Beginnings: All Mother's Embrace

When the High Matriarchs sent a messenger to his isolated cabin, he had hoped to never set foot in Mother's Watch again after his return to the Sacred Lands. The message had been short and cryptic, addressed only from High Matriarch Teersa.

Ever loyal to the tribe's tradition, he followed the messenger, stopping briefly at the altar along the road to the village to ask for All-Mother's blessing and forgiveness. He left an offering before following the patient messenger and entering the foreboding gates to Mother's Watch.

The messenger was careful not to speak to Rost as he led the outcast to the sacred mountain, and Rost examined the younger man as he followed him up the well-worn path towards the mountain. He was tall and lanky, wearing a boarskin cloak over his shoulders. His hair was tied back into a ponytail, the light blonde dreadlocks secured with a bit of blue rope. Rost guessed the man to be in his twenty-eighth year by the sureness of his steps and fullness of his beard.

The cold winds of winter were finally subsiding as spring took hold in the Sacred Lands, but the villagers lining the streets stopped to give him an icy stare as he passed. Outcast they sneered, some spitting near his feet. He paid them no mind, knowing his trespassing into their streets would be brief before he was allowed to return to his isolation.

One of the braves they passed as they ascended toward the sacred mountain recognized Rost and placed his hand over his heart, bowing his head in silence. The Brave met the outcast's eyes before quickly moving on past the pair towards the gates. Rost swallowed thickly, his shunning was still fresh in his mind, and some of the tribe still disagreed with the outcome of his trial.

Many did not know the exact circumstances of his 'exile' and subsequent return to All-Mother's Embrace, and he had vowed to never speak of it after the Matriarchs allowed him to remain in the Sacred Land as an Outcast.

Blood.

The trampled snow stained red as black smoke filled the chilly air.

The screams and sounds of fighting overcoming any reason in the moment.

Then there in the snow...his mate...her hair strewn about her head, dark crimson blood seeping from the wound in her chest-

A gentle hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present.

The messenger had stopped, noticing the lack of footsteps behind him. The younger man broke tradition by touching an outcast, but in his eyes Rost recognized pity. Some still remembered the attack on Mother's Vigil, as it had only occurred a few years back, but even fewer knew of his journey from the Sacred Lands to the world beyond.

He nodded thankfully at the messenger and the two men continued their ascent up the path to the sacred mountain. The path cleared for them as the villagers moved out of their way.

The familiar metal, triangular door with its distinctly Nora overhang greeted them as they finished their journey. A small crowd had gathered, and Rost's heart rate increased, wondering what the High Matriarchs had summoned him for exactly. The three elderly women stood near the doorway, awaiting his arrival. High Matriarch Teersa, with her blue and tan garb and long braided greying hair, stood in the center, her hands clasped together in front of herself.

The crowd parted, and hushed whispers spread throughout as he passed, the messenger leaving Rost to answer the Matriarch's call and taking his place among the village crowd. Harsh whispers permeated the air around the clearing.

What's he doing here?

Outcast!

What do the Matriarch's want with him?

High Matriarch Teersa raised her right hand, silencing the crowd as all eyes turned to Rost, who stepped to the front, kneeling before the three women.

"You may speak to us, as we have summoned you for a task of great importance," she said, loud enough for the crowd to hear.

Rost heard a scoff from Lansra's direction.

He stood as beckoned, and Teersa motioned for him to follow her to the vestibule of the Sacred Mountain. Jezza and Lansra remained outside while Teersa entered into the mountain.

The crowd started to stir as they waited for the High Matriarch to return, and many of the villagers whispered among themselves. Rost shifted uncomfortably where he stood, feeling the many eyes on his back.

Teersa reemerged within moments, carrying a small bundle of furs and skins in her arms. Rost furrowed his brow, confusion spread over his face. The older woman stepped up to him, revealing what she carried...

A newborn baby.

Jezza spoke up finally, turning in his direction, "We found her inside of the mountain, laying alone outside of All-Mother's womb."

Teersa handed the infant to Rost, who inhaled in surprise softly at the weight.

They were giving her to him? What had he done to deserve such an honor?

He found his voice as the slowly waking infant blinked up at him, speaking just above a whisper to avoid startling the child, "The mother?"

