. Then, taking the lead, the far walker brought them to safety. It was a long and terrible journey, and many died along the way. But some survived, and all knew our race owed its continued existence to the far walker.”
“He must have been a great wolf,” said David. “A leader of leaders.”
Wolf shook his head. “That is the strangest thing of all. When the people came out of the snow, far to the south, they discovered the far walker was one who had been driven from the pack because he could not hunt. He was one of the least of us, David.”
It was David’s turn to shake his head. “Led to safety by a lame wolf,: he said. “That is amazing.”
“I did not say he was lame, David.”
“But, you said he was driven from the pack, if not for lameness, then what?”
“He was blind, David.”
David sat in stunned silence. Finally he said: “But how? When even the sighted couldn’t find a way.”
“That I do not know. But it is said ever after, the far walker was the greatest hunter of all. He could find game in the darkest nights and run it down through the thickest of forests without difficulty.” Wolf paused. “There are some who believe he saw through his dreams, though how that can be I cannot say.”
A wolf who could not see, yet did. Who could not hunt, and then could. David asked Wolf if he knew what happened to cause such a thing.
“All that is known is, after he had been driven away, he wandered, near starvation, for a very long time. Eventually, he found himself on a mountainside.”
“How could he know?” interrupted David.
“By the cry of the one who lives only there,” said Wolf. “And knowing that, he decided to seek out the highest of the high places and throw himself to his death.
“After many days’ travel he reached the high places and made ready to end his life. He sang the first song which is the last song, the birth song which is the death song. It was then something took place and though still blind he could see more clearly than any wolf who lived.”
Wolf fell silent.
“Why did he return to help your people?” asked David. “They had driven him out.”
David had almost said ‘outcast.’
Wolf shook his head thoughtfully. “This seems strange to you only because much the same has happened to you very recently. The far walker knew the company of one’s own is as important as blood and air.
“And he knew even if they did not accept him back, he must do what he could for them. The first law is survival of your race, David. It is important even over your own life.”
“And did they accept him?”
Wold nodded. “With honor and respect. And he held no rancor for them. It is said, throughout his long life afterwards, he treated all with kindness and reverence. There grew to be around him an aura of wisdom and grace.”
Wolf fell silent, his tale finished. David thought about the story, wondering if he could show such forgiveness to those who made him outcast; if he would bother to help those who hurt him. A picture of all the lemmings grazing peacefully came to him. There was Sheba. And Mother. And Father. And the old clan chief.
“Why did you tell me this?” David asked.
Wolf looked at him for a long time. David was almost convinced he would receive no answer at all when Wolf finally said, “I think among your people, David, you may be a far walker.”
David looked across the field of moonlit grass. Another picture entered his mind. A half-starved blind wolf singing his death song to the highest winds. David’s voice was as heavy as the weight on his heart when he spoke.
“And if I do not want this burden?” he said, simply.
Wold did not look at David, nor did he answer.
Wolf opened his great muzzle and sent a cry of lament towards the setting moon.
Larry Leonard by Larry Leonard
Larry was born of royal Viking and Irish heritage in a castle high above Portland, Oregon. He taught himself to read at the age of 3 years, then turned to writing in the field of subatomic physics where he corrected Einstein’s second theory of relativity, predicted the discovery of an expanding universe and published the first quadratic equations utilized in Planc’s Constant, which is slivers. Graduating from the University of Emerald City at the age of twelve, he was the resident professor for the Department of Anti-Gallic Philosophy, specializing in courses explaining cowboy philosophy as expressed in early Tom Mix and John Wayne westerns.
His next career began when he was seventeen, and involved the creation of national security technology like the X-1 test aircraft and what is now known as the B-2 Stealth aircraft. Early testing of photographic techniques and lensing from near-space altitudes resulted in the first Playboy centerfold, full scale images of the entire Monarch butterfly migration route and the exact burial location of a famous Chicago union thug and gangster who liked sports.
During his next ten years, he married and divorced 46 times, taught computer code to Bill Gates, ran the 100 yard dash in less than 8 seconds, flew an unpowered glider around the world without landing, created the world’s first atomic-powered hot dog stand, saved humanity from a Martian invasion, carved Mr. Kilimanjaro into a bust of Alfred E. Neuman and translated all of Yogi Berra’s philosophy books into English.
Currently, he is the visiting professor of philosophy at Cambridge University, which is an ancient school located in Ducksplat-on-Avon in the western British highlands recaptured in 1254 from the armies of Ethelbert the Unready. Within a year, a major American publishing house will release his six-edition history about the Socialist dupe Hippie Movement of San Francisco during the 1960’s which led to one of his former future ex-wives joining an Hispanic drug gang in Los Angeles while driving a 1965 Buick convertible along the Sunset Strip bra-less.
Mr. Leonard’s most famous literary work was a cookbook featuring a recipe for “Catfish on a Hot Tin Roof.” The Hollywood film based on this work starred Elizabeth Taylor wearing nothing but a chef’s hat.
