K'ashi

K'ashi's POV

First Age 511 - 512

I was at a loss.

This had been meant as a hunting trip. Far, yes. Into foreign land, yes. Orcs' land, yes, but furred ones were seldom harried by orcs. They crossed and left each other alone, usually. Coming to territory, stepping over borders, that was different. Then we would fight, then we would kill each other. But this was not orcs territory – orcs were only crossing here themselves. This was khai'toh land. We looked out for that. Nets, slings, arrows. We were not sighted, and if, we were furred at that time.

I led this pack, but decisions for the clan, decisions concerning strangers, outlanders, were not mine to make on my own. I was here, though, I was leader now, so I had to decide.

The pack had found the stranger lying unconscious and unguarded. He was of the Bright Ones, he wore clothing like the Bright Ones and bore a long knife like the fire bearers did. Like the orcs also did.

The pack had left furred, carrying no weapons and no supplies.

When we found the stranger, we discussed briefly what to do. Not our concern. We did not meddle with the Bright Ones, no. Pack rule said, leave the outsider be. The Bright Ones always fought, in all their lands. When they came looking for this one, Te-nosh'k said, and found him with the pack, the Bright Ones might hunt the pack. They had done so before, without the Furred taking their people.

But the clan was also like the Bright Ones, we could wear the same bodies, Unfurred. Pack rule for furred ones was different from pack rule for Unfurred. We should help. At least try to, for we had nothing with us to heal. The shaman was not with us and none here dared try and mind-heal a stranger of the Bright Ones. I had spoken to him like that, but it felt dangerous. He felt dangerous.

They were powerful, and different.

Yet as Unfurred the pack could not stay long