The warrior moved slowly, as softly as she could. The ground here was hard and rocky, covered with pebbles and grit - any sound her hooves made would ricochet off the high walls that surrounded her. The air of the canyon was thick, the azure sky choked with heavy gray clouds that bulged pregnant with the rain that was, like the warrior, biding its time.
Patience, Ishnalea thought to herself. In her fifty-four years, all of her teachers, her family, her comrades had pressed that word upon her. At times, it felt as though she carried a great basket of stones upon her back, heavier and more burdensome than any armor. Today, though, it was her armor - she wore it close to her heart, under her mail, under the leather that covered the metal shine and melted her into her surroundings. Ishnalea crouched low, took another step, then another. The entire canyon was in shadow and she was almost impossible to see, but still she waited.
She was nearly within bowshot of the outskirts of the centaur camp. Ishnalea narrowed her eyes and was able to discern the equine shapes moving among their few tents, preparing for the swiftly approaching storm. The sentry, though, remained at the edge of the small grouping of huts, unmoving but for the occasional restless sidestepping that betrayed his distraction. The warrior counted their numbers - three hands full, nine in all. Nine was not nearly enough to balance the many deaths the Shu'halo had suffered at the hands of the horse-folk, but it would have to be enough today.
The warrior's twin maces were criss-crossed over her back, but she did not reach for these now. Tasting the moisture in the air, she took her longbow in hand and strung it, withdrawing an arrow from her quiver as a faint rumble of thunder rolled between the needles of rock scattered throughout the canyon. Ishnalea steadied herself on one knee and waited.
Long minutes passed as the storm drew closer. It was sweeping down out of the Barrens - the Shu'halo could smell the wet plains grasses on the wind that dove down into the canyon, bringing with it the first spatterings of water from the heavy black clouds. Day had darkened to night, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning - Ishnalea strung the arrow to her bow and drew the string back as the guard sidled back and forth in the rain. Waiting for the next bright flash, the next deafening clap of thunder, the warrior kept the bowstring taut and her eyes locked on the doomed guard.
Patience.
Sorrow In Her Making by Yemana
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Re: Sorrow In Her Making by Yemana
One...two...three...
The ground beneath her trembled as the thunder rolled through the canyon once again. Closer, closer...it was moving - the canyon lit up blue-white again - fast.
One...two...th-
The sky above her exploded with the rumbling that followed close on the heels of the lightning. Closer.
Flash.
One -
It was so close that the thunder beat her heart for her.
Now.
The sky was scorched with the blue fire again, and in that instant of illumination Ishnalea let her arrow fly. It tore through the throat of the centaur who stood guard at the camp's edge at the exact moment the dark sky roared its fury. His mouth opened in a silent scream and he reared on his hind legs, striking at the air in front of him with weakening hooves, but it was no use - his massive bulk crashed to the ground, the noise lost in the rolling away of the thunder. Ignoring the death spasms of the fallen guard, she moved swiftly forward and let her bow drop with a clatter that was lost in the torrential spattering of the rain. The warrior reached over her shoulders and unstrapped her maces from her back, gripping the leather wrapped handles tightly. She was in the torchlight now, but it didn't matter - they would see her soon enough.
Her eyes clouded over as she invoked the fury of the Earthmother and charged the nearest centaur, lowering her shoulder and slamming him in his torso hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. He gasped frantically, opening his mouth to cry out while at the same time fumbling for his sword that was strapped to his back. Ishnalea brought her left arm across her body in a backswing and cracked the stone head of her mace across the centaur's jaw. It was enough to silence him, but his sword was descending in a deadly arc - the warrior raised her right arm and blocked the downward stroke, stepping to the creature's right side. With all her strength, she slammed the head of her other mace into the centaur's back where fur met flesh. She was close enough to hear his spine shatter, and he crumpled to the ground.
Ishnalea heard the swift galloping of hoofbeats as the rest of the camp roused and began to charge her. The unlucky first to reach her fell writhing and screaming to the ground, his front two legs broken under her weapons. The second reared and kicked out with his hooves, catching her in the shoulder with a searing pain before she pushed forward against his massive bulk, digging her hooves into the ground and toppling the creature back into one of his comrades. The Shu'halo felt a sword bite into her arm and she spun to meet her attacker with the stone head of her mace. His skull exploded in a spray of blood and brains and he fell onto the wet canyon floor.
Four.
