Fábula de la vieja y la nueva silla

Aquel mediodía, la puerta de la cocina se abrió de par en par para recibir a la recién llegada. Era una silla de madera clara, con el barniz todavía fresco y un asiento de mimbre perfectamente trenzado que brillaba bajo la luz del sol. Los dueños de la casa la colocaron en el centro de la estancia con orgullo, admirando su porte impecable.

En un rincón, cerca de la estufa, descansaba la silla vieja. Sus patas estaban desgastadas, el respaldo lucía las huellas de mil manos y el barniz se había perdido hacía décadas, dejando la madera desnuda y oscura. Sin embargo, nadie se atrevía a moverla de allí. Era el trono del abuelo.

—Abuelo, por favor, siéntese en la nueva —le dijo su hijo—. Es mucho más cómoda y robusta. Esta ya no puede más.

El anciano, con una sonrisa tranquila, acarició el brazo de su vieja compañera.

—No os preocupéis. Dejad la nueva para mi nieta, que a ella le vendrá bien y lucirá mucho más sentada en ese brillo. La mía todavía está bien.

Cuando la familia salió de la cocina y el silencio se adueñó de la casa, la silla nueva miró de reojo a su vecina del rincón. No pudo evitar soltar un crujido que sonó a suspiro de lástima.

—Me apena verte así —dijo la silla nueva—. No entiendo cómo te permiten seguir en servicio. Estás agotada, vieja y llena de cicatrices. Deberían haberte retirado hace tiempo para que yo me encargue de todo. Soy más fuerte, más bonita y puedo servir a esta familia mucho mejor que tú.

La vieja silla no se inmutó. Tardó un poco en responder, con una voz que recordaba al crujir de los árboles antiguos.

—Te entiendo —contestó la vieja silla—. Yo también fui joven y deslumbrante cuando crucé ese umbral. Mi madera brillaba tanto como la tuya y mi asiento era igual de firme. Pero el tiempo no pasa en balde para nadie.

—Precisamente por eso —insistió la nueva, irguiendo su respaldo—, mi utilidad es evidente y la tuya ha caducado.

—Te equivocas en algo fundamental —replicó la vieja silla con calma—. Mi valor no está en mi brillo, sino en mi veteranía. He sostenido al abuelo desde que era un joven lleno de energía; he escuchado sus penas y he sido el apoyo de sus manos cansadas. Mis patas saben exactamente cómo equilibrarse cuando él busca descanso, porque nos hemos hecho uno con el paso de los años. He servido con fidelidad y sigo haciéndolo porque conozco por propia experiencia, el peso de la vida.

La silla nueva guardó silencio un momento, procesando aquellas palabras.

—Tarde o temprano —continuó la vieja silla—, el sol apagará tu barniz y el uso desgastará tu mimbre. Entonces comprenderás que servir no es solo lucir bien, sino resistir el paso del tiempo con dignidad. Hoy eres el orgullo de la casa, pero algún día, tú también serás una silla vieja y usada, y solo esperarás que alguien te valore por todo lo que has sostenido.

---

Pasaron los meses y las estaciones. La silla nueva se convirtió en la favorita de las visitas y de la nieta, quien saltaba sobre ella y la arrastraba de un lado a otro de la cocina. El brillo del barniz comenzó a perderse bajo los roces, y un pequeño chirrido, casi imperceptible, empezó a sonar en su pata derecha cada vez que alguien se sentaba con brusquedad.

Una tarde de tormenta, la cocina estaba en penumbra. El abuelo entró caminando lentamente y, por un momento, dudó. Miró su vieja silla junto a la estufa y luego miró la silla nueva, que ahora lucía algunas manchas de café y un rasguño en el respaldo.

—Abuelo, siéntese en la mía —dijo la nieta desde la puerta—. Es más alta y le costará menos levantarse.

El anciano probó a sentarse en la silla nueva. Esta, sintiendo el peso de la responsabilidad, se esforzó por mantenerse firme, pero sus maderas, aún jóvenes y rígidas, no supieron amoldarse a la espalda encorvada del hombre. El abuelo suspiró, se levantó con esfuerzo y regresó a su rincón de siempre.

Cuando se hizo el silencio, la silla nueva, algo maltrecha y fatigada por el ajetreo del día, se dirigió a la vieja silla.

—Tenías razón —susurró la silla nueva—. Hoy he sentido que mis patas flaqueaban. El peso de la vida es más difícil de llevar de lo que pensaba. He perdido mi lustre y ya no me miran con el mismo asombro que el primer día.

