Grim Views

Yemana woke, as always, before the first golden rays of An'she fell upon the village. It was a habit she had developed early in her life, when she would race to help the elder shu'halo draw water from the well, or empty baskets of grain into the stone basins for grinding. There was always work to do in Bloodhoof Village, and Yemana was always willing to help.

She shifted slightly under the blankets, moving slowly so as not to awaken Talanek. The young warrior was snoring softly beside her, one arm flung across her belly and his breath stirring tendrils of his coarse, shaggy mane as they fell across his face. Yemana was glad of Tal's company, sharing his bed whenever she returned to Bloodhoof Village and neither of them asking anything of the other upon her departure. Hers was a path he did not fully understand, and Yemana suspected that he was content to leave it so.

The druid rose quietly, dressing herself in a soft leather kilt and tunic. Pushing the tent flap aside, she stepped out into the misty dawn and saw that she was not the first to wake - all around her, cooking fires were being stirred to life again from the previous night's embers, while several males walked towards Stonebull Lake to fish for their families' morning meals. Yemana paused and breathed in the cool air, allowing the heady scent of the dew-soaked grass to rouse her spirit from slumber.

"That young bull would sleep all day if we let him, Little Wind." Ishnalea chuckled as she approached her daughter, enfolding her into her arms and pressing her cheek against the younger Tauren's. The elder crone had once been a warrior of the Runetotem, but the years had taken their toll on the proud Shu'halo - she had fifty-four winters when she bore her daughter, and had lived almost as long again since. Where Ishnalea's body failed her, though, her spirit remained strong. "You should not encourage him as you do," she continued with a twinkle in her clear, bright eyes.

Yemana brushed a wisp of gray back from Ishnalea's face. "Ishnalea, Tal knows that he could never ask me to mate him. There are no false promises between us."

"Pah!" Ishnalea spat, slipping her arm into her daughter's and beginning to walk away from Talanek's tent. "And a good thing too, child. I would not see your spirit bound to his. He would spend all his life trying to chain the wind, only to curse it when it blew away from him. Only a fool would try such a thing."

Yemana walked with her mother in silence, lost within her thoughts. It was true - despite her love of her home, the druid had become passionate about her craft. Had she remained in Bloodhoof all her life, she would never have grown to know Earthmother as she knew Her now. She would never have learned the language of the forests, never have learned the endurance and wisdom of Great Bear Spirit nor the strength of the great cats that roamed the Barrens. There was much still she had to do for Sanctuary, for the Mother, for her people. She could not rest now. "Tal only knows what he can see with two eyes. He does not understand why I leave. I think...if I were a warrior, he could, but that path is not mine to walk."

Ishnalea squeezed her daughter's arm. "Little Wind, you do not make war with sword and shield. Your weapons are fang and claw, and Earthmother's own hand strikes down your enemies. A warrior is not made with weapons." They had reached the edge of the lake and Yemana gazed out over the morning mist that hovered on the surface. It was calm, marred only by an occasional splash and the ripples from the fishing lines. Yemana was silent for long moments. Finally, she spoke.

"I feel my spirit battling within me, Ishnalea. The Shu'halo war with each other, Earthmother's children war with each other, and Her children make war on Her. I cannot abide the raping of my Mother's body - I feel hatred in my heart when I see Her despoiled, Her bounty taken for love of money, and She has given Her wisdom and strength to me so that I may rid the land of those who would defile Her. She has given me claws and fangs, so that the lesson that must be taught might be written in their own blood. They see only Shu'halo when they look at me, not the child who fights to protect her wounded and dying Mother, and so they make war on me and they make war on our people!" The druid's eyes blazed and her voice was harsh, but Ishnalea listened quietly, letting her daughter rage. "You have taught me peace all my life...now I am bidden to fight against Earthmother's own who reject Her." Yemana paused, the weight of her words sinking back into her heart. "Where is the balance, Ishnalea? Where?"

The elder crone laid her hand lovingly upon Yemana's cheek. "Ask the spirits, child. Seek greater wisdom when your own fails you." Ishnalea smiled softly and stroked the dark fur on her daughter's face. "But you already knew the answer to that, didn't you?"