She turned to the centaur she had knocked over and raised both her maces over her head, gritting her teeth and bringing them down with all her strength upon the bones between his four legs. With luck, she would be able to break his ribcage - as she felt the ribs give way underneath her weapons, she said a silent prayer of thanks to Earthmother and leapt over the struggling centaur.
She felt an arrow whip past her head as she charged the centaur who had managed to remain upright after his fellow warrior had fallen into him. He was ready for her, though, and he brought his sword across his body in a great two-handed swing. Ishnalea ducked, just barely avoiding the decapitating blow, and crushed his foreleg with a swing that was weakened by her wounded arm. The centaur twisted his hands and swung down - she raised her arm to block the sword but the momentum was too great. She didn't have time to get her arm straight and her elbow bent under the force of the swing. Ishnalea screamed in pain as the sword sheared through her mail and into her left shoulder. She tasted her own blood as it sprayed up into her face - the centaur yanked his sword free of her body and reared up, intending to crush her underneath his hooves.
She rolled to one side, the pain in her arm almost blinding her, and she scrabbled upright on her two legs. Her left arm was useless now and she felt the blood pumping down her torso, aided by the pounding of her heart and washing away in the driving rain. She backed up in a panic, gripping her other mace in her right hand as the centaur circled her warily on his wounded leg. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two of the remaining three closing in swiftly, the other drawing an arrow from her quiver and fitting it to her bow.
Into your arms, O my Mother...
The ground beneath her trembled as the thunder rolled through the canyon once again. Closer, closer...it was moving - the canyon lit up blue-white again - fast.
One...two...th-
The sky above her exploded with the rumbling that followed close on the heels of the lightning. Closer.
Flash.
One -
It was so close that the thunder beat her heart for her.
Now.
The sky was scorched with the blue fire again, and in that instant of illumination Ishnalea let her arrow fly. It tore through the throat of the centaur who stood guard at the camp's edge at the exact moment the dark sky roared its fury. His mouth opened in a silent scream and he reared on his hind legs, striking at the air in front of him with weakening hooves, but it was no use - his massive bulk crashed to the ground, the noise lost in the rolling away of the thunder. Ignoring the death spasms of the fallen guard, she moved swiftly forward and let her bow drop with a clatter that was lost in the torrential spattering of the rain. The warrior reached over her shoulders and unstrapped her maces from her back, gripping the leather wrapped handles tightly. She was in the torchlight now, but it didn't matter - they would see her soon enough.
Her eyes clouded over as she invoked the fury of the Earthmother and charged the nearest centaur, lowering her shoulder and slamming him in his torso hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. He gasped frantically, opening his mouth to cry out while at the same time fumbling for his sword that was strapped to his back. Ishnalea brought her left arm across her body in a backswing and cracked the stone head of her mace across the centaur's jaw. It was enough to silence him, but his sword was descending in a deadly arc - the warrior raised her right arm and blocked the downward stroke, stepping to the creature's right side. With all her strength, she slammed the head of her other mace into the centaur's back where fur met flesh. She was close enough to hear his spine shatter, and he crumpled to the ground.
Ishnalea heard the swift galloping of hoofbeats as the rest of the camp roused and began to charge her. The unlucky first to reach her fell writhing and screaming to the ground, his front two legs broken under her weapons. The second reared and kicked out with his hooves, catching her in the shoulder with a searing pain before she pushed forward against his massive bulk, digging her hooves into the ground and toppling the creature back into one of his comrades. The Shu'halo felt a sword bite into her arm and she spun to meet her attacker with the stone head of her mace. His skull exploded in a spray of blood and brains and he fell onto the wet canyon floor.
Four.
She turned to the centaur she had knocked over and raised both her maces over her head, gritting her teeth and bringing them down with all her strength upon the bones between his four legs. With luck, she would be able to break his ribcage - as she felt the ribs give way underneath her weapons, she said a silent prayer of thanks to Earthmother and leapt over the struggling centaur.
She felt an arrow whip past her head as she charged the centaur who had managed to remain upright after his fellow warrior had fallen into him. He was ready for her, though, and he brought his sword across his body in a great two-handed swing. Ishnalea ducked, just barely avoiding the decapitating blow, and crushed his foreleg with a swing that was weakened by her wounded arm. The centaur twisted his hands and swung down - she raised her arm to block the sword but the momentum was too great. She didn't have time to get her arm straight and her elbow bent under the force of the swing. Ishnalea screamed in pain as the sword sheared through her mail and into her left shoulder. She tasted her own blood as it sprayed up into her face - the centaur yanked his sword free of her body and reared up, intending to crush her underneath his hooves.