La vieja silla, que parecía haber ganado una nueva veta de sabiduría en su madera oscura, le respondió con suavidad:

—No te lamentes por el brillo perdido. Ahora es cuando empiezas a ser útil de verdad.

—¿A qué te refieres? —preguntó la nueva, sintiendo un muelle un poco suelto—. Ahora estoy marcada y mi madera empieza a quejarse.

—Te refieres a las cicatrices —dijo la vieja silla—. Esas marcas son tu historia. Cada rayón es un juego de la niña, cada mancha es una cena compartida. Has dejado de ser un adorno para convertirte en un apoyo. La veteranía no es solo durar, es aprender a encajar los golpes sin quebrarse.

La silla nueva miró cómo el abuelo se quedaba dormido, apoyando su cabeza cansada contra el respaldo de la silla vieja. Comprendió entonces que la verdadera nobleza no residía en la perfección del estreno, sino en la capacidad de seguir sirviendo, año tras año, incluso cuando el cuerpo cruje.

—Algún día —añadió la vieja silla—, alguien se sentará en ti buscando consuelo, y tú sabrás dárselo porque ya conocerás el cansancio. Ese día entenderás que ser vieja no es un castigo, sino la recompensa por haber sido una fiel compañera de alegría y fatigas por igual.

Desde aquel rincón, la silla nueva dejó de envidiar el barniz de los muebles nuevos que llegaban a la casa. Se limitó a asentarse con firmeza en el suelo de la cocina, orgullosa de cada marca, esperando pacientemente el momento en que su madera, ya curtida, fuera tan sabia como la de su compañera.

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Fábula del oso hormiguero

Había una vez un oso hormiguero que se sentó muy tranquilo frente a un gran hormiguero. En lugar de meter su lengua en los agujeros, sacó un trozo de pan y empezó a masticarlo con mucha dificultad.

Al poco rato, pasó por allí un mono. Al verlo, se detuvo y soltó una carcajada.

— ¡Pero qué haces! —exclamó el mono—. Tienes una boca pequeña y larga, no tienes dientes para masticar eso. ¡Te vas a atragantar!

El oso hormiguero no respondió y siguió intentando morder el pan. Entonces llegó una guacamaya, que al ver la escena, empezó a gritar desde una rama:

— ¡Qué error tan grande! Todo el mundo sabe que los de tu especie comen hormigas. ¡Estás haciendo el ridículo con ese pan!

Varios animales más se acercaron. Se burlaban de él y señalaban su hocico alargado, diciendo que no estaba hecho para comer como los demás. El oso hormiguero, sin embargo, seguía a lo suyo. Como su boca no era buena para el pan, mientras intentaba comer, se le caían muchísimos trozos pequeños al suelo.

Pronto, los pies del oso hormiguero estaban rodeados de un montón de migas.

Y sin que nadie más que el propio oso hormiguero lo esperase, el suelo empezó a moverse. Atraídas por el olor, miles de hormigas salieron de su hogar y se amontonaron para recoger las migas. En un momento, el suelo estaba negro de tantos insectos.

El oso hormiguero dejó el pan de lado, estiró su larga lengua y, con mucha facilidad, se dio el festín más grande de su vida. Los otros animales se quedaron mudos de la sorpresa.

Después de quedar bien satisfecho, el oso hormiguero los miró y dijo:

— Las migas son las amigas de las hormigas.

Y, sin decir nada más, se fue por el camino tan campante y tan contento.

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Savage Worlds Deadlands - Blood On The Range

Act 1: The Scene of the Crime

Heath tips his hat back, squinting against the harsh sun. "I appreciate you answering the call, Madeleine. Most folks around here are too spooked by the 'Ghost Steel' talk or the Ute war parties to lend a hand. But Hank was a good man. He didn't deserve to go out tangled in his own fence like a panicked calf."

He gestures to the barbed wire where bits of Hank’s flannel shirt still flutter in the breeze. "Town undertaker's back at the ranch house if you want to see the damage for yourself, or you can poke around here. What’s your pleasure, Miss Red?"

The wind over Uinta County carries a bite that doesn’t just chill the skin—it rattles the soul. Madeleine Red, her twin Peacemakers heavy at her hips and a grim shadow seemingly tethered to her boots, stood amidst the golden, swaying grass of the Crittenden Ranch. Heath Crittenden, a man aged a decade in just two nights, gestured toward the distant horizon where the fence line cut a jagged scar across the plains.

