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Blind Stalker is dying.
It wasn't spoken, because it didn't need to be. His sight lost years ago, he still walked proudly and hunted with the ferocity of his totem. Tonight, for the first time, he was truly old, not a Chieftain brought low by the machinations of an uncaring totem, nor an elf fading to starlight and dust, but a man past his life expectancy in a savage, merciless jungle.
A man that happened to be her son.
A mother should not outlive her children. It is something written upon the instincts of those whose hearts go to walk outside their bodies, risking every day that those hearts will perish away from them. Even Fangstrike's death was logically accepted- he was only a boy when he married her, and they had had fifty good years together, but he was only human.
The Ancient One had explained to her, a long, long time ago, that in the beginning of all things, the Elves had been crafted with the eternity of the stars, and that their bodies were built on light that did not decay, only dimmed and eventually winked out. The human form, even those of half humans, were not made with such grace and patience. So it was that Two Stick Lightning's oldest son, who SHOULD have just been coming into his own, was courting death in every moment.
"I may live... another two, three years at the most. Not more than that."
She couldn't go to him, not until he called for his Urva in the traditions that he was raised with, for even with her fragile hands, she was afraid of breaking him- but when he called her Mother in the tongue of her people, she could not deny him.
She didn't understand the fear, or the pain just below her breast bone as his trembling hands encircled her waist briefly before she lowered her hands to his. It had hurt when Fangstrike died, but she had been prepared, and it was not unexpected, even to her childish mind, when Cloud Walker had been killed in the war.
Is this what Vara went through when Urva died? Is this what it's like to be human, full of such hurting all the time? Is this what it's always going to be like when people die and I do not?
Through her husband and then her son, the Tiger Fang people had been brought from the edge of ruin at the hands of the war to prosperity and strength- so much so that now the war was a distant tale to them, while still a fresh, stinging memory to the elves of Running Panther. They would need that strength and more to face what the River would bring to their doorsteps soon, too soon!
So she taunted the young, human children around her, most of them her grandchildren and her great grandchildren. She laughed and questioned their bravery and strength, knowing it would drive them to greater lengths to succeed, to grow stronger, and honour the memory of the chieftain. Their outrage was a moment's distraction from the heavy knowledge that she, should the good spirits be so willing, would outlive all of them, and that this was probably the last time that she would see her little boy alive.
It wasn't spoken, because it didn't need to be. His sight lost years ago, he still walked proudly and hunted with the ferocity of his totem. Tonight, for the first time, he was truly old, not a Chieftain brought low by the machinations of an uncaring totem, nor an elf fading to starlight and dust, but a man past his life expectancy in a savage, merciless jungle.
A man that happened to be her son.
A mother should not outlive her children. It is something written upon the instincts of those whose hearts go to walk outside their bodies, risking every day that those hearts will perish away from them. Even Fangstrike's death was logically accepted- he was only a boy when he married her, and they had had fifty good years together, but he was only human.
The Ancient One had explained to her, a long, long time ago, that in the beginning of all things, the Elves had been crafted with the eternity of the stars, and that their bodies were built on light that did not decay, only dimmed and eventually winked out. The human form, even those of half humans, were not made with such grace and patience. So it was that Two Stick Lightning's oldest son, who SHOULD have just been coming into his own, was courting death in every moment.
"I may live... another two, three years at the most. Not more than that."
She couldn't go to him, not until he called for his Urva in the traditions that he was raised with, for even with her fragile hands, she was afraid of breaking him- but when he called her Mother in the tongue of her people, she could not deny him.
She didn't understand the fear, or the pain just below her breast bone as his trembling hands encircled her waist briefly before she lowered her hands to his. It had hurt when Fangstrike died, but she had been prepared, and it was not unexpected, even to her childish mind, when Cloud Walker had been killed in the war.
Is this what Vara went through when Urva died? Is this what it's like to be human, full of such hurting all the time? Is this what it's always going to be like when people die and I do not?
Through her husband and then her son, the Tiger Fang people had been brought from the edge of ruin at the hands of the war to prosperity and strength- so much so that now the war was a distant tale to them, while still a fresh, stinging memory to the elves of Running Panther. They would need that strength and more to face what the River would bring to their doorsteps soon, too soon!
So she taunted the young, human children around her, most of them her grandchildren and her great grandchildren. She laughed and questioned their bravery and strength, knowing it would drive them to greater lengths to succeed, to grow stronger, and honour the memory of the chieftain. Their outrage was a moment's distraction from the heavy knowledge that she, should the good spirits be so willing, would outlive all of them, and that this was probably the last time that she would see her little boy alive.