Yemana said nothing, but continued to gaze out over Stonebull Lake. The first rays of An'she shone warm upon her face.

The tawny-colored lioness loped through the Barrens, her dark eyes focused on the ground in front of her but seeing nothing. She ignored the herd of skittish gazelles that threw their heads up at her feline scent and nervously galloped away, giving her a wide berth. The air was stifling and the great cat's body was not built to endure long journeys - Yemana was exhausted. Still, she continued on through the parched land, her tongue lolling from her mouth and her breath rasping in her throat.

Earthmother creates balance in all things. An'she would burn the world with His glare if He looked upon us for too long, so the Mother closes the eye of day and allows Mu'sha to bathe us with Her cool glow for a time.

The earth trembled beneath her paws as she came upon a herd of kodo, lazily tromping through the short grass. Their heads were lowered as they grazed; one of the old bulls tore a mouthful free from the soil and ground it between flat teeth as it watched the lioness pass them by.

How can I find that balance? Ishnalea laid down her weapons when she bore me and taught me that there are others who share Earthmother's bounty with us. We must live in harmony with them, and teach them Her ways. How?

The short, stubby grass soon gave way to rolling fields of green, gentle to her paws. She felt Yema's breath upon her back, stirring her soft fur and cooling her skin beneath. Far in the distance loomed a great tree.

How can I find that balance? I have seen those who will not open their ears. They will not lay down their tools, they will not see Her as anything more than a tree to be felled, an ocean to be emptied of fish, a mountain to be raped for their own greed. We must rid Her of these usurpers, these blind savages. How?

Yemana raised herself up on her hind legs as her fur darkened and her large hooves sank into the ground. It was always unnerving to shift after being so long in her other forms - there was that moment of disorientation, of re-learning how to stand on two legs and how to use her mouth for speaking. She swayed as the earth seemed to move under her feet - no, it was just the branches swaying in the wind. Reverently, the druid approached the towering giant.

For generations, the massive tree had stood near the mountains that formed the border between Mulgore and the Barrens. When she was younger, she and several of the other children of her tribe had tried to link their hands together and embrace it, but they could not even make it halfway around the trunk. Scores of birds chattered and sang in a cacophony of chittery music, "Hello, hello! Dark child of warriors, come, come! Embrace your Mother!" Yemana rested her hands against the rough bark, bent her head, touched her forelock to the ancient tree.

Greatmother.

Why did you not come before, Yemana? You had your questions then.

Yemana closed her eyes, breathing in the heady scent of the soil and the sweetness of the wood beneath her fingers. She felt her forehead opening, her hooves turning to roots. She was naked here, naked in front of her Goddess - She looked with gold-and-silver eyes into the mirror pool of her spirit and saw Truth.

What if it does not exist? There is no balance between peace and war.

Yes.

The birdsong faded from hearing as the tree embraced her. Yemana touched her tongue to the bark and licked the sap from Her body. It tasted bitter. Her breath slowed.

There is no balance between justice and mercy.

Yes.

The shu'halo felt herself moving. Slow thighs, thick limbs, soft belly. She knelt amidst the roots of the great tree and saw them open, inviting her deep inside the earth. Her fingers dug into the rich soil.

With your permission, Greatmother.

With your care, my daughter.

The druid crawled like a child into the cavernous space beneath the tree. She curled herself up into a ball and felt her heart stop as the roots closed over her head. She fell out of her body and felt her bones as strong wood, her blood as oozing sap, her mane and fur as leaves.

Dream, my child.

Yemana whimpered once, and did not move again.

by Yichimet

By Stonebull Lake, Yichimet stood and fished. When he had a small basket full, he took them back to the village and wrapped them in leaves, then handed them to the innkeeper in the largest hut.

"She has black fur, and two black manetails. Her name is Yemana. Please, give them to her if she comes by in the next days," Yichimet said and walked out again, mounting Heavy Foot Heavy Breath and riding off slowly.