"Hank's back at the house, Miss Red. Or what's left of him," Heath muttered, his voice cracking like dry leather. "Then I'll take you out to the wire. Just... watch yourself. Something ain't right with the silence out here."

1. Examining the Body (Healing d4-2, Unskilled)

• Roll: 2 - 2 = 0. (Wild Die: 3 - 2 = 1).

• Result: Failure. 

• Consequence: Madeleine looks at the perforated remains of Hank Beamer. The wounds are jagged and deep, but without medical training, she can’t quite place what kind of "bullet" makes holes that look like they were chewed by a serrated tooth. It's gruesome, and the metallic tang of old blood fills the room, but the "how" remains a mystery.

2. The Crime Scene (Notice d6)

• Roll: 5 (Wild Die: 2).

• Result: Success! (Target Number 4).

• Consequence: Out at the fence line, Madeleine’s sharp eyes catch something the ranch hands missed. While the tracks are a mess of cowboy boots, she notices the way the barbed wire itself is twisted. It isn't just broken; it looks strained, as if it had been pulled with a purposeful, coiled strength. More importantly, she notices a lack of pony tracks nearby. Whatever happened here, it wasn't a Ute raiding party.

3. Checking the Other Side (Survival d6-2, Unskilled)

• Roll: 6 (Aces!) + 2 = 8. (Wild Die: 3). Total: 8 - 2 = 6.

• Result: Success! (Target Number 4).

• Consequence: Jumping the fence to inspect the untouched grass, Madeleine confirms her suspicion. No horses, no moccasin prints. The Utes haven't been within a mile of this spot in a week.

Madeleine began her search in the dim light of the ranch outbuilding where Hank Beamer’s body lay. The sight was enough to turn a lesser stomach; the man had been riddled with holes that looked like messy gunshot wounds, yet there was a strange, burrowing quality to the trauma she couldn't quite identify.

Moving out to the range, she inspected the "murder weapon"—a stretch of ordinary barbed wire. Her keen eyes spotted the anomaly: the wire was mangled in a fashion that suggested a struggle with something that didn't leave footprints. Stepping over the boundary onto the wilder side of the fence, she confirmed the local Utes were innocent; the earth was pristine, devoid of any pony tracks. Whatever had tangled Hank Beamer in that wire hadn't come on horseback—it was something far more unnatural.

Madeleine Red’s reputation precedes her—a woman followed by a dark shadow, but undeniable with a pair of Peacemakers. She arrived at the Crittenden Ranch just as the sun was beginning to dip, answering Heath’s desperate plea. Her first stop was the dim backroom of the ranch house, where poor Hank Beamer’s body was waiting for the undertaker.

Looking at the perforated remains, Madeleine realized she lacked the specialized medical knowledge to truly solve the puzzle, but her intuition told her that the wounds, though resembling messy gunshots, had a strange, burrowing character that traditional lead didn’t leave. Stepping into the bright sun, she examined the fence line miles away. A cursory inspection confirmed that the simple barbed wire was broken but twisted with unusual force, consistent with a struggle, not a simple snag. More importantly, her careful check beyond the boundary verified that the soil was undisturbed—no pony tracks, no moccasin prints. Whatever had tangled Hank Beamer in that wire hadn't come on horseback, clearing the local Utes. It was a phantom, and it hadn't left a scent.

With the Utes cleared of suspicion and the wounds on the body looking more like "bites" than "bullets," a frantic shout breaks the silence. A cowboy comes galloping over the hill, his shirt soaked in red.

"The beeves! They've gone mad! They're killin' everyone!"

Act 2: Stampede!

Madeleine was just finishing her survey of the fence line when a cloud of dust appeared on the nearest ridge, growing rapidly. A young cowboy came cresting the hill, his horse pushed to its limit, his shirt soaked in red from a dozen small, sharp cuts.

"MISS RED! MISS RED! It’s got into the beeves! They’ve gone mad! They’re killin’ ever’ body!"

He points frantically back over the hill behind him, trying to stem the bleeding on his arm with a shaking hand. He looks like he's seen the devil himself.

Madeleine hears the sound of distant, echoing lowing and the unmistakable snap of wood splintering. From this distance, she can only see a small, dust-shrouded cluster of five maddened bulls, but one of them, a massive beast with a broken horn, seems to be driving the others directly toward two ranch hands desperately trying to outrun them on foot.