Lansra hissed suddenly, "There is none! This child is an abomination- no mother- a curse for our tribe's misdeeds! Our straying from All-Mother's ways has brought this-!"

Jezza shook her head vehemently, cutting in quickly, "Sister, that is not for us to decide-"

The crowd had overheard the conversation between the four and shouts erupted throughout the Nora, relaying judgement where they had no right to do so...

Cast her out!

No-Mother!

Send them away!

Teersa strode forward, raising her hands to silence the agitated villagers, "Listen to me! We do not know the reason why this child appeared as she did…but All-Mother has delivered her to us, and we must decide her fate-"

Outcast!

Rost furrowed his brow, what had this child done to deserve such hatred from the tribe? She was only an infant!

Lansra echoed the angry crowd's sentiment.

Rost looked between the three High Matriarchs. Jezza averted her eyes, clearly concerned with the tribe's reception of the event. The three elderly women convened and after some heated arguing near the entrance to the sacred mountain, Teersa approached Rost, who held the infant girl closer to his chest, unconsciously protecting her from the venom the tribe spat their way.

The lines in the elderly woman's face deepened in the midday shadows as she relayed her judgement.

"Please forgive us, but we must ask you to take this girl as your own," she said quietly, before retrieving a bowl from Lansra's outstretched hands. Rost glanced at the other matriarchs and the hatred he saw in Lansra's face confused him. How could she hate an infant girl? One who had done nothing to her?

"By the will of All-Mother we mark both of you as Outcasts, and bind this girl to you. Bring her up in our ways, but remember our laws: she must not return to us until she is of age."

Teersa's eyes watered as she spoke these words, but Rost understood the law and what must be done. The matriarch marked his forehead as they had before with the sign of an outcast, and gently did the same to the infant girl in his arms. The baby squirmed away from the foreign sensation, scrunching her eyebrows together and making a small sound of displeasure.

Rost felt as if a hand had reached its way into chest and taken hold of his heart. He was getting another chance at what he'd been so cruelly denied when he'd lost his family. He looked down at the baby girl in his arms and the muscles in his jaw tightened; one way or another they'd get through this.

They were in this together now.

The crowd parted and Rost stepped forward, holding his new 'daughter' close to his chest to protect her from the tribe that had shunned her.

Some spat as his feet as he passed, while others only glared vehemently.

Rost chanced a look around and recognized the face of the Brave who had broken taboo to return him to the Sacred Lands. Being a mother herself, she stared at the infant in Rost's arms, the pain on her face as bare as any cliff-face.

Rost continued the long walk back down the path to the gates. No one dared to touch them, and two braves followed behind to ensure the Outcasts left Mother's Watch unharmed.

As the large wooden gates slowly closed behind them, Rost looked back towards the village he would never see again. The many familiar faces who might as well have been strangers flashed through his mind. He shook them away; it was no use dwelling on what was past.

The journey back to his cabin was slower now that he carried precious cargo. The infant fought against the bundled furs she was being carried in, and Rost stopped to adjust his hold on her, turning her tiny face towards his own. Her green eyes stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed together, the corners of her little mouth pointed down. Rost chuckled to himself, reaching up and moving the furs off her head, allowing the spring breeze to ruffle the shock of red hair. He brushed a thumb over her it gently.

He'd never seen hair that color in the Sacred Lands, and the only comparison he could come to was the reddish-brown hair of an Oseram merchant he'd met near the Cut.

He tightened his grip on the baby and moved on, his cabin within view now through the gate he'd recently built. The sun was just beginning to set as he stepped onto the front porch of his isolated home.

"This is your home now, little one," he said quietly, shifting the infant in his arm so she could survey her surroundings. She quietly babbled some nonsense and Rost took that as affirmation.

The fire in the hearth still burned from where he'd left it hours earlier, the boar stew simmering over it. The smell of herbs and meat filled the great-room as he shut the door.

He gathered some of his blankets and skins with a free hand, forming a 'nest' of sorts so he could place the infant down. As he removed the furs she'd been swaddled in, the baby girl's arms and legs kicked out testing her new-found freedom.

Rost smiled as he placed her into the depression he'd made in the blankets before turning to prepare a place for her to sleep until she grew out of it. His mind drifted to memories of the past...