She rolled to one side, the pain in her arm almost blinding her, and she scrabbled upright on her two legs. Her left arm was useless now and she felt the blood pumping down her torso, aided by the pounding of her heart and washing away in the driving rain. She backed up in a panic, gripping her other mace in her right hand as the centaur circled her warily on his wounded leg. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two of the remaining three closing in swiftly, the other drawing an arrow from her quiver and fitting it to her bow.
Into your arms, O my Mother...
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Re: Sorrow In Her Making by Yemana
...but not yet.
Gritting her teeth against the agony in her left arm, Ishnalea gasped for breath and charged the two centaur who had not yet tasted the stone of her weapons. Lightning glinted off their blades as they attacked, but instead of meeting them head on, the Shu'halo collapsed to the ground and rolled between them, barely managing to scramble upright behind the centaur. It bought her the time she needed - Ishnalea gathered her fading strength and stomped upon the canyon floor with her heavy hooves. With a deafening crack, the ground shook beneath the warrior and she saw the tremors snake up the legs of her attackers and shake their bodies to the core. It bought her the few seconds she needed - with a quick backhanded stroke, she caved in the skull of one of them before reversing her swing and landing a similar blow on the other. Her aim was off, but it didn't matter - his legs churned beneath him for a moment before he fell, the muscles not having caught up to his broken neck.
Ishnalea's right arm exploded in agony as the centaur's arrow found its mark - this time, her aim had been true. The bolt had lodged itself in her upper arm and her mace suddenly felt as though it weighed twice as much. The warrior tried desperately to ignore the shooting pains up and down her arm, but it was impossible. She felt her fury began to leave her as the gaping wound in her shoulder continued to pump hot blood down her arm and torso - even if she was able to kill or incapacitate them all, it was unlikely she would survive until she was able to tend to her wound. The Shu'halo gritted her teeth and hefted her mace weakly. So be it.
She had not even taken half a step towards the bowman when the canyon was shaken by a deafening roar of thunder - no, not thunder, Ishnalea thought as she saw the centaur's eyes widen in sudden alarm. The hand holding the bow jerked to one side and she let the arrow fly - Ishnalea spun, dodging to one side as the fletched bolt flew harmlessly by her shoulder...no, it had not been an accident. The centaur had meant to miss, and as Ishnalea regained her balance and looked in the direction the arrow had been loosed, she saw why.
One of the warriors lay on the canyon floor, his four legs kicking and spasming against the driving rain and his throat torn open, his hands clutching frantically at the wound as he gurgled and drowned in his own blood. Ishnalea looked desperately around in a panic for the great cat that had killed the centaur - she was already in enough danger as it was without feline predators stalking her as well. The animal was nowhere to be found, though - standing over him was another Shu'halo, his fur soaked with rain and dark as the blackest midnight. The other centaur warrior reared on his hind legs and prepared to charge the stranger, but the Shu'halo lifted a heavy hand and Ishnalea saw thick roots break through the canyon floor and shoot up to wrap themselves around the centaur's legs. Like writhing snakes they moved, twisting and twining around the equine torso - unable to brace himself against the tugging of the vines, the centaur fell heavily to one side and lay struggling against his tightening bonds, scrabbling at one vine that began to wrap round and round his neck.
A flash of movement caught Ishnalea's eye - the centaur bowman had whipped another arrow from the quiver on her back and notched it to her bow. Faster than the warrior could blink, the strange Shu'halo changed. His hooves and thick-fingered hands turned to massive paws and his armor seemed to disappear, blending into the thickening fur that now covered his enormous bulk. Ishnalea felt her furiously pounding heart turn over in her chest as she stared at the bruin - such powers the Shu'halo had forgotten long ago. Her people had turned from the child of Apa'ro and Mu'sha, turned from His ways and teachings...but here was one who remembered, somehow.
The bear roared its fury and charged the bowman - in a panic, her shot flew wide and the druid raised up on his hind legs and bellowed at the centaur. She screamed in her gutteral tongue, but before she could turn to flee, the bear wrapped its thick arms around her torso and her terrified babbling was cut short as the bruin squeezed the breath from her lungs. Ishnalea heard a series of sickening crunches, and the druid released the centaur woman from his deadly embrace. She flopped to the canyon floor, her equine body unmoving, her chest oddly flattened - the girl's spine and ribs had been crushed.
