Heresy

BIRTH

In a softly-lit smoky tent, on a warm, unsettled summer night, with a thousand stars sparkling in the distance over the moonlit mesas, a little female tauren was born.

On the far horizon to the East, hanging patiently as if waiting for something, the shadows of clouds lingered, creeping across the sky, faint lightning dancing in their puffy curves.

Holding their breath.

Waiting.

The faintest rumble of thunder whispered softly in the distance, a promise of the rains soon to come, heralding the end of the hot season, and the beginning of the great dampening. Soon things would change; the winds would blow cooler, the Earthmother would put the world to sleep again, and await the coming of Spring.

But not yet. Not..just yet.

For now, it was the time when late summer clung still to its final days with stubborn tenacity; and the burgeoning clouds, held back by the lingering heat of a Mulgore afternoon, waited impatiently like tethered horses, struggling to be sprung free into the plains beneath them.

Waiting.

The old midwife Gaya Splitclaw peered out into the night, sniffing the air with gentle, probing breaths. There was a tension in the air, as most nights that lingered between seasons often posessed. But she merely nodded sagely, then turned back into the tent and the waiting mother, grunting softly as she lifted the wet, gleaming newborn female aloft before the crackling fire and inspected her closely.

Waiting.

A wolf howled outside.

Gaya blinked, slightly surprised by the sound. “Two..?” she murmured, closing her eyes.

For a moment, she made no sound, remaining motionless and silent; the wind blew gently outside, shifting the fires within the tent ever so slightly from the draft.

Gaya finally nodded and opened her eyes.

“She shall have great spirit and energy! But this she will need; as the biggest battle she will face will come from within. As this night battles itself, so will she, but the wolf shall always guide her home, should she lose her way, she is bound to this land and to the Shu'halo.”

The elder tauren straightened her back stiffly, her head lifting proudly as her voice dropped to a soft but forceful whisper.

“Shu’ halo washte! Ish-ne-alo Po-rah! Mu’sha has spoken, Silverwolf Walks-With-Storms! Earthmother’s blessing to this young one, and to this tent, and to this family.”

She bent down, lowering the infant onto a threadbare wool blanket, decorated with tiny elk, bears, hawks and wolves. If one inspected it closely, it was easy to see it was old; patched in many places, worn in others. It was the birth blanket for generations of her family; it was believed that each child wrapped in it was bound to those who had been embraced by its comforting warmth previously.

The midwife took a thick, bound thatch of dried herbs, smoking slightly and proceeded to trace patterns in the air over the infant, lightly bathing her in fragrant herbal smoke before setting it aside and wrapping her carefully in the old material.

Properly anointed and swaddled, Gaya handed the baby to its mother, who accepted her with aching, outstretched arms.

The little tauren stretched and yawned in one shuddering awkward movement, tiny hooves and hands still wrinkled, and the faintest ebony outline of of what someday would be her horns protruded from her round, wet forehead like two black buttons.

And then she mooed, a little high-pitched cry that held the promise of a bellow. It was far more sound than she was size.

“She has your lungs, I see,” her mother murmured, touching her daughter’s tiny hands with her own. Her voice, laced with amusement and shock was slightly weakened with exhaustion. She turned her head slightly as the sound of the tent’s flap being moved away revealed the massive shape of the infant’s father, Arawn Twohawks, entering the small space.

Arawn grunted softly and nodded, with that slight awkwardness that most males had upon entering the sacred space where life was brought into the world, but his green eyes sparkled as he looked back at Silverwolf’s mother, Onata Runningdeer, and the smallest smile crossed his features at the sound of his daughter’s strong and spirited cry. It wasn’t as if he expressed very much; he was a gruff tauren, not prone to many words or outspoken gestures of emotion. He had been a warrior virtually every day of his life; it was this he knew first and best. Thick ebony fur and a gleaming black mane were only now slightly shot through with silver; a few greying hairs at his muzzle and his occasional bout of snoring were the only things that gave away his age; he was as strong as he had always been, as impenetrable and unshakeable.

Onata, by contrast, was fairly outspoken; her heart was gentle but she had a stubbornness that both intrigued and frustrated her husband. Her coat was the colour of a grey dove; lingering between silver and tan. She’d once been a promising healer..a shaman who came from the old and respected Skychaser tribe. when she’d met Arawn, she had willingly left her work behind to marry with her family’s blessing, following him from Thunder Bluff to Bloodhoof Village to become the mother to Beardancer and finally, Silverwolf.

As the small gathering contemplated the new life among them, the wind lifted softly and blew the flap of the tent open a moment; the tail of the wild wolf seen only in a platinum flash before dissapearing into the blackness of the night and away from the relative peace of their village.

Arawn stared out a moment, thoughtfully, before looking back at his family and at his daughter. Onata followed his gaze before meeting his eyes with her own.

“He misses Beardancer.” She thought, but dared not speak it, stroking her daughter’s head smoothly as the infant blinked and gazed randomly about the room.

They smiled slightly at each other before both of them looked upon their daughter once more.

This was the place where all things happened in the cycle of life – each consummation and birth, each illness, each death, each rite of passage – the small tent was their introduction to their life, just as it was their final resting place before the Earthmother took them to stand beside her in the spirit world and watch over each successive generation.

And so it was that into this night that lingered on the edge of itself, little Silverwolf was born, just as her brother, Brave Beardancer had been, as her father Twohawks had been, and even her father’s father before him, Old Redcloud, or ‘**Grandfather Chee-aw’ as the children called him, in the little tent in Bloodhoof Village.

*****************

(**Chee-aw was a funny name, but it stuck for the simple reason that Beardancer never could say ‘cloud’ as a young bull and instead, when taken out on those lucky days to fish with his old Grandfather, simply took to calling him ‘Grandfather Chee-aw’ for his uncanny imitation of the eagles as they soared overhead in the brazen Mulgore sunlight, hoping to steal the fishy fruits of the men’s labour.)

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"I wrote the story myself. It's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it." - Mae West
Fireflower's Words of Wisdom: http://i200.photobucket.com/albums/a...ompilation.jpg

Elanos

I throughoutly enjoyed it. It's peaceful and nice to read.

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Opposites attract.
Similarities work together.

Idiots gather.

Heresy

Glad you liked it, Puffs

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"I wrote the story myself. It's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it." - Mae West
Fireflower's Words of Wisdom: http://i200.photobucket.com/albums/a...ompilation.jpg

Blacktalon

Loved it as well.

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"Shamans are like a battered wife, still hanging around regardless of abuse, hoping that someday things will get better."