The cries of a baby broke the silence of the night, as soft crackles and pops came from the fire in the center of the cabin. Rost felt a stirring in the bed beside him as his mate rose to check on their daughter. In the dim light of the burning coals, Rost watched her as she bent to retrieve the baby and return to sit on their bed. The crib he had made before she'd been born served to keep their daughter safe and close during the nights.

He was brought back to the present by the soft wails coming from where he'd placed his newest charge. Rost strode over to the bed quickly and retrieved her, checking her diaper. When nothing seemed to be physically wrong and nothing else seemed to soothe her, he figured she was only hungry.

But what would he feed her? It wasn't as if he had the means to feed her himself, and it seemed the High Matriarchs hadn't thought of this earlier. He had goat's milk but he wasn't sure that was a sufficient replacement for an infant her age. He frantically searched his home, desperately trying to remember anything- something.

Then, a soft knock sounded at his door, barely audible over the baby's wails. He scooped up his adopted daughter, answering the front door, his eyes adjusting to the low light of the early evening.

The messenger from earlier stood in the doorway with a woman from the tribe, Rost didn't recognize the young woman. She averted her eyes from his gaze and he quickly guessed what she had been sent for.

"High Matriarch Teersa sends her regards and instructs that Telara here will act as nursemaid until the babe can be weaned," the messenger cleared his throat awkwardly and Telara nodded, eyes still averted. Rost raised his eyebrows in surprise as the tiny infant in his arms started to wail louder.

Of course Teersa would go behind the backs of the other Matriarchs to ensure their success. He was secretly grateful for the kindness.

Rost nodded his affirmation and the woman hesitated before stepping in and out-stretching her arms towards the squalling infant in his arms. He handed over the fussy baby, as the messenger stepped off the porch, giving them time and space to complete the task.

Rost followed the young man, giving the woman her privacy, which allowed him the time to gather some materials he'd need before the sun went down completely. He had some recently cut wood drying in the sun on the side porch, along with his woodworking tools. The metal shards he used for nails lay in a leather bag nearby. He gathered the materials and hastily constructed a makeshift crib until he could gather better materials. As he worked, the messenger gathered herbs for him just outside the gate, leaving them in a basket on the porch.

He nodded, meeting the young man's eyes briefly in thanks before the woman Teersa sent stepped out onto the porch quietly. She carried a waterskin in one hand, which she held out at Rost. He took it gently from her and she avoided his gaze as she explained in a low tone, "For the baby until I can return."

Rost bowed slightly in thanks, knowing the young woman only broke the taboo for the child's sake and at Teersa's behest.

The two left Rost as quietly as they'd came, leaving him to his forced isolation. He carried the makeshift crib into his cabin and set it near his bed. The baby slept peacefully in the 'nest' he'd made and he felt slightly guilty moving her and some of the blankets to the crib. She grumbled in her sleep but thankfully slept on.

After he fed himself and secured the waterskin the woman had given him into the sand-filled cooler he'd made for his food, he settled hear the fire, knife in hand as he whittled away at some scrap wood.

Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he'd feared. His visions of his past didn't come on as frequently as they had during his journey as a Death Seeker.

He had to admit it made his chest hurt seeing another baby girl... but this wasn't his daughter… this child could never be his Alana.

Nothing could ever replace the family he'd lost, and even sating his vengeance hadn't filled the space left inside of him from the tragedy.

He reached into one of the pouches on his belt, fingering the bone talisman and leather cord of the necklace he'd given Alana for her naming ceremony. It had become a habit when he'd started to grow nostalgic, the familiar worn leather keeping him grounded during the tougher moments alone.

A soft wail came from the crib near his bed and he replaced the necklace into the pouch on his belt, rising to check on the baby. She squirmed in the blankets he'd arranged around her and he bent to retrieve her from her resting place. He lifted her to his shoulder and patted her back, checking her diaper again. Nothing seemed to soothe her and her distressed cries rose in volume as he shushed her quietly with no effect, pacing the floor of his cabin.

"What's the matter?" he asked, the deep tones of his voice vibrating through his chest. The baby's cries seemed to subside briefly when he spoke.

"Shh, shh, I've got you…" he soothed, his baritone whisper seeming to calm the infant, "No one is going to get you here. I've got you…"

The baby's wails quieted slowly to hiccups as he spoke. It seemed the only thing she'd wanted was to be held.

