Memories Of His Youth
Posted: Sat Nov 07, 2015 10:32 pm
By Coyotl 6/4/2008
Long after Vashj’s lieutenants lay dead, much longer after his run-in with the Priestess, Coyotl stalked the mountain range that divided Mulgore from the Barrens. Though night had long fallen, the earth beneath his paws was still warm and pleasing. It made him want to sleep, but then what didn’t make him want to sleep?
He picked his path with care, feeling the prickle of thorns bite into his paws which only served to strengthen the memory. It wasn’t often he thought of his childhood, simply because he lived in a perpetual state of ‘now’. It pained him to plan in advance, to sign his name upon promissory notes of attendance; much less prepare himself. Tomorrow would come eventually, he’d care about it when it became today.
But Thrysta reminded him of his youth. The Forsaken touching his flesh, sinking past the thick fur, to feel the scars hidden from view. The irony was not lost on him.
Coyotl took himself back to the scene of his youth, to the cave he’d claimed at his own when he was in his teens. Much like then, he approached on feline paws, scenting the air to make sure all was undisturbed. It had been years since he had last visited his shelter in the mountainside, long before he committed himself to his path and seeking training in Moonglade. The cave overlooked the southern region of the Barrens and while it wasn’t the best of views he enjoyed it nonetheless.
Nestling down on the ledge, Coyotl let his mind drift back into his youth.
He had been named Niyol Bloodhoof at birth, the only child of Kanti Skychaser and Oya Bloodhoof. A true child of the village, many took pride in watching Niyoh grow and helped where they could. Kanti was a cherished elder, a respectable shaman who aided all she encountered. Oya balanced her gentle spirit by being a protector, but he was distant and frequently called upon to aid in war efforts.
Niyoh discovered early on that he was beloved by many. He used this knowledge to his advantage by dodging scoldings by appearing to be the angelic child, massive blue eyes and all. It worked. It always worked. He never pushed too hard or found too much trouble that he couldn’t later rectify, until he found his cave. His mother knew of its existence, but he never told her the location. It was his place of solitude, a fact she respected. And it remained his haven for many months, until the one day he approached and scented someone upon the air.
A night elf. In his cave. His scared place.
Even looking back on it now, Coyotl didn’t linger on the memory of what happened; his mind seemed to drift clear over it in fast-forward, acknowledging only the light of day to night and once more to day.
Niyol’s absence worried the village. A handful of scouts set out through the night searching for him, calling his name. It followed him through his ordeal, echoing off the mountain ridges. They had gotten close—within a mile—once but he evaded them. Only once the sun had risen again and Niyol got a look at himself in a spring, did he return to his village.
His mother had discovered his druidic path when he was a small child. He relished in shifting into a feline and pouncing through the village. He rarely took the form of a bear, only when they were trying to further his abilities. He was a cat at heart, it was how the village knew him.
When he stepped into the village as a bear, two nearby scouts simply stared. Niyol limped, with his front left paw drawn up toward his chest. His fur was matted and bloodied, and a quillvine had wrapped around his right rear leg. Someone shouted for Kanti, who came running from their tent. She aided her son as best she could, getting him to lay down and trying to check his wounds which were deep and many. Buried deep into his skin were thorns; it looked as though he’d rolled his body within a vat of quillvine and attempted to shift. They were deep, and even using a hook crafted from a harpie’s claw, Kanti was unable to get them out on her own.
She sent word to Thunderbluff, asking the healers to send one with deft fingers, who would be able to aid them. One answered the summons, a Forsaken who wore a mantle of white.
Knowing the task would be long and painful, she asked Kanti to give them privacy. Niyol and the Forsaken were placed in a tent on the furthest outreaches of the village, where fewer would be disturbed by his agonizing cries. The priestess had nimble fingers and seemed not to notice the bite of the thorns into her own flesh. Each was plucked and discarded into a bowl, the wound cleaned as best as the priestess could and then healing aided by herbal compounds.
Though she never asked, Niyol could see the questioning in her eyes. It was persistant, or perhaps it was guilt laying heavily upon his mind.
“I had an itch,” he finally stated, in a near-shout. It was a clumsy lie, but the burden of holding in the truth was oddly released. The Forsaken woman merely inclined a brow.
When she made her way to his left front paw, she coaxed loose the tight fist he’d made of it and discovered a claw. This was the only time she paused. Canting her head, she delicately moved one finger and counted each bear toe upon each bear paw. No, the brutally removed claw came from another. Meeting his gaze, the Forsaken woman slowly nodded and set the claw aside, rather than discarding it into the bowl. After she left, Niyol kept it hidden under a paw whenever a visitor came to check on him.
No more incidents of its type happened to Niyol, who was deemed Coyotl when he came of-age. It was fitting for the village’s mischievous child and he bore it with mirth.
It was a memory that hadn’t surfaced since he had hung the claw within his cave. He didn’t look at it now, but had seen it on his cursory glance within the cave to acknowledge its existence.
Shifting upon the warm rock, Coyotl rested his head upon his paws and closed his eyes. He silently blamed Thrysta for the resurgence of the past, though she was but a victim of circumstance. When her talons had raked against the scars, the memory had bloomed.
