Ororo reached the village and smiled warmly as a boy, perhaps nine years old, moved forward shyly and asked, "Are you truly the Windrider?"
The open innocence of a child that she saw in his blue eyes - eyes so intense a light blue they were actually violet. He was wearing unusual clothes for a child, a long piece of skin had been wrapped neatly around his head, so that none of his head above his eyes showed.
She was a bit startled by the unusual, bright eyes so rare among her people, and felt a warmth toward the child, understanding in a flash of insight that he must have been seen as unusual - and then felt a surge of sorrow when she saw his left leg.
Bent awkwardly, it was clear the boy was lame.
Unable to hunt or run with his age-mates, his lonliness must have been similar to her own.
"I am." She knelt down to be on eye-level with the youngster. "What is your name, child?"
"My grandmother calls me Kafele." the boy replied, looking down. "My name is Kafele Munroe."
Ororo's widened. "Munroe?" she whispered, startled.
The boy looked down. "My father was from not from the tribe." he whispered.
Could he be...no, not possible. Ororo thought, firmly.
"Will you walk with me, Kafele?" she asked, smiling again, with honest warmth.
The boy looked suprised, and nodded his head with such delighted energy his head covering slipped a tiny bit, falling off onto his shoulder.
Cloud-white hair tumbled free, and Ororo could not stop the tiny gasp that emerged, stunned, from her lips.
Logan was faintly amused by the crashing and yips of the cubs below.
Keeping Nightfur still, he bared his fangs briefly in a stern command to remain in his current place and leapt easily to another limb.
Waiting patiently, he abrubtly reached down and whipped Fire-Eye up into the tree, nipping his neck in warning, holding him still.
Stripe yipped worriedly, but she was headed for the den, and Logan sprang back to where he had kept Nightfur, shoving the other cub down next to him with a stern growl.
Fire-Eye gave a whine, worrying clearly, and Logan growled again.
A roar nearby told him that the she-lion had found Stripe, and would hold her near the injured cub's tree in the den-place.
Logan growled, indicating the ground to the cubs.
Time they were herded in-den.
Bright-overhead told him that soon it would be too hot for hunting, and the cubs needed shelter.
Remy glanced at Kurt and whispered, "He still feral, mon ami?"
"Ja. Or something like. I have never seen him quite like this, mein freund."
Logan abrubtly grabbed Kurt and tossed him over his shoulder with a sigh of exasperation and grabbed Remy by the front of his trenchcoat, hauling them bodily down to the ground and marching the startled Cajun quickly into a grove.
"Mon Dieu." whispered Remy, a bit awed by the natural beauty he saw unfolded before him.
Logan gave another snort and shoved him lightly in the back, over to where Rogue was watching a circling lioness with angry eyes.
When she prepared to take a swing at the predator, Logan simply swept her feet out from under her and set his fangs at her throat with a warning growl.
"Remy!" she almost yelled, not sure if she should simply grab Logan and take off or fight.
"I wouldn' try it." came a curiously accentless young voice, from the shadows of the big tree near the small lake.
Pounding temples told her she was awake, and she sat up with care, watching the three mutants that Logan had just deposited.
"He's gettin' pretty annoyed with ya."
The tallest of the trio looked over at her, giving her a strange look - an all too familar look - but she shoved the ache in her heart down and focused on the group.
It made it easier to bear.
"She not here."
"Ororo's here?" asked the woman, finally freed from Logan's stern grip.
"Not at d ::cough:: the moment." replied the teen-ager, grateful for the shadows that concealed her.
"We promised you a tale, Windrider, and I shall tell it." said old Mopati, passing a glass of water to the young woman and smiling gently at Kafele.
Ororo nodded, sinking gracefully down into a cross-legged position across from the old man.
"When even our lands were young, an old people travelled down the great river and brought us gifts of wisdom and compassion." The old voice was resonant and strong, and soon even the boy was caught up in the tale. "They became our friends and companions, keepers of law and tradition of both their lands and ours. Soon we were part of them, and they of us. Many songs were sung of their great and wise rulers, but none so much as the one they called Rameses, the great king of his land."
Egypt, here? Ororo was a bit startled.
"Most know of the great monument of love he built to his beloved wife, Abu Simbel, the place of elephants, but few know of Khuru, the place of wisdom."
Ororo unconciously leaned forward, facinated.
"This he built for the greatest of their generals, who was old when Ramses was born. They said Osiris blessed him, for no age touched him, and he taught the warriors of both our peoples that peace is the greatest of skills a warrior might have."
Ororo wasn't sure that she was sure where this was leading, but a strange sensation was building in the pit of her stomach.
"Then the other came, killer of innocence, seeking mastery of the land of Khem." Mopati was drawing faint diagrams to aid in his story, and it was clear that this person was considered monsterous. "The general clashed with him, and the son of Set was driven back, again and again, from our lands. Many warriors lived and died while the general kept the lands safe - until the Set-son came once more, with a legion of black hearts at his command. The general suffered grevious harm, but delivered such a blow to the Set-son that his features showed forever the evil in his heart."
Mopati paused, then regarded the Windrider, their goddess, with inscrutable eyes.
"Great was both our lands grief when the general, our protector, the lion of Khem, returned to the great palace of Ramses weary and greviously wounded. Forbidding the Rites of Eternity, he chose only to be placed in a simple rock tomb," and he gestured with his staff, "out on our savannah, where the forces of storm and sky would watch over him."
"He...died?" Ororo thought vaugely, Logan's ancestor?
"Oh, no." Mopati shook his head. "He slept and woke many times, always coming to the aid of the helpless." His eyes darkened, showing grief and anger. "This last cycle he was shown nothing but pain and rejection, and the Place of Peace remains empty, it's secret passed down in our tribe alone. The stones sing for him, keeping alive our hope he will return and remember, so that we might give him once more what he gave us: home, family, belonging..."
"Goddess, oh Goddess...." Ororo suddenly felt all the pieces fall in place, feeling a strangely blended sense of shock, worry, love - and a kind of wild pride. "Logan. The general - is Logan!"
TBC in For Every Season! :)