Ishnalea felt a silence descend, the calm after the storm of battle, though the lightning still flared and the rain still pounded into the canyon. The bear swung its great head to look at her - as he raised up on his hind legs, the warrior saw him change back to his true form. Shakily, she turned to the druid - through the driving rain, shadowed by the low clouds and high canyon walls, he looked like a ghost.
The warrior fought for consciousness and suspected it was only her dogged stubbornness that prevented her from collapsing. Her mace fell to the ground even as she bowed to the stranger - she could barely see him through the dim haze that clouded her vision. "Earthmother bless you, brother. I thank you for your help." Her voice was tight and strained, and Ishnalea was barely able to get the words out. They were a formality only; what she really wanted to do was collapse into the dizziness that was engulfing her with alarming swiftness.
The Shu'halo returned her bow - Ishnalea thought she saw something mocking in his stance. "Of course, sister." His Taurahe was thick with a strange accent, but yes, there was definitely amusement there. She felt fire leap to her tongue and she opened her mouth, intending to scald his impudence, but before she could utter a word, the canyon floor rushed up to strike her in the face.
When she opened her eyes again, she found she was still outside, still on the floor of the canyon. The storm continued to rage, but she was sheltered somewhat from the rain where the druid knelt over her. Invisible hands clawed at her consciousness, pulling her back under. The lightning flared again and she saw his face inches from her own - all shadows, eyes like black coals, fur as dark as the night sky and tinged with gray. She felt a gentle hand smooth her forelock back from her face, felt a strange, soothing energy coursing its way through her weary muscles, and heard his unfamiliar accent again. "Sleep, sister."
She had no choice. Abandoning the fight for consciousness, she allowed the clawing hands to drag her under once more.
Gritting her teeth against the agony in her left arm, Ishnalea gasped for breath and charged the two centaur who had not yet tasted the stone of her weapons. Lightning glinted off their blades as they attacked, but instead of meeting them head on, the Shu'halo collapsed to the ground and rolled between them, barely managing to scramble upright behind the centaur. It bought her the time she needed - Ishnalea gathered her fading strength and stomped upon the canyon floor with her heavy hooves. With a deafening crack, the ground shook beneath the warrior and she saw the tremors snake up the legs of her attackers and shake their bodies to the core. It bought her the few seconds she needed - with a quick backhanded stroke, she caved in the skull of one of them before reversing her swing and landing a similar blow on the other. Her aim was off, but it didn't matter - his legs churned beneath him for a moment before he fell, the muscles not having caught up to his broken neck.
Ishnalea's right arm exploded in agony as the centaur's arrow found its mark - this time, her aim had been true. The bolt had lodged itself in her upper arm and her mace suddenly felt as though it weighed twice as much. The warrior tried desperately to ignore the shooting pains up and down her arm, but it was impossible. She felt her fury began to leave her as the gaping wound in her shoulder continued to pump hot blood down her arm and torso - even if she was able to kill or incapacitate them all, it was unlikely she would survive until she was able to tend to her wound. The Shu'halo gritted her teeth and hefted her mace weakly. So be it.
She had not even taken half a step towards the bowman when the canyon was shaken by a deafening roar of thunder - no, not thunder, Ishnalea thought as she saw the centaur's eyes widen in sudden alarm. The hand holding the bow jerked to one side and she let the arrow fly - Ishnalea spun, dodging to one side as the fletched bolt flew harmlessly by her shoulder...no, it had not been an accident. The centaur had meant to miss, and as Ishnalea regained her balance and looked in the direction the arrow had been loosed, she saw why.
One of the warriors lay on the canyon floor, his four legs kicking and spasming against the driving rain and his throat torn open, his hands clutching frantically at the wound as he gurgled and drowned in his own blood. Ishnalea looked desperately around in a panic for the great cat that had killed the centaur - she was already in enough danger as it was without feline predators stalking her as well. The animal was nowhere to be found, though - standing over him was another Shu'halo, his fur soaked with rain and dark as the blackest midnight. The other centaur warrior reared on his hind legs and prepared to charge the stranger, but the Shu'halo lifted a heavy hand and Ishnalea saw thick roots break through the canyon floor and shoot up to wrap themselves around the centaur's legs. Like writhing snakes they moved, twisting and twining around the equine torso - unable to brace himself against the tugging of the vines, the centaur fell heavily to one side and lay struggling against his tightening bonds, scrabbling at one vine that began to wrap round and round his neck.