It had also twisted. For a moment, he had recalled it with her burrowing the thorns into his flesh.
Long after Vashj’s lieutenants lay dead, much longer after his run-in with the Priestess, Coyotl stalked the mountain range that divided Mulgore from the Barrens. Though night had long fallen, the earth beneath his paws was still warm and pleasing. It made him want to sleep, but then what didn’t make him want to sleep?
He picked his path with care, feeling the prickle of thorns bite into his paws which only served to strengthen the memory. It wasn’t often he thought of his childhood, simply because he lived in a perpetual state of ‘now’. It pained him to plan in advance, to sign his name upon promissory notes of attendance; much less prepare himself. Tomorrow would come eventually, he’d care about it when it became today.
But Thrysta reminded him of his youth. The Forsaken touching his flesh, sinking past the thick fur, to feel the scars hidden from view. The irony was not lost on him.
Coyotl took himself back to the scene of his youth, to the cave he’d claimed at his own when he was in his teens. Much like then, he approached on feline paws, scenting the air to make sure all was undisturbed. It had been years since he had last visited his shelter in the mountainside, long before he committed himself to his path and seeking training in Moonglade. The cave overlooked the southern region of the Barrens and while it wasn’t the best of views he enjoyed it nonetheless.
Nestling down on the ledge, Coyotl let his mind drift back into his youth.
He had been named Niyol Bloodhoof at birth, the only child of Kanti Skychaser and Oya Bloodhoof. A true child of the village, many took pride in watching Niyoh grow and helped where they could. Kanti was a cherished elder, a respectable shaman who aided all she encountered. Oya balanced her gentle spirit by being a protector, but he was distant and frequently called upon to aid in war efforts.
Niyoh discovered early on that he was beloved by many. He used this knowledge to his advantage by dodging scoldings by appearing to be the angelic child, massive blue eyes and all. It worked. It always worked. He never pushed too hard or found too much trouble that he couldn’t later rectify, until he found his cave. His mother knew of its existence, but he never told her the location. It was his place of solitude, a fact she respected. And it remained his haven for many months, until the one day he approached and scented someone upon the air.
A night elf. In his cave. His scared place.
Even looking back on it now, Coyotl didn’t linger on the memory of what happened; his mind seemed to drift clear over it in fast-forward, acknowledging only the light of day to night and once more to day.
Niyol’s absence worried the village. A handful of scouts set out through the night searching for him, calling his name. It followed him through his ordeal, echoing off the mountain ridges. They had gotten close—within a mile—once but he evaded them. Only once the sun had risen again and Niyol got a look at himself in a spring, did he return to his village.
His mother had discovered his druidic path when he was a small child. He relished in shifting into a feline and pouncing through the village. He rarely took the form of a bear, only when they were trying to further his abilities. He was a cat at heart, it was how the village knew him.
When he stepped into the village as a bear, two nearby scouts simply stared. Niyol limped, with his front left paw drawn up toward his chest. His fur was matted and bloodied, and a quillvine had wrapped around his right rear leg. Someone shouted for Kanti, who came running from their tent. She aided her son as best she could, getting him to lay down and trying to check his wounds which were deep and many. Buried deep into his skin were thorns; it looked as though he’d rolled his body within a vat of quillvine and attempted to shift. They were deep, and even using a hook crafted from a harpie’s claw, Kanti was unable to get them out on her own.
She sent word to Thunderbluff, asking the healers to send one with deft fingers, who would be able to aid them. One answered the summons, a Forsaken who wore a mantle of white.
Knowing the task would be long and painful, she asked Kanti to give them privacy. Niyol and the Forsaken were placed in a tent on the furthest outreaches of the village, where fewer would be disturbed by his agonizing cries. The priestess had nimble fingers and seemed not to notice the bite of the thorns into her own flesh. Each was plucked and discarded into a bowl, the wound cleaned as best as the priestess could and then healing aided by herbal compounds.
Though she never asked, Niyol could see the questioning in her eyes. It was persistant, or perhaps it was guilt laying heavily upon his mind.
“I had an itch,” he finally stated, in a near-shout. It was a clumsy lie, but the burden of holding in the truth was oddly released. The Forsaken woman merely inclined a brow.
When she made her way to his left front paw, she coaxed loose the tight fist he’d made of it and discovered a claw. This was the only time she paused. Canting her head, she delicately moved one finger and counted each bear toe upon each bear paw. No, the brutally removed claw came from another. Meeting his gaze, the Forsaken woman slowly nodded and set the claw aside, rather than discarding it into the bowl. After she left, Niyol kept it hidden under a paw whenever a visitor came to check on him.
No more incidents of its type happened to Niyol, who was deemed Coyotl when he came of-age. It was fitting for the village’s mischievous child and he bore it with mirth.
It was a memory that hadn’t surfaced since he had hung the claw within his cave. He didn’t look at it now, but had seen it on his cursory glance within the cave to acknowledge its existence.
Shifting upon the warm rock, Coyotl rested his head upon his paws and closed his eyes. He silently blamed Thrysta for the resurgence of the past, though she was but a victim of circumstance. When her talons had raked against the scars, the memory had bloomed.
It had also twisted. For a moment, he had recalled it with her burrowing the thorns into his flesh.