Rost's chest hurt thinking about the injustice of it all; she was only a newborn… she didn't deserve any of this.

The teachings of the tribe ran through his head, and he wondered slightly what had happened to her mother. Was she dead? Only the Matriarchs were allowed inside the sacred mountain, but was it possible for someone to enter without their permission and leave a newborn inside all without being detected?

Who would leave a newborn babe alone in the sacred mountain? All-Mother taught that each new life was precious, especially those made in her image.

Of course, it wasn't uncommon among the Nora that sick or deformed infants were left at the highest point of the mountains surrounding the Sacred Lands, their spirits allowed to return to her Embrace.

But for a completely healthy child to be left and in such a sacred place? It made no sense.

Rost looked down at the infant girl in his arms and his heart broke a little for her. Even though she wasn't his flesh and blood, he was called to raise her as his own. She would never have to feel as if she was unwanted as long as he had her in his care.

He would have to think of a name for her, as it was tradition to name new additions to the tribe at 6 months of age. At least he would have time to think on it before he made the journey with her.

Her tiny eyelids fluttered as she fell asleep again, and he placed her in the crib before going to sleep himself, the sound of the night animals drifting into the peaceful cabin.

The two outcasts continued this way, and as the time for the girl's naming ceremony approached, nightmares plagued Rost's sleep.

He found himself sitting on the porch in the dark one night after one of these nightmares.

They were always bathed in red, sounds of machines fighting and metallic screeching set to the chaos around him. The gates to the sacred land lay split and in shambles at his feet. The water of the lake near those gates dyed red as blood.

The ground always shook beneath his feet each time the nightmare repeated itself. And a dark shadow loomed above the sacred mountain, where the metal devil's body had always rusted quietly, it once again moved and shredded the mountainside with its long appendages.

A Brave was there with him each time the dream plagued his sleep, her face hidden by his subconscious, but her long red hair betraying her identity. No one else had hair that color.

In his dreams he called out to her, the infant he'd yet to name.

Aloy!

And each time she'd made to turn his way, he'd awoken abruptly, sweat pouring down his face. Some nights he'd be jolted awake to the sounds of the infant girl's cries, other nights the cabin laid completely silent. The peace disturbed by his heaving breaths and the crackling of the fire.

This name he called her and the nature of his dreams had to be divine providence. There was no way to describe it and in his mind All-Mother herself was calling out to him through these dreams. It was two days from their journey to the grove where the naming ceremony usually took place. He'd sat up the past few nights as the nightmares grew closer and closer together. His spear would never be any sharper, but still he sat on the porch and ran the tip across a whetstone.

Tonight though, the all-familiar fussing of his charge broke the stillness of the night air and he set his spear by the wall and went to check on the baby.

She was wide awake in the dark, her tiny arms flailing against the furs tucked around her. He brushed a fox skin off her lower half and bent to pick her up from where she struggled. The infant scrunched her face as he brought her to his shoulder, running a soothing hand over her back as he shushed her.

He paced the great room, quietly soothing the fussing child. She hiccupped against his tunic as he ran his hand gently from the back of her neck downwards.

"It's ok, I've got you. I'm here…"

His throat caught suddenly, the urge to use the name he'd heard in his dreams so suddenly strong he had to stop himself. The Nora believed a person wasn't truly recognized until their naming, the harsh environment and lack of significant medical knowledge leading to a detached demeanor surrounding infants.

As the baby's hiccups subsided, he adjusted his grip on the child and laid her back into his arms, her hazel eyes staring up at him in the firelight.

"What's wrong, Aloy?" He cooed, running his fingers over her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead. The baby girl hiccupped again and scrunched her face.

"Not your first choice, huh?" He quipped, lightly poking her belly as she squirmed against his fussing over her.

Her little eyebrows relaxed as she started to fall asleep again and he stared at her a little longer, allowing himself the guilty pleasure of watching her tiny eyelids flutter. As she finally slept, he laid her gently back in the cradle he'd made for her and pulled the fox fur blanket back up over her. The urge to kiss her tiny forehead, as he'd always done to Alana when he'd put her to bed, overcame him and he felt the pinpricks of tears at the corners of his eyes. He quietly cleared his throat and instead just to smooth a thumb across the infant's cheek,

"Goodnight, Aloy."