The high-desert air suddenly filled with the thunder of hooves and the wet, rhythmic slapping of something metallic. Madeleine didn't hesitate. As the panicked cowboy scrambled for safety, she put her spurs to her horse and rode toward the crest of the hill.

What she saw made even her cold blood run a degree colder. The five longhorns weren't just spooked; they were being piloted. Coils of barbed wire were wrapped around their massive frames like constricting snakes, the rusted thorns digging deep into their hide. Long, silver strands whipped from their skulls like antennae, twitching with a life of their own.

Combat Round 1: Madeleine vs. The Blood Steers

This are the cards dealt:

• Madeleine Red: Ace of Spades (She goes first!)
• Blood Steers: 8 of Diamonds

Madeleine’s Action: She wants to be effective but careful. She is using Two-Gun Kid, firing both Colt Peacemakers at the lead "Alpha" bull (the one with the broken horn). Since she moved to get into range, her Marksman Edge doesn't apply this turn, but her Steady Hands reduces the "Unstable Platform" penalty of firing from horseback to 0!

Rolls:

1. Right Hand (Shooting d8): 4 (Wild Die: 3). Success!

   • Damage: 2d6+1 (Base) + 1 (Grim Servant). Roll: 3+4+1+1 = 9.

   • Result: Hits the Alpha's Toughness (9) exactly. The bull is Shaken.

2. Left Hand (Shooting d8): 7 (Wild Die: 5). Success!

   • Damage: 2d6+1 (Base) + 1 (Grim Servant). Roll: 2+5+1+1 = 9.

   • Result: Since the bull was already Shaken, this second hit causes 1 Wound.

Seeing the ranch hands in the path of the stampede, Madeleine spurred her mount into a gallop, drawing both Peacemakers in a fluid motion. The sight of the "Blood Steers" was a nightmare made flesh—rusted wire pulsing against their muscles as if drinking from them.

With the steady hands of a veteran, she loosed two shots into the lead bull. The first heavy .45 slug hammered into its shoulder, momentarily breaking its charge and leaving it reeling. Before the beast could recover, her second shot tore through its neck. The bull bellowed—a sound that was half-animal and half-metallic screech—as the first wound slowed its momentum, though the unnatural wire forced it to keep stumbling forward.

As she fired, she realized the truth: the wire wasn't just on them; it was in them, threading into their brains. To save the ranch, she wouldn't just be putting down cattle; she'd be cutting out a parasite.

The dust from Madeleine’s opening volley hadn't even settled before she realized the scale of the horror. These weren't just angry bulls; they were puppets of a parasitic steel mind, and they were far tougher than any natural beast.

"Listen to me!" Madeleine shouted over the thunder of hooves and the unnatural metallic screeches. She holstered one Peacemaker to grab her reins, waving the other toward the canyon to the east. "These things won't go down easy! Help me drive 'em toward the creek bed—bottle 'em up where they can't circle us!"

She looked at the youngest cowboy, the one who’d first brought the news. "You! Ride like the devil's breath is on your neck. Find Chipeta and his war party. Tell 'em the 'bloodwire' is in the beeves! This rot is on their land too, and we need their bows if we're gonna end this before sunset!"

To execute this plan, Madeleine needs to exert her will over the maddened steers while the cowboys scramble to help.

1. Leading the Drive (Intimidation d4 vs. Steers' Spirit d4)

• Madeleine's Roll: 3 (Wild Die: 2).

• The Steers' Resistance: 1.

• Result: Success!

• Consequence: Even with her lower skill, Madeleine’s sheer presence—bolstered by her Overconfident nature—forces the Alpha bull to veer. The herd follows, lured away from the fleeing hands and toward the rocky terrain.

2. Sending for the Utes (Persuasion d4)

• Madeleine's Roll: 4 (Wild Die: 1).

• Result: Success!

• Consequence: The young cowboy, spurred by Madeleine’s authority, nods once in terror and peels away, heading toward the Ute territory at a breakneck gallop.

With a roar that challenged the unnatural bellows of the herd, Madeleine took command. She rode dangerously close to the Alpha bull, using the bark of her Colt and the steel in her gaze to force the stampede toward the high-walled creek bed. The ranch hands, seeing a flicker of hope, fell in behind her, using their lariats and hats to keep the flankers from breaking off.