Though the path was wide enough for a Shu'halo much bigger than she, Yemana huddled on four paws close to the towering wall of rock as though she would plummet from the narrow ledge if she moved but a fraction of a meter in the other direction. Clutching the rock with her claws, she inched her way up the winding path that threaded its way around and through one of the many towers of stone that sprung from the canyon floor. The wind whipped by her on her other side - Yemana imagined invisible fingers snatching her from the path and flinging her out into nothingness, leaving her to hang weightless for a fraction of a second before plunging to her death on the rocks below -

The great cat clenched her eyes shut and pressed herself as flat as she could, every muscle in her body tense and her whole body trembling like a leaf clinging to its branch against the force of the winter wind. Earthmother's challenges were many, it seemed, but tonight Yemana was to face Her greatest one yet.

She knew. She was not a calf to whom stories could be told, stories of storms and wind spirits - at least, not the kind of story Ishnalea would have had her daughter believe. Not for the first time, Yemana wondered why her mother continued to lie - she was usually so warm, so open. She seemed strong still - Yemana had seen none of the spirit-sickness in her that sometimes plagued the elders. Why the secrecy, then? Of course she had heard the stories - the Grimtotem were cruel, they destroyed villages and sought to overthrow the leadership of the Bloodhoof chieftain. They were dangerous, hostile to other tribes - so much so that Yemana herself was enough to cause the guardians of Thunder Bluff to stand a little straighter, to grip their weapons a little tighter whenever she passed by. Her eyes, her coat, her horns - all dark as a crow's wing, all enough to make many of her people look at her as though she were an outsider. Where could she have gotten such coloring? Not from Ishnalea, whose fur was dappled with soft spots the color of red clay. Yemana no longer had to ask herself or any other that question. She knew.

The lioness rounded a corner and stepped into a pool of firelight - she snatched her paw back suddenly as though the very ground had burned her. The lamp on the cliff's edge marked the path's end and illuminated a bridge of wood and rope that spanned the distance between the spire she had just climbed and another one that reached even higher. Buffeted by the wind, it swayed and danced to and fro across the gaping chasm below.

But it was not the sight of the bridge that froze Yemana in her tracks.

The sentry had been looking across the bridge when Yemana put her paw forth; he had not seen her. His axe was resting against the cliff face and his arms were folded across his chest as he stared longingly up at the collection of tents and huts on the other side of the span. The cat's eyes were wide as she drank in his hulking form - his coarse fur, where it was not covered by his armor, was as dark as her own. This Shu'halo was her kin.

Safely around the path, out of the firelight, Yemana turned her thoughts inward and shifted. She remained huddled close to the ground, though, as her spirit became accustomed to two legs once more. Her eyes no longer saw through the darkness; until she wore the form of a lioness again or until she stepped around the corner, she was blind. The howling winds stirred her manetails as she rose from her crouch, pressing herself as close to the wall as possible.

Perhaps this Grimtotem would attack her. Perhaps he would take one look at her and welcome her. Either way, Yemana refused to live her life as a half-child, ignorant of the ways of her father's tribe. Did he still live, or did he walk with his ancestors? The druid sighed softly. She did not even know his name.

Keeping one hand flat against the towering wall of stone, Yemana began to move slowly forward. She did not now walk on soft paws, though; the tiny rocks on the path crunched underneath her hooves and she heard the sudden scrape of metal against stone from around the corner.

"Who is there?" the sentry called in Taurahe. When she did not answer, he issued his challenge again, this time in Orcish. She felt the reassuring solidity of stone underneath her fingers and said a silent prayer to Earthmother. She had come this far.

Moving slowly, Yemana stepped forward and around the corner, into the firelight.

The Grimtotem's hooves were planted firmly on the ground and he gripped the handle of his axe tightly, as though he would cleave Yemana in two if she so much as moved in a way that displeased him. The druid stopped just within the edge of the firelight; the sentry's hard expression made it clear that her next step could be her last. "Who are you?" he growled in a dialect Yemana had to struggle to understand.

The reeking odor that hung in the air around the city was too much for her feline senses - Yemana walked on two legs through the courtyard that was scattered with hastily dug graves, many of which had been disturbed. Her hooves echoed on the rotting planks as she crossed the bridge that spanned the moat. No doubt it had been filled with water in the days of the last king; now it was a stagnant trough of thick, green fluid that oozed sluggishly through the bowels of the city that lay beneath the ruins. As strange as it may have been for the dead-that-walk to see Shu'halo in this part of the world, no one seemed to notice her passing.