A flash of movement caught Ishnalea's eye - the centaur bowman had whipped another arrow from the quiver on her back and notched it to her bow. Faster than the warrior could blink, the strange Shu'halo changed. His hooves and thick-fingered hands turned to massive paws and his armor seemed to disappear, blending into the thickening fur that now covered his enormous bulk. Ishnalea felt her furiously pounding heart turn over in her chest as she stared at the bruin - such powers the Shu'halo had forgotten long ago. Her people had turned from the child of Apa'ro and Mu'sha, turned from His ways and teachings...but here was one who remembered, somehow.
The bear roared its fury and charged the bowman - in a panic, her shot flew wide and the druid raised up on his hind legs and bellowed at the centaur. She screamed in her gutteral tongue, but before she could turn to flee, the bear wrapped its thick arms around her torso and her terrified babbling was cut short as the bruin squeezed the breath from her lungs. Ishnalea heard a series of sickening crunches, and the druid released the centaur woman from his deadly embrace. She flopped to the canyon floor, her equine body unmoving, her chest oddly flattened - the girl's spine and ribs had been crushed.
Ishnalea felt a silence descend, the calm after the storm of battle, though the lightning still flared and the rain still pounded into the canyon. The bear swung its great head to look at her - as he raised up on his hind legs, the warrior saw him change back to his true form. Shakily, she turned to the druid - through the driving rain, shadowed by the low clouds and high canyon walls, he looked like a ghost.
The warrior fought for consciousness and suspected it was only her dogged stubbornness that prevented her from collapsing. Her mace fell to the ground even as she bowed to the stranger - she could barely see him through the dim haze that clouded her vision. "Earthmother bless you, brother. I thank you for your help." Her voice was tight and strained, and Ishnalea was barely able to get the words out. They were a formality only; what she really wanted to do was collapse into the dizziness that was engulfing her with alarming swiftness.
The Shu'halo returned her bow - Ishnalea thought she saw something mocking in his stance. "Of course, sister." His Taurahe was thick with a strange accent, but yes, there was definitely amusement there. She felt fire leap to her tongue and she opened her mouth, intending to scald his impudence, but before she could utter a word, the canyon floor rushed up to strike her in the face.
When she opened her eyes again, she found she was still outside, still on the floor of the canyon. The storm continued to rage, but she was sheltered somewhat from the rain where the druid knelt over her. Invisible hands clawed at her consciousness, pulling her back under. The lightning flared again and she saw his face inches from her own - all shadows, eyes like black coals, fur as dark as the night sky and tinged with gray. She felt a gentle hand smooth her forelock back from her face, felt a strange, soothing energy coursing its way through her weary muscles, and heard his unfamiliar accent again. "Sleep, sister."
She had no choice. Abandoning the fight for consciousness, she allowed the clawing hands to drag her under once more.
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Re: Sorrow In Her Making by Yemana
by Yichimet
Swallows Rats Whole was lazily drifting down through the air currents that were rushing up the sides of Thunder Bluff, and Yichimet watched him impatiently. He had made this flight four times in the past weeks, his messenger and animal guide, each time returning with a note from Conshomek that said he'd found nothing new. It had now been weeks since he'd spoken to Yemana on the small elevator rise that looked over the rolling hills of Mulgore.
Their words that night started friendly but had become tense when they began talking of peace and war. Words always became tense when Yichimet spoke openly with shu'halo of the other tribes about such things. Suddenly, though, Yemana's face had changed, somehow looking sour and sad and curious all in one expression, and she asked him to help her find out about her father, the Grimtotem. Yichimet feigned surprise, for it was the hunter's keen edge in her eyes that had drawn him to her in the first place.
The owl, with a soft and playful hoot, finally came down from the air to clasp onto Yichimet's first two fingers shielded with leather guards. The note was small, folded into a box at the owl's ankle, and he pulled it out, unfolding it slowly, thinking he knew what was inside. Written there, in Conshomek's words, was a simple phrase that Yichimet did not believe: It was Hidua, and you must bring her home.
Swallows Rats Whole was lazily drifting down through the air currents that were rushing up the sides of Thunder Bluff, and Yichimet watched him impatiently. He had made this flight four times in the past weeks, his messenger and animal guide, each time returning with a note from Conshomek that said he'd found nothing new. It had now been weeks since he'd spoken to Yemana on the small elevator rise that looked over the rolling hills of Mulgore.