As the dust thickened, the young cowboy disappeared over the ridge, a lone messenger sent to bridge the gap between the ranchers and the Ute warriors. Madeleine knew the "Bloodwire" was a threat to every living soul in the valley; today, the feud between the town and the tribe would have to wait. The hunt for the shunka warak'in was about to take a backseat to the slaughter of the metal-bound dead.

Act 3: The Stand at the Creek

The plan worked. You’ve funneled the five Blood Steers into a narrow, rocky wash. Their Pace is slowed by the uneven ground, but they are cornered—and a cornered beast is twice as deadly.

Just as the Alpha bull prepares to charge Madeleine again, a feathered shaft whistles through the air, thudding into the beast’s flank. On the ridgeline above, Chipeta and three of his warriors appear, bows drawn.

The dust in the rocky wash turned into a swirling red fog as Madeleine pulled both Peacemakers. Beside her, the ranch hands held the line with trembling hands, while above on the rim, Chipeta’s warriors loosed a rain of arrows that thudded into the thick, wire-threaded hides of the steers.

"Keep 'em bunched!" Madeleine roared over the thunder. "Chipeta! Aim for the eyes—the wire's nested in the skulls! Boys, don't let 'em break the flank or we're all tangled in the devil's knitting!"

Madeleine leaned into the recoil, her hands a blur as she unleashed a lead storm.

The Action:

Two-Gun Kid: Firing both Peacemakers (No Multi-Action penalty).

The Bonus: +2 from the Utes' distraction.

The Penalty: -2 for the "Fan the Hammer" style (rapid fire).

Net Modifier: +0.

Rolls:

1. Right Hand (Shooting d8): 8 (Aces!) + 3 = 11. (Wild Die: 5). Raise!

   • Damage (Alpha): 2d6+1 (Base) + 1 (Grim) + 1d6 (Raise). Roll: 4+2+1+1+5 = 13.

   • Result: 13 vs Toughness 9 is a Raise. The Alpha takes a second Wound and falls, the wire twitching one last time before going still.

2. Left Hand (Shooting d8): 6. (Wild Die: 4). Success!

   • Damage (Second Steer): 2d6+1 (Base) + 1 (Grim). Roll: 6 (Aces!) + 3 + 1 + 1 = 11.

   • Result: 11 vs Toughness 9 is a Success. The steer is Shaken.

The creek bed became a slaughterhouse of sparks and lead. Madeleine’s Peacemakers barked in a rhythmic cadence that drowned out the metallic screams of the herd. Her first volley took the Alpha bull square between its maddened eyes; the heavy slug shattered the skull, and as the beast hit the dirt, the barbed wire lashed out one last time like a dying snake before losing its luster.

"It's the metal!" she shouted to the Utes as she pivoted her second gun. "Burn the carcasses! Don't let a single inch of that wire stay whole!"

Chipeta signaled his men, their arrows now tipped with flaming pitch. As the remaining steers were cut down by Madeleine's relentless fire and Ute precision, the wash began to glow with a cleansing fire. The "Bloodwire" hissed in the flames, a sound like a thousand angry wasps, before finally turning to harmless ash.

Aftermath: The Grim Request

As the smoke cleared, Chipeta rode down into the wash, his face a mask of grim concern. He looked at the charred remains of the cattle. "This is a sickness of the earth, Long-Slinger," he said quietly. "The metal wakes when the land is wounded."

Madeleine holstered her smoking guns and looked at the Ute leader. "There’s a man back at the ranch, Chipeta. Hank Beamer. He was the first. I need you to look at him. If this 'sickness' is spreading through the fences, we need to know how to kill it at the root before every ranch in Wyoming starts bleeding."

Chipeta nods slowly. "I will come. The 'Shunka Warak'in' we hunt is a beast of flesh, but this... this is a ghost of the new world. We must see what it left behind in your friend."

With the herd destroyed and the Utes and ranchers standing on common ground over the ashes, the immediate threat is over. Madeleine earned the $100 reward from Heath Crittenden, and more importantly, she has forged an alliance with Chipeta that might be the only thing saving Headstone Hill in the nights to come.

Adventure Complete!

Madeleine Red turned a certain massacre into a coordinated hunt. By clearing the Utes of suspicion and identifying the supernatural threat of the Bloodwire, she not only saved the ranch hands but also brought a temporary peace to the territory. The mystery of the "wounded land" remains, but for tonight, the guns are cold and the fire is bright.

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