"My name is Yemana. I am a daughter of your tribe." The druid inclined her head slowly, and she thought she saw the young warrior relax his stance a little. He straightened, but did not loose his grip on his weapon.

"I do not recognize you, and your speech is strange. What village are you from?"

Yemana had passed through Tirisfal before, but had never entered the city inside the earth. The yawning chambers and echoing tunnels had been carved from the Mother's body, and it pained her to think that it had been done hastily, irreverently. Her bones had been chipped away, piece by piece, crafted into totems of grinning demons and gargoyles. The city was an abomination, but still the druid had come.

She was not one for whom deceit came naturally, and she was not about to lie to her Shu'halo brother. Earthmother blessed the speech of those who spoke truth. "I was born in Bloodhoof Village. My father was of your tribe; Ishnalea, my mother, is a daughter of the Runetotem."

The signs were written in a language she did not know, and again in Orcish. Yemana crossed a bridge under a sign that she was fairly certain said "Cooking" into a makeshift kitchen that consisted of little more than a small fire and a few wooden tables that were covered in blood, offal, and dirty tools. She wrinkled her soft nose at the mess and knelt in a corner, spreading out a thick hide on which to work.

"What was your father's name, Yemana, daughter of Ishnalea?"

The druid's hands moved of their own accord, skinning and cleaning the fish as she had done many times before. Her eyes, though, were empty as her mind wandered far from herself. "Your spirit is slow to rouse, child," her mother had said to her once, "but it burns like hot coals for days after being angered." She had been young when Ishnalea had spoke those words, but tonight, two days after she had been to Thousand Needles, she finally knew them to be true. She could not go back to Bloodhoof with anger in her heart.

Yemana's tongue was like sand; her throat was a desert. "I..." she croaked out, her deep, warm voice sounding unusually strained. The Grimtotem sentry waited patiently, but no amount of stalling could have given Yemana the words she wanted to speak. "I never knew him. Not even his name."

At her words, the sentry straightned slowly, releasing his battle-grip on his axe. He turned his head slightly, looking across the canyon at the collection of tents and huts atop the pinnacle. His voice was quiet and soft when next he spoke. "You have come far from your village, but I think it best that you return there now."

Yemana's next words froze like ice in her mouth. He was sending her away?

She hacked at the fish in frustration as she remembered the long climb up the narrow path, her short conversation with the warrior who looked at her with her own face, the terrifying descent. Why did Earthmother show me that place? She was lost, far from home in this damp city, far from herself. The river, the wolf, the balancing rock - why? Yemana's spirit rarely dreamed like that - how was she to know what it all meant? Crouching near the fire, she adjusted the flat rocks that encircled it, laying pieces of the prepared fish on top of them to bake.

She opened her mouth to protest, but the Grimtotem continued. "You do not belong here, Yemana of the Runetotem. Others would not have been so forgiving of your presence. You have none of our tribe to vouch for you; it would be wise not to return. Walk with the Earthmother."

Yemana could not find words to speak. She felt like an abandoned tent crumpled on the ground, empty of warmth and air and space - nothingness. She was blind, deaf, speechless, and the only thought that came to her mind was that she was lost among these spires of rock with nowhere to go. What do I do now?

Hours later, she sat in the inn at Freewind Post, a cup of moonberry juice sitting untouched on the table in front of her. Yemana was trying desperately to cool the rising anger in her heart, anger at herself for allowing herself to walk away, defeated, anger at her mother for refusing to tell her of her father and his tribe - even anger at the young Grimtotem for turning her away. She ached to return home, but did not want to risk her anger burning not only her, but those she loved.

And so she had come to this dead city, thinking to learn more about these allies of the Horde but mainly desperate for a distraction. As much as she longed for her own people, for any kind of familiarity, she knew that she must first allow her spirit to cool. Can a Shu'halo live its whole life knowing only half of her spirit? Yemana knelt to turn the fish over and snatched her fingers back with an exclamation as the burning wood shifted and the flames lept up to singe the fur on her hands. Holding her manetails back from the heat, she finished turning the rest of her fish, then straightened to see one of her own people standing across the fire from her, polite concern written in his eyes. "Are you all right, sister?" he asked, the Taurahe words like balm to Yemana's troubled mind.

