About a week ago, on the same day I started playing Okomotive’s Herdling, I accidentally hit a squirrel with my car. The critter darted into the road, and I tried to evade them, but I failed.
They died. It devastated me.
I called my wife, physically shaking and tearful, to tell her what happened. I sat in my car for a bit when I got to my destination, needing to regain my composure. Though I knew my intent was pure, I found it hard to accept that I had taken their life away. To no one’s surprise, if you’re familiar with my work, I saw them not as “roadkill,” but as a being with their own interests and goals, however simple those may seem compared to those of humans. It wasn’t an ideal starting point for heading into Herdling, a game about trying to guide a family of vulnerable animals out of the city and return them safely to their natural habitat. But I’m sure, even on a normal day, Herdling was going to connect with me deeply on account of its moving depictions of human-animal kindness and companionship.
In Herdling, you play a nameless, voiceless, apparently homeless child who awakens one day in their bed under a bridge and encounters a large, hairy creature with their snout stuck in a bit of litter. You’ll learn this animal, resembling something like a buffalo, is called a calicorn. Paintings on the wall nearby indicate that the calicorn doesn’t belong in the city. Instead, a far-off mountain range seems to beckon them to return home. Removing the litter from their face, you tame them with a kind petting, then you give them a name of your choosing–my daughter chose Sonic for our calicorn. Picking up a makeshift staff made of a stick lined with vibrant flowers, you’ll find that you can then begin guiding the creature home by gently herding them ahead of you.
Like Okomotive’s past games, Far: Lone Sails and Far: Changing Tides–but perhaps most of all like Journey–Herdling’s story is told without words and relies on environmental clues. The minimalistic approach works well; all you really need to understand is that the calicorn wants to get home. The game illustrates this well by making the city feel dire. Flipped cars, dilapidated buildings, and a palette of greys and other stormy colors make it feel unwelcoming not just for the calicorn, but for you, too. Maybe the quest to get the calicorn to safety can also be your salvation.
That connection between human and nonhuman animal is the focus of the game, and Okomotive does wonders with this core idea. It doesn’t take long before your sole calicorn becomes two, then three, and eventually perhaps even a dozen. Each time, you’ll tame the calicorn by showing them they can trust you, warmly welcoming them into the pack, and giving each a name. Because each calicorn has a unique look–like different fur patterns and differently shaped or sized horns–and can express their own personalities, it’s gratifying to get to know each of them. As humans, we understand each of us is unique in our world, and we have the same understanding of animals we keep as pets. But sometimes people seem to feel as though a group of, say, cows or chickens, isn’t more than a herd of animals that all behave the same. It’s never true, and why would it be? The calicorns express their differences so beautifully, illustrating the universal truth of animal personhood.
Giving them names is such an exciting, repeatable moment for this reason. Having met one calicorn on a boat, my daughter suggested we name them Captain. Another looked especially cranky due to how their brow hung over their eyes, so we named them Grump. Each animal had their own name, which brought us closer to them. Periodically, we’d come upon resting places, and I’d need to gather firewood to create a cozy campfire for myself and the herd. At that time, one of my calicorns, Melody, really loved to play fetch with a clump of colorful vines formed into a sphere we’d found. Others, like Benson, were more restful, waiting by the area where we’d soon sleep. Sonic, meanwhile, tended to follow me around, like a family dog who never leaves their favorite companion’s side.
It’s a heartwarming joy to get to know each of the calicorns I found on my journey to the mountain, and it’s because of the loving bonds I’d formed with each of them that its central gameplay mechanic works so well, both in my hands and in my heart. As the herd grows, leading them from the back, like a shepherd, becomes more cumbersome. The group gets wider, a bit more unpredictable, and difficult to steer. Some may occasionally lag behind or run ahead just enough that I’d quickly call them all to a halt so that I could redirect all my furry friends into a more tightly knit huddle.
Traversing narrow bridges, creeping around and barely avoiding the nests of large, territorial birds, and dodging cracks in ice all contribute to the game’s puzzle-platforming loop. The imprecise nature of the herd’s movement patterns is made manageable thanks to the game’s controls. In the most life-threatening of situations, you can tell the herd to walk especially slowly, granting you and the herd the ability to more carefully dodge hazards. In several sections, the opposite is in order, and you have to instruct the herd to form a stampede, quickly getting up an icy slide or escaping predators.
Calicorns may or may not die in the story; it depends on how well you do to keep them safe. I felt the weight of this responsibility intensely. I’d gotten to know each of them so well. The game allows you to pet any of them whenever you’d like, and regularly, you may find it necessary to clean them, as twigs and brush get stuck in their fur. These mechanics were sometimes tricky to use because the prompts to perform such actions were often missing, seemingly because the game couldn’t always distinguish which of the many huddled calicorns I wanted to target with my hugs or brushstrokes. It was a small technical hiccup that thankfully didn’t ever sabotage the more life-threatening moments. When they’re injured, they limp or bleed, and in those moments, I’d panic to find them the healing berries that are sometimes scattered around the world. It was my impassioned intent to get every one of them home safely. Anything less was going to devastate me.
As burdensome as that was meant to feel, there are even more moments of elation and beauty. Sometimes, it’s the calicorns who do the saving, reminding me that we are friends. I am not their “owner.” They are my allies. One of the game’s best moments, which thankfully can repeat a few times during your travels, is when the herd makes it to an open space free of hazards, allowing you and your calicorns to run freely. It reminded me of those videos of formerly factory-farmed animals who are rescued by a sanctuary and see grass for the first time. It means something very special to them, and I’m just glad to witness it.
As the calicorns pass through tall, colorful grass, they gain a speed boost that lets them really run ahead. Their fur healthily changes color, matching the vibrant brush. Without words, the story makes it certain: They love this. And because they do, I grow closer to all of them. I’m happy for them. If only for a short while, I’ve helped them find something like home, and together we’re overjoyed. This drives me to continue onward toward our final destination.
The incredible soundtrack feels dynamic, often playing off of your own pace, picking up or slowing down as your herd does, but it’s in these stampede moments where the emotions really swirl, thanks to how the music crescendos when you and the group move swiftly. If you slow down, so too will the music–which for me always meant speeding up to really feel the moment when space allowed. Herdling’s soundtrack is the best I’ve heard, not just this year, but in some time. It wonderfully matches the spirit of the gentle creatures, inviting them back to nature with its blend of percussion, wind, and string instruments that embody the feelings of escaping a concrete jungle and galloping through a liberating plain.
For me, Herdling is a game about rediscovering one’s purpose. It is not the purpose of the calicorns to be stuck rudderless in a dying cityscape, where litter and neglect team to wear them down to nothingness. Neither does it seem to be the protagonist’s purpose to be there, based on the sad squalor they’re found in to start the game. Together, the child and their ever-growing herd of companions–not pets–go on an often heartwarming, sometimes heart-wrenching, adventure back to nature. It’s a journey I’ll remember for a long time thanks to its depiction of animals as unique individuals who, very much like us, are chiefly seeking love and safety. It was one of my favorite experiences in video games to help them find that safety and to feel that love.
