THE VISION
Carefully she crept into the dank Marsh, her feet carrying her further into depths unknown. She was not sure of where she was going and yet she KNEW how to get to where he was. The deep, soul-jarring pull she felt would guide her through the inky black cover of night time to her destination. Weaving between trees laced with silky cobweb, Moira moved further and further away from her camp and closer to him.
Her senses were attentive to every nuance of the atmosphere: the thick weight of the rich mud on her hooves, the musty stagnant scent of the air, and the uneasy movement of the creatures who called Dustwallow Marsh home. It was unlike her to travel this far from camp. Moira preferred to stay close to camp not because she was comfortable there, nor because it was home, but merely because it was safer to be around the other Grimtotem as opposed to keeping company with the deadly creatures that roamed about the unforgiving Marsh.
She knew that wandering far from her camp would get her a swift and likely brutal reprimand. All thoughts of any scolding she might receive dissipated as she sensed that her destination was near. Moira wasn't sure where she was and had no way of knowing how to get home, but she wasn't frightened; quite the opposite. Drawing nearer and nearer to the end of her journey, she paused. It - he - was just beyond those trees, she was sure of it. Anticipation shivered up her spine, excitement tingled through her blood, throbbed deep within her veins. Drawing in a shaky breath she crept ever closer, ever closer. A ghostly white light beckoned to her -- the moon? Was it him? Her eyes snapped shut and she gave in to temptation, hooves slowly carrying her into the clearing.
And there he stood. It was him.
"Apa'ro," she whispered. Malorne.
The great white stag stood gracefully in the center of the clearing. He was magnificent in all his glory, shimmering with a stark whiteness that stung her searching eyes. It seemed he was even greater in size than the black drakes who called the southernmost parts of the Marsh home. And yet, despite his size, he radiated a gentleness and warmth that drew Moira closer and stifled her fears. The ambiance of the skittering Marsh seemed to fade away, replaced with something almost akin to warmth. Security. Home. Family. Moira realized she was crying salty silent tears that slowly crisscrossed down her furred cheeks.
"Do not weep, child," his deep voice intoned, "You have no reason for these tears." She felt the words deep within her heart and she held them close to her, sacred. It was all she could do not to sob uncontrollably. His presence was overwhelming.
"Why do you call to me, Apa'ro?" Moira queried in low and reverent tones, her next words chosen carefully and filled with self-contempt, "My people, the Grimtotem, have done nothing but cause the Earthmother pain." She raised a fisted hand and thumped it lightly against her chest, "And I feel the shame burning at my soul, it eats away at me! I feel the Earthmother's pain as if it were my OWN pain," she cried, her golden eyes alight with fury and sorrow, "It IS my own pain!"
Malorne's great head dipped low as he stepped closer to the distraught tauren. He pressed his nose against her forehead for a brief moment before turning those wise, ancient moon-eyes on Moira. The action quelled her emotional tirade, his touch giving her a sense of peace.
"You are not of these lands, child. I know deep down you realize this. You understand that you are not of these brutal and unkind Grimtotem." He paused briefly, giving her time to realize what he was saying. He continued.
"Do not waste away here, child. Do not let this sorrow eat at your soul. Naawe is your name. Riverbreeze is your clan." His head dipped once more, pleading with her to understand. "You are no Grimtotem. You are not tainted. You are Naawe Riverbreeze and it is time for you to find your place in this life. No more will you hide within the Grimtotem tribe. No more will you be looked down upon. No more will you answer to their taunts and name-calling. You are not Pesticide, as they call you, a poison to this earth. You are not Moira Grimtotem. Gather your courage, child, for you will need it. Your quest will not be simple or without pain." His ancient eyes glistened with emotion, "All is not how it seems and you must find the strength inside your heart to proceed. There is only ONE who can answer your questions. You must find your place, Naawe. The Earthmother needs you. Do you not hear her call?"