What happens when one looks into the face of a stranger and sees her own past written there in a language she does not understand?

by Yichimet

On most days, Yichimet refused to visit the Undercity. He could see the Spirits of pain writing in the air, in the ichor that sludged through the canals; he could hear the screams of the ghosts of the pink-skins who had fallen so horribly. The death made him uncomfortable, the half-life that had stepped in to the void there even more so.

On some days, though, he could not avoid it. The R.A.S., as abominable as they were, sometimes had knowledge that even his elders did not--about the way an herb or root would mix with a poison, or the way that Forsaken flesh "healed." Tonight he was searching for something for Mohan, something he would not tell Mohan he was searching for. It seemed he kept secrets from his closest brothers and sisters these days.

Heavy Foot Heavy Breath would not walk into the city no matter how much Yichimet tried to coax him in, so he left the kodo tied outside. Near the bank, a strange sound rang across the stones--the deep, soft sound of a female shu'halo's voice yelping in pain. The smell of cooking fish floated through the air. Yichimet looked around. There, near the campfire, stood a black-maned shu'halo woman. In this cursed place? he thought, turning to her.

"Are you all right, sister?" he asked, speaking the Taurahe tongue so that he would not be lost in the noises of the dead. She smiled ruefully at him but did not answer. "I smelled fish cooking and thought, 'how strange in this place.'" She looked around at the green slime and rotting bodies, then nodded at him.

"It seems I have to fare for myself." She looked down at her the fish roasting on the fire. "That is enough for tonight." She spoke some words over her burned fingers.

"It is not often I see shu'halo in this part of the world. What brings you here tonight, stranger?" Her mane-tails swung as she turned away from the fire to face him.

"Many of my Grim allies come here. I am here more than I like, in honesty," he replied.

"Where one's clan is is often home. Such as it is."

"This is not home," he said. "I would never call it that. But it is a place I come." The sounds around him were enough to turn the smell of the cooking fish into something sour, unwanted. "And you? Why are you cooking fish in this damp place?"

"I met a Forsaken last night in Thousand Needles. I do not know many of his kind, and they are our allies." She looked around at the gray stone of the city. "I thought to perhaps learn more of his kind."

Yichimet nodded at her, wondering what she had been doing in the Needles. It was not a place many shu'halo outside the Grimtotem spent time. "A wise thought," he said.

"They all seem so driven and..." she sighed. "...sad. As though there is nothing left for them."

"For many there is not. Though only because they see the world that way."

"When the world has been unkind, it is difficult to see it from the fair side of the river."

He nodded at her. This shu'halo was wise, and he could talk to her easily. He grew more curious about her with every word she spoke.

"Where are you from, Black Tails?" She cocked her head slightly at the name.

"I was born in Bloodhoof Village. My mother raised me there." He stared at her for a few seconds, and then she chuckled slightly. "Forgive me - I am Yemana of the Runetotem tribe."

He bowed before her. "I am Yichimet Clouded Eyes Sees." She peered into his eyes searchingly. "I am Grimtotem."

"Clouded? Has the Mother taken your sight?"

"There was a time where I lived with Spirits and saw only what was there with them." He looked into the fire briefly. "I don't speak of it often."

She nodded seriously. "I would not ask more of you, Yichimet."

"Some day, when we share a fire in an open space, I will tell the story." She gave him a soft smile, and he looked at her for long seconds before she spoke again.

"It is refreshing to hear the shu'halo tongue in these halls. I am glad to have met you," she said.

"And you." He bowed farewell to her. "I will see you again soon, Yemana of the Runetotem.

"Earthmother's blessing on you, Clouded Eyes Sees." She lifted her arms in blessing, then bowed farewell also. "I think I will try again with the fish," she said, looking dubiously at the fire.

"Let us share some someday soon. Blessings of the rising Moon be on you for now." This, too, brought a smile to her face.

"And you. Farewell!" He smiled in response, and chuckled softly to himself when, many paces away, he heard a yelping "Ouch!" skip across the stones again.