Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't make money off of it, and don't mean to offend anyone's sensibilities. Please God, don't sue.
Thanks: MOM, I love you! Stelmarta, awesome beta! Miss Sharp, for her 'sharpness'
Credit where credit is due: http://www.red4.co.uk/welsh/dictionary/e2w/dictionary.htm http://www.geocities.com/tamalyn_2001/welshbabynames.html
Nighthorse
He rode back to the Vale slowly. It was his home, true, but he hadn't anticipated leaving the territory near the Plains in his lifetime. Nighthorse was part of the long-range reconnaissance patrol that spent most of their time going from village to village in the k'Treva held territory making sure that everything there was going smoothly. For the past few months everything had gone smoothly, but to pull out entirely? It was a big step, and one to which he was not anticipating with pleasure. He reached the edge of his patrol zone, just as the scout representative of k'Treva to the council was searching for him.
"Wind to thy wings, clansib! I was just coming out in search of you," a voice hailed from the treetops.
"Fair skies, Stormsong, I am here, as you see." He spotted her, hanging from one of the Pelgir's massive towering trees. They didn't call her Stormsong for nothing. Her temper, though short-lived was as legendary as her sweetness.
"There's a full scout's meeting tonight near the Council tree." She lounged gracefully on a tree limb a few yards ahead of him and several meters up.
"So then it's true, we are leaving." He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle as he passed below her position.
She laughed, throwing back a head of pure gold hair. Of all the scouts she was the most vain of her hair it was a new colour almost every week. "And they say news travels slowly across the plains. We are packing as we speak." She hopped down, with the fearlessness and grace that only a Tale'dray'as scout could manage.
"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" He stopped, waiting for her to catch up with him.
"Worried are you, that you'll miss the Plains? We'll be here for another moon or so. But, yes it's high time we moved on with the Vale." She smiled brilliantly, " Things have been so slow these past moons, surely you've seen to that."
"Slow doesn't mean that all problems have been solved." She was as graceful as a wyrsa pack and twice as deadly. Nighthorse had no desire to provoke her by questioning the judgment of this decision.
"If we waited until all the problems were solved we'd never get on with the job the Goddess had set for us." She pulled herself up onto the saddle behind him, without asking, "The people here can handle that which the Pelagiris throws at them. No changecreatures, no wild nodes, no colddrakes, no wyrsa. We've done our duty Wingbrother, that is all we can do." She reached over to pet the nose of his battlesteed, Tarma. "We do what we can, no more. There are other lands and peoples that need k'Treva more than here."
He shifted, letting her get a better grip around his waist, then urged his mount to a canter. "The elders know best, I suppose"
"Yes," she squeezed him playfully, "we do. I know this will be rough for you; you've an attachment to the Plains all of us recognize. I've an idea, just listen to it: I want you to go on one of the foray missions to scout out a new Vale home. Just listen to me and think about it. If you have a hand in choosing the new Vale location, maybe it will help make the move a little less scary."
"I never said I was scared." His hackles immediately rose at the thought. She squeezed his ribs again, hard.
"Men," he felt her toss her hair, " you and your pride. Everyone who's not a total featherhead should be scared. Moving is a big step, and we'll be the first Clan to move since before the Storms. All I'm saying is that if you help to make the choice it will feel less as if the world is being jerked out form under your feet, that's all. Think about it, Wingbrother. We all care about you. We want you to be as comfortable as possible with this; I know it can't be much. "
"I'll think about it. I won't promise anything, but I'll think about it." His heart warmed with the knowledge that his friends were looking out for him. This is why he was staying with k'Treva. He nudged his battlesteed to a gallop and listened to Stormsong's slight gasp as she clung on tightly. He was heading home.
House Trees
Llawela waited with Mopani near the entrance to his den. This was the third time she'd waited this wait with him. He was as nervy as a high-strung cat, but she guessed he was entitled. It wasn't every day your mate had cubs. He was pacing around the entrance, snapping at hapless individuals who walked in his path, and finally heaved a great sigh and flopped at her feet to be scratched.
"Mopani, brawd, aros. Popeth ydi'r bod o'r gorau. Rydw i'n sicr. Ydi'r bechgyn yn dod?" (Mopani, brother, wait. Everything is OK. I'm sure. Are the boys' coming?)
