Moreg and the Water Horse

When warm days arrive and the ferns darken under the summer sun, the highland farmers, following an ancient custom, lead their herds to the mountains, to the summer pastures. There, they unlock the doors of their summer huts and live in them until it is time to return home.

Many years ago, there lived a farmer named Donald MacGregor. His summer hut stood in a remote place, on a mountainside, at the foot of which lay a large lake. Donald MacGregor's hut was small and white, surrounded by heather, and below the mountain, lush grass grew. It was a rich pasture for his cattle. However, people did not envy MacGregor. More than that, they shook their heads in disapproval and told him that it was in vain that he had built his hut in such a place. And in the evenings, when it was already dark, no one dared to even step on the path that led to it. After all, everyone knew that in the depths of the large lake lived a terrible monster—the Water Horse—and it roamed the surrounding mountains. No one knew what it looked like. Those who happened to see the creature rising from the dark waters of the lake died of fear and could not tell anything about it. When the creature roamed the mountains, it took on different forms, appearing sometimes as an old woman, sometimes as a black raven, and sometimes as a fox with cunning eyes. And in its true form, it only appeared when it sneaked up on its prey to seize and mercilessly tear it apart.

There were rumors that the Water Horse was enormous and black, that two sharp satanic horns protruded from its monstrous head, and that when it raced across the heather, not even the wind could catch up with it.

Many stories circulated about this monster, and every year it claimed new victims. But, against all odds, Donald MacGregor did not listen to his neighbors when they said it was dangerous to live so close to the lake. They advised him to move his summer hut to the other side of the stream that flowed nearby. It was known that the Water Horse could not cross flowing water, and thus the area beyond the stream was inaccessible to it. But to all these persuasions, Donald MacGregor replied that he wanted to graze his cattle on the best pasture, and the best pasture was right by the lake.

"As for the Water Horse," he said, "I will believe in it only when I meet it."

When reminded of the unfortunate victims of the creature, he retorted:

"If those people disappeared without a trace, it means they stayed too long with their neighbors. They were returning home drunk, stumbled in the dark, and fell into a ravine."

But in the end, he had to admit that he was wrong, and this is how it happened.

Donald MacGregor had a daughter named Moreg, and her father loved her dearly. Every year, she went with him to the summer pastures and spent the long, bright days sitting at the doorstep of the hut, spinning. When twilight fell and the purple shadows thickened on the heather, the girl would descend to the lake shore and call her herd. She would run barefoot down the mountain, convincing herself that there was nothing to fear—after all, her father had repeatedly told her that there was nothing scary here. But still, a shiver ran through her body when she looked at the dark waters of the lake, licking the grassy shores, and cautiously peered into the shadows of the rowan trees by the shore. But she always returned home safely.

During the day, all her fears disappeared. She even sang songs as she sat in the sun, spinning.

One clear morning, as Moreg was carelessly turning the wheel of her spinning wheel, something dark suddenly appeared before her and blocked the sun. The girl stopped her song and screamed.

"I didn't mean to scare you!" came a gentle voice.

Moreg looked up and saw a young man standing before her—tall, handsome, broad-shouldered, and, undoubtedly, very strong. But he seemed strange. His hair and clothes were dark and so wet that water dripped from them.

"How did you manage to get so wet?" asked Moreg. "There's not a cloud in the sky!"

"Well, I was walking along the shore of a small lake, high in the mountains," the young man replied without hesitation, "slipped, and fell into the water. It's nothing, I'll dry off in the sun soon."

He sat down on the ground at Moreg's feet and began to chat with her so cheerfully that she even stopped spinning. However, despite his courteous manner, gentle words, and tender glances, there was something strange about him, and Moreg felt it, though she tried not to think about it.

Then the sun illuminated the young man's head, and he ran his hands through his wet curls.

"Lay your head on my lap," said Moreg, "and I'll smooth your hair."

The young man laid his head on Moreg's lap, and she began to carefully comb his dark curls with a comb. But suddenly she froze in horror. She saw that thin green algae and silt were caught between the teeth of the comb. She knew them well—exactly the same algae and silt tangled in her father's nets when he fished in the large lake below the mountain. And now they were in the stranger's hair. "Wait, is he even human?" thought Moreg. "No, this is the terrible Water Horse. It came out of its underwater lair and disguised itself as a handsome young man to enchant and destroy me."

At that moment, the Water Horse noticed the horror in the girl's eyes. Moreg, with a terrible scream, pushed the dark-haired head off her lap, jumped up, overturned the spinning wheel, and ran. Without thinking, she ran down the steep slope, and behind her, terrifying in the sunlight, chased a huge shadow. And this shadow was darker than the deepest waters of the large lake.

But Moreg was luckier than the other victims of the Water Horse. It did not manage to catch her—she reached the stream that babbled near the lake. And as soon as she jumped over the flowing water, the danger passed. Since then, no one has crossed the threshold of the white hut that stood on the mountainside above the enchanted lake. Not even its owner, Donald MacGregor, entered it. He was so frightened when his daughter almost perished that from that day on, he no longer mocked the stories about the Water Horse. And the ruins of the white hut still stand amidst the thicket of curly ferns.

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Moreg and the Water Horse

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