Their words that night started friendly but had become tense when they began talking of peace and war. Words always became tense when Yichimet spoke openly with shu'halo of the other tribes about such things. Suddenly, though, Yemana's face had changed, somehow looking sour and sad and curious all in one expression, and she asked him to help her find out about her father, the Grimtotem. Yichimet feigned surprise, for it was the hunter's keen edge in her eyes that had drawn him to her in the first place.
The owl, with a soft and playful hoot, finally came down from the air to clasp onto Yichimet's first two fingers shielded with leather guards. The note was small, folded into a box at the owl's ankle, and he pulled it out, unfolding it slowly, thinking he knew what was inside. Written there, in Conshomek's words, was a simple phrase that Yichimet did not believe: It was Hidua, and you must bring her home.
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Re: Sorrow In Her Making by Yemana
Warmth.
Crackling wood.
A pipe...Ishnalea's snout was covered with moisture, and it twitched as she breathed in the sweet-smelling peacebloom smoke. The warrior ground her teeth together at the knot of fire bloomed in her shoulder and spread outward. With a groan, she opened her eyes and they darted like fireflies around the tent in which she lay. Where am I?
"Do not move."
It was his voice again, but she could not see him. She turned her head in the direction of the strange accent and was rewarded with another flare of agony that shot like lightning through the muscles of her neck. Ishnalea hissed through her clenched teeth and heard the Shu'halo chuckle softly. As she dropped her head back on the blanket, she saw a swirl of smoke waft over her and drift up towards the open flap high in the side of the tent. "A calf only needs to be taught once not to reach into the fire. I hope you will learn as quickly as they."
"Do not ask me to pay for your aid by abiding your scorn, stranger." Her throat was parched and the words, though angry, rasped against one another like the last harvest leaves. She heard a shuffling behind her and felt a heavy hand tuck itself under her right shoulder while the other hovered a fingers-breadth above her left. The angry burning slowly abated as a gentle pulse of soothing energy flooded her arm - the pain did not disappear completely, but the warrior was able to breathe freely again.
"Now," the druid said, lifting her gently, "sit up. Slowly."
He raised her to a sitting position, but forced her to lean back against him as he held a skin of water to her snout - Ishnalea tried to gulp mouthfuls of the water but the druid was careful, only allowing her a sip at a time. As she drank, the warrior looked around the small tent - there was her armor, folded in a pile atop her weapons. A tiny fire crackled merrily and beside it sat a bowl of what appeared to be broth, along with another, smaller bowl that contained the dregs of some strange liquid with bits of plant floating in it.
Ishnalea's voice, when next she spoke, was still weak. "What is your name?"
His breath stirred her mane as he leaned forward, reaching for the bowl of broth and trying not to shift her any more than was necessary. "I am a druid from the Thousand Needles, Ishnalea." His words were gruff, with none of the gentleness that she felt in his hands as they held her.
Ishnalea's irritation gave way almost immediately to an unease that grew like a strangle-weed in her stomach. How did he know my name?
He must have sensed her question in the sudden intake of breath, in the way her face hardened in the firelight and in the inadvertent tightening of her muscles. His hard, black eyes flicked sideways to the bowl of strange liquid that sat near the fire and Ishnalea felt, for the first time, an unease emanating from the older Shu'halo.
"I had to travel far to find you," was all he replied.
Crackling wood.
A pipe...Ishnalea's snout was covered with moisture, and it twitched as she breathed in the sweet-smelling peacebloom smoke. The warrior ground her teeth together at the knot of fire bloomed in her shoulder and spread outward. With a groan, she opened her eyes and they darted like fireflies around the tent in which she lay. Where am I?
"Do not move."
It was his voice again, but she could not see him. She turned her head in the direction of the strange accent and was rewarded with another flare of agony that shot like lightning through the muscles of her neck. Ishnalea hissed through her clenched teeth and heard the Shu'halo chuckle softly. As she dropped her head back on the blanket, she saw a swirl of smoke waft over her and drift up towards the open flap high in the side of the tent. "A calf only needs to be taught once not to reach into the fire. I hope you will learn as quickly as they."
"Do not ask me to pay for your aid by abiding your scorn, stranger." Her throat was parched and the words, though angry, rasped against one another like the last harvest leaves. She heard a shuffling behind her and felt a heavy hand tuck itself under her right shoulder while the other hovered a fingers-breadth above her left. The angry burning slowly abated as a gentle pulse of soothing energy flooded her arm - the pain did not disappear completely, but the warrior was able to breathe freely again.