He whined and nodded, his ears laid back. He rolled on his back, a submissive gesture, but he loved a good tummy scratch. Soon the men, both two and four footed, appeared near the den, carrying a skin full of a clear, slightly intoxicating beverage. They were grinning, amused at their fearless alpha's nerves. She let them carry Mopani off to be relieved of his stress and rolled her neck, working out the kinks. She was a little worried herself, it had been quite a while, and there had been some complications with the last litter. She couldn't let Mopani see her stress, though; it would only make him worry more.
"Ydi'r chi o'r gorau?" (Are you OK?), she called down the burrow. Wolves were notoriously private about birthing. The den entrance was as close as anyone could get.
A snapping whine was as much as she got. Wearily she extended her Sight into the tree where the den was carved. Mother and cubs were alive, a good sign, but she was in incredible pain, not surprising. Llawela rubbed the wood of the tree, affectionately, letting the living being of the wood absorb some of the stress. Her mother had taught her the trick of 'singing' to the trees. That's how the dens were created. She had to ask permission from the tree to widen and enlarge the trunk so a dwelling could be hollowed out from the heartwood inside. Wolf dens were small, but the two-foot dens required more space. Even from a Pelgir tree that was a lot to ask. Most of the trees were receptive, though, that was a good thing.
A sudden, squalling bark emerged from the den. She extended her Sight, this time a little more enthusiastically. One cub had breeched the last barrier, the litter was being born. She jumped into the air, pumping her fist a little in celebration, and then she remembered her old friend and his nerves.
"Mopani, eich plentyn ydi'r yma. Mopani! Dod cyflym!" (Mopani, your child is here. Mopani! Come quick!)
He came running, weaving slightly, and barked at the entrance. He barked and barked and barked. Then threw back his head and let loose a howl. She joined him, as did some of the other males. Eventually the entire pack, all within earshot, joined in the jubilation. Mopani's cubs were born. Three little cubs was the final count, two females and a male.
"Bendigedig! Ni angen gwneud rhywbeth. Cinio, brecwast, bwyd, rhywbeth!" (Wonderful! We need to do something. Dinner, breakfast, food, something!) An enthusiastic well-wisher, grabbed Llawela by the shoulders and shouted.
"Ni cael paratoi, rhoi fi amser. Fory, efallai, nid heno." (We need to prepare, give me time. Tomorrow, maybe, not tonight.) She extracated herself, and called behind her "Gwneud nid tra meddw heno. Ni cael bywn dychrynu ar fory." (Do not get very drunk tonight. We have food to scare up tomorrow.)
"O'r gorau! Ni bod yna! (Ok! We'll be there!) They called cheerfully, already making their way to the clearing where the impromptu party had started.
Llwaela chuckled; half the pack would be clutching aching heads come the morning, but they needed to celebrate. Winter was just over, the snow was fresh thawed, and fresh meat was looming on the horizon. She had duites to attend to, even in the midst of celebration. She made her way, quietly, to the family tree. Etched on the single, flat surface was the names and family relationship of everyone in the pack. She needed to add the three new additions to Mopani's tribe. This tree was the original, first tree that had been hollowed out for habitation. In it were kept the remains of former alpha's, human and wolf, as well as the written history of the pack.
She walked in; it was cool and dark inside the tree. She could feel remnants of old power, older than she, emanating from the bones. She gave her great-great-grandmother a friendly pat on the skull and felt the power throbbing under her fingers. She sat, with a small knife, and began the painstaking process of carving Mopani's newest additions into the family tree, leaving space for the names. It didn't take too long.
She leaned back on her haunches and admired her work, then frowned. The old problem, one that would only get worse with time, stared her in the face. The pack had started with fourteen humans. Over the past century breeding had reduced the number of available mates who were not family. She estimated two more generations before it was all over. Inbreeding would then take it's toll and the pack wouldn't last another fifty summers. The wolves could, and had, mate with wild packs on the fringe of their territory, but all of Llewela's scouting had not found a single wild pack of humans for her people to mate with. It was frustrating to be met with a problem no amount of power or planning could fix.
She shook her head; worrying on this would ruin her day. Mopani's cubs deserved their proper celebration. They deserved to have an aunt who paid attention to them and not the distressing implications of their birth. Things would be better, they had to be. Anything less would be unacceptable.
K'Treva
Nighthorse made his way to the Council tree. He was not quite dreading, but not really looking foreword this meeting. It was a necessary evil. He'd thought on what Stormsong had to say, he acknowledged that she idea had some merit, but having just come back from a long patrol he really didn't want to go back out again unless he absolutely had to. No, hang that, he'd gone out again on less rest into more dangerous territory. He really didn't want to face the issue of k'Treva leaving the territory near the Plains. He stopped for a second, brushing away a trailing vine of some psudo-tropical plant that the Vale supported.
