I instinctively pull Ella closer for protection as my mind registers that an enormous white stag is walking toward us.My God!It must be the same one she talked about seeing on the far ridge of the estate. It is an impressive beast. Looking up at its tall stature and full rack of antlers is an awesome sight, but its snow-white coat makes it seem otherworldly.
“Have ye come to see Ella?” I ask as it stops a few feet away. Its calm, assertive demeanor seems to answer my question without words. “She is’na well,” I say, fully aware of the oddity of speaking to a wild animal. But my instincts seem to understand that at this moment, it is of no concern. That he is here to help her, and that is all that matters. “She struggled with the delivery of our son.” I must stop as the significance of his presence and the stress and fear of the past week overwhelm me. Again, I rest my forehead upon hers as my eyes squeeze shut, and my jaw clenches hard to rein in my emotions as my arms wrap tighter around her.
The warm, humid air of the stag’s breath rushes across the side of my face and down my neck, forcing me to pull back from Ella. His wide snout is barely a foot away, and we are surrounded by the heat of his proximity. His scent reminds me of Magni when I brush his shiny coat—pungent, earthy, and masculine, yet the stag has the added distinction of green plants and crisp air. His knowing eyes stare at me for a moment before he grunts and lifts his head, then does it again. My hands are truly shaking now because I believe the beast wants me to move out of the way.
“I…I can’na leave her,” I say with clear skepticism.
He grunts again, then bends his head forward, almost impatiently, and nearly spears my face with a point of his massive antler.
“Oh, I see. Forgive me. I fear I am a bit ignorant when it comes to this sort of…communication,” I reply, letting a bubble of anxious laughter escape as I turn to gently lay Ella upon the grass. The mass of heather flowers and leaves shift and fall about her body as I get her comfortable. Her color is better; I can already see the difference, a slight hint of pink on her cheeks and lips. When I move back, sitting several feet away, I know I can see her chest move as her breaths become deeper and stronger. I feel my own chest expand with the release of pent-up tension.
The stag moves closer to Ella and bends his head low, bringing his nose close to her side. I can see his nostrils moving as he sniffs her, taking his time to slowly move around her body. He stops when he reaches her lower abdomen and begins moving in small circles before pressing his snout gently on her womb. A dull ache forms once again in my throat as I witness what I believe to be an answer to my prayer—perhaps even a miracle.
A few minutes later, he moves up toward her chest and hovers there, pressing only a few times between her breasts, then moves to the center of her forehead and rests there for several long minutes. Another tear follows the wet trail streaking down my face. Is this a dream? Am I in heaven, having already died from a broken heart? What I am seeing cannot be real, yet I can feel the energy of whatever it is that is happening right now. Still, my logic fights a mighty battle against the truth before me, screaming defiantly in my head.
The stag finally lifts his immense head, crowned with those magnificent antlers, and stands tall and proud before us. He turns and looks up toward the massive branches of the oak and lets out a loud bellow that vibrates in my chest and echoes through the forest. It sounds like a war cry, that haunting call to action that rallies forces to charge into battle and defeat the enemy with fearless ambition. Perhaps he is calling on the forces of nature to defeat the illness that is trying to take Ella’s life, or it could be a call to her spirit, demanding she fight and win the battle. When the silence returns, it is strange and heavy in my ears. Then suddenly, it’s broken by the high pitch call of the hawk I had forgotten was there. My heart is pounding in my chest when the white stag bellows again, the opposing sounds blending into a melody that reverberates around us, then drops his head to nudge Ella’s side, jostling her as if to wake her up.
The hawk cries out again and again, the pauses between each cry long enough to allow the silence to deafen the forest. The rhythm becomes hypnotic as the fierce sound becomes more and more powerful as if this magnificent bird of prey is chanting an ancient prayer that only the forest remembers. Gooseflesh spreads across my entire body as I continue to witness something surreal yet, more beautiful than I could ever imagine. Then, without warning, Ella’s eyes open, and she looks directly at the regal stag standing over her. She blinks several times to adjust to the light, then lifts the corners of her mouth into a small, knowing smile that nearly blinds me.
Thank you, thank you, thank you,I repeat in my head as I watch her small hand reach up and gently rest on the stag’s face. His eyes close in a slow blink before lifting his head to stand tall once again. He looks toward me, lets out a muffled grunt, and turns back to the forest, slowly disappearing into its dense camouflage while the swooshing sound of a bird in flight echoes above.
I rush to Ella’s side, pulling her frail body into my arms.
“Ella! My love. Yer awake, yer alive.” I pull away, my trembling hands holding her head so that I can stare at the eyes I have begged to open, I have dreamed of looking into again. “My God! I can’na believe what I’ve seen. ’Tis a miracle, a true gift.” She looks at me, the weakness still evident in her eyes. But she’s awake, and she’s smiling at me once again. “I love ye so much, Ella. I’ve never been more scared in all m’life. I thought ye would’na make it through. I begged, and I prayed, but nothing helped until I brought ye here. Ye can’na believe what has happened, what they did fer ye.”
Her hand comes up to push my hair behind my ear. “You did the right thing, Alasdair. Everything is alright now.”
My lips press hard against her forehead as I weep from hearing the sound of her voice. “Christ, Ella,” I say through the strangled grip on my throat.
“It’s alright, Alasdair. Look at me.” My eyes meet hers. “Tell me, how is my boy?”