"Now," the druid said, lifting her gently, "sit up. Slowly."
He raised her to a sitting position, but forced her to lean back against him as he held a skin of water to her snout - Ishnalea tried to gulp mouthfuls of the water but the druid was careful, only allowing her a sip at a time. As she drank, the warrior looked around the small tent - there was her armor, folded in a pile atop her weapons. A tiny fire crackled merrily and beside it sat a bowl of what appeared to be broth, along with another, smaller bowl that contained the dregs of some strange liquid with bits of plant floating in it.
Ishnalea's voice, when next she spoke, was still weak. "What is your name?"
His breath stirred her mane as he leaned forward, reaching for the bowl of broth and trying not to shift her any more than was necessary. "I am a druid from the Thousand Needles, Ishnalea." His words were gruff, with none of the gentleness that she felt in his hands as they held her.
Ishnalea's irritation gave way almost immediately to an unease that grew like a strangle-weed in her stomach. How did he know my name?
He must have sensed her question in the sudden intake of breath, in the way her face hardened in the firelight and in the inadvertent tightening of her muscles. His hard, black eyes flicked sideways to the bowl of strange liquid that sat near the fire and Ishnalea felt, for the first time, an unease emanating from the older Shu'halo.
"I had to travel far to find you," was all he replied.
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Re: Sorrow In Her Making by Yemana
An'she's golden eye cast His glare over the wilds of Feralas, creating dark, welcome pockets of shadow that the lioness slipped through as she loped along beneath the trees. Her mouth was filled with the metallic taste of the blood that stained her muzzle and one ear had been torn to ribbons, but she ignored the stinging pain.
For my mother.
She had spent weeks in the green forests, rising with the Eye of Night and setting forth under the cover of darkness to seek those who hunted in the shadows as she did. She knew this much about them - they called Her by a different name, and it was under Her light that she would find them. Her hunt was always long, always exhausting...but it only took the echo of one shu'halo scream she had heard that night on the Bluffs, one fleeting memory of Yichimet telling her what he believed to be the truth of their people to drive her forward. There will be fewer Kaldorei tonight, she had sworn upon departing her tiny camp.
The lioness' muscles ached and she was bleeding from a dozen minor wounds - the hunt had been fruitful. An'she had risen hours ago, and the druid was exhausted. She was making her way far back among the hills to her camp by the river when she came upon the hunter bent close to the ground, studying variations in the soft earth - for all the druid knew, the filthy Kaldorei could be tracking her.
For the Grimtotem.
Yemana crept closer on soft paws, so intent on the stench of the long-ear that filled her nostrils that she failed to notice the panther hidden in the shadows, watching her with dark eyes. It growled a warning - the hunter's head snapped up in alarm and the druid froze, but it was too late. His glowing eyes fixed on the lioness and he whipped an arrow from the quiver on his back, barking a command to the panther that exploded from the bushes and shot towards Yemana.
In two great strides, the lioness closed the distance between herself and the hunter, her powerful hind legs bunching underneath her as she leapt for him. As she collided with the long-ear, she felt the panther's teeth close on the back of her neck as it bowled her over, raking her sides with its sharp claws. The momentum carried the two great cats over and over again on the ground, and the panther's grip was loosed as Yemana wrenched herself painfully from its jaws.
The hunter's bow had been knocked away, but he was reaching for it even as Yemana shifted into her shu'halo form and called the power of the Earthmother into herself, reaching roots up from the ground to trap the panther. The druid lunged forward away from the animal, feeling its claws shred through her hardened leather armor - the great cat was powerful. She had no time to waste.
Yemana scrabbled to her feet and swung her two-handed mace free from its harness. Raising it high, she brought it crunching down upon the hand that was reaching for the bow. The hunter's scream of pain shot through the night and he rolled onto his back, clutching his mangled hand to his chest. As Yemana stood over him, she felt a grim gratitude for the tiny bit of elf-tongue that Sunsong had taught her. The druid's eyes were chips of flint, her mane bristled, and she tightened her grip on her weapon.
"For my people," she growled.
Her mace swung down and the long-ear's head exploded in a mass of blood and brains. As his body began to jerk and spasm, Yemana turned to face the panther who was still thrashing against its bonds. Hefting her weapon, the druid released the power and saw the roots slip away - freed, the cat slowly approached the body of its master, nosing tentatively at the lifeless form before laying down at his side with a tiny mewl of confusion.
Yemana stepped slowly backwards from the cat, her hooves sinking silently into the forest floor as she retreated. When she had gotten far enough away, she slung her mace on her back and shifted into the form of a tawny lioness, padding underneath the trees towards her camp.
She reached the small tent and cold fire pit, but ignored them and went straight to the river, ducking her head and lapping softly at the cool water. The taste of old blood was rinsed from her mouth and Yemana longed to submerge herself completely and wash the stench of all the long-ears she had killed from her body. The druid gathered her energy and shifted back to her true form, wincing at the sting of her wounds as she continued to drink from her hand. The tips of her manetails dipped in the river, but Yemana ignored them. When she had had her fill, wiped her soft mouth with the back of her hand and stood - then her eyes fixed on the figure that had been silently watching her as she drank, and she froze.
There, across the river, was the spirit wolf from her dream.
For my mother.
She had spent weeks in the green forests, rising with the Eye of Night and setting forth under the cover of darkness to seek those who hunted in the shadows as she did. She knew this much about them - they called Her by a different name, and it was under Her light that she would find them. Her hunt was always long, always exhausting...but it only took the echo of one shu'halo scream she had heard that night on the Bluffs, one fleeting memory of Yichimet telling her what he believed to be the truth of their people to drive her forward. There will be fewer Kaldorei tonight, she had sworn upon departing her tiny camp.
The lioness' muscles ached and she was bleeding from a dozen minor wounds - the hunt had been fruitful. An'she had risen hours ago, and the druid was exhausted. She was making her way far back among the hills to her camp by the river when she came upon the hunter bent close to the ground, studying variations in the soft earth - for all the druid knew, the filthy Kaldorei could be tracking her.
For the Grimtotem.
Yemana crept closer on soft paws, so intent on the stench of the long-ear that filled her nostrils that she failed to notice the panther hidden in the shadows, watching her with dark eyes. It growled a warning - the hunter's head snapped up in alarm and the druid froze, but it was too late. His glowing eyes fixed on the lioness and he whipped an arrow from the quiver on his back, barking a command to the panther that exploded from the bushes and shot towards Yemana.
In two great strides, the lioness closed the distance between herself and the hunter, her powerful hind legs bunching underneath her as she leapt for him. As she collided with the long-ear, she felt the panther's teeth close on the back of her neck as it bowled her over, raking her sides with its sharp claws. The momentum carried the two great cats over and over again on the ground, and the panther's grip was loosed as Yemana wrenched herself painfully from its jaws.
The hunter's bow had been knocked away, but he was reaching for it even as Yemana shifted into her shu'halo form and called the power of the Earthmother into herself, reaching roots up from the ground to trap the panther. The druid lunged forward away from the animal, feeling its claws shred through her hardened leather armor - the great cat was powerful. She had no time to waste.
Yemana scrabbled to her feet and swung her two-handed mace free from its harness. Raising it high, she brought it crunching down upon the hand that was reaching for the bow. The hunter's scream of pain shot through the night and he rolled onto his back, clutching his mangled hand to his chest. As Yemana stood over him, she felt a grim gratitude for the tiny bit of elf-tongue that Sunsong had taught her. The druid's eyes were chips of flint, her mane bristled, and she tightened her grip on her weapon.
"For my people," she growled.
Her mace swung down and the long-ear's head exploded in a mass of blood and brains. As his body began to jerk and spasm, Yemana turned to face the panther who was still thrashing against its bonds. Hefting her weapon, the druid released the power and saw the roots slip away - freed, the cat slowly approached the body of its master, nosing tentatively at the lifeless form before laying down at his side with a tiny mewl of confusion.
Yemana stepped slowly backwards from the cat, her hooves sinking silently into the forest floor as she retreated. When she had gotten far enough away, she slung her mace on her back and shifted into the form of a tawny lioness, padding underneath the trees towards her camp.
She reached the small tent and cold fire pit, but ignored them and went straight to the river, ducking her head and lapping softly at the cool water. The taste of old blood was rinsed from her mouth and Yemana longed to submerge herself completely and wash the stench of all the long-ears she had killed from her body. The druid gathered her energy and shifted back to her true form, wincing at the sting of her wounds as she continued to drink from her hand. The tips of her manetails dipped in the river, but Yemana ignored them. When she had had her fill, wiped her soft mouth with the back of her hand and stood - then her eyes fixed on the figure that had been silently watching her as she drank, and she froze.
There, across the river, was the spirit wolf from her dream.