'Nighthorse' he told himself sternly ' you are leaving. End of story. Find some way to deal with it. Go out there with those people and pick a new home.'
His bondbird, Greidawl, swooped down. He automatically held up his wrist as a perch. Greidawal was a goshawk, red eyed and short-tempered, but today he seemed a little subdued. He hopped to Nighthorse's shoulder and started preening his hair. After taking a moment to compose himself, Nighthorse pushed aside the vines and entered the Council meeting.
"Wind to thy wings, brother, we are glad to see you come back."
"I'm glad to be back, Fireharp, it's been too long."
"Well, we may just be sending you out again. Stormsong tells me you've volunteered to go with the mage-scouting party in search of a new Vale."
He glared at Stormsong, that was not what he had said, but he realized this was the moment of truth anyway.
"Yes," he felt tension drain off of his shoulders, "I did." Behind Fireharp he could see Stormsong grinning and giving the 'thumbs-up' at his choice.
"Good," Nighthorse turned to see one of the oldest mages, and the most powerful, smiling from his seat. "We need a night-scout for the journey. You're the best we have."
"You honour me Riverblade, but I hope, meaning no disrespect, that it is not you that comes on this trip." Riverblade was old enough to be Nighthorse's grandfather, if not older. Surely not a man to take on a rough cross-country journey thought the Pelgir Wilds.
"No offence is taken, Nighthorse, you are absolutely correct. My youth is not what it once was," he smiled, hair tinkling softly from waist length bells. "We of the Mages have chosen Silverice to go on this journey."
From behind him a woman rose, fully bedecked in fur, feathers, and beads. She had snow-white hair, the hair only an adept could truly grow, flowing past her knees and draped in a fantastical arrangement that seemed to defy gravity. Her costume, for that was the only way to describe it, was an electric blue and lime green confection that made his eyes cross. He was raised Shin'a'in accustomed to eye blinding attire and he was wowed. Colours like that were not natural. She had the butter soft ankle boots that could only be worn in the Vale, pale skin that had likely never seen real un-shielded sunlight, and the stubborn beak of a nose that had found it's way into the Vale through the Ashkeverons.
This woman was the mage for a rough ride through unclaimed territory on the Pelgir wilds? He'd heard of Silverice. The use-name was as accurate as her magery. She was precise, calculating, and cold. She judged mage energy to within a hair of its ability, but had virtually no practical experience outside the heavily shielded Vale environ. His dismay must have shown plainly on his face because as their eyes met, hers chilled to chips of sapphire ice.
"You think then, Wingsibling, I am unsuitable for this position?"
"I think," he said very carefully "that we have a lot to accomplish in a very short period of time. Can you handle that?"
"I can handle anything" She artistically flared out her sleeves and shook the bells braided in her hair. The ornaments and different toned bells chimed in harmony. It was a stunning effect to be sure, but not a skill needed to survive the Pelgir. He'd be damned if he lugged around a mage wardrobe in unclaimed territory to satisfy the whims of an ornamental peahen.
He exchanged a wry glance with Stormsong, who shrugged and said wordlessly, 'not my choice'. He sighed, what the devil had he gotten himself into? It was too late to turn back. Sympathetically his bondbird nuzzled his neck, Nighthorse stroked him absently as he analysed the map Fireharp spread over the table.
"There are three sites: here, there, and over here." He pointed to three different locations on the map. "Now, we prefer this place here. It's near the trade routes we've already got running so we can back onto some support, but far enough that we've still got plenty of land to cleanse. As far as Silverice can sense there are three nodes of uncompromising power and, this is the key, surprising stability. In fact this whole area seems as though a Healing-Adept has taken at least a beginning hand to the area, it's not perfect by far, but a lot less contaminated than some of the surrounding areas. We've contacted k'Vala and k'Sheyna, they've not sent any mage-teams to the area although it seems as though the magic here is much more stable than elsewhere."
"Do you think there's a rogue adept who's claimed the nodes?"
"No," Silverice broke into the conversation. Her voice was surprisingly deep and very well modulated. "No rogue adept would go about purging the wilds in such a remote location. There is power, to be sure, but no people to lord over and no resources to gain. It is nature simply re-asserting herself. We have every right to move on in."
"Is it decided then? Are we to go there?"
"It would seem," Riverblade said absently "as though it has been decided. To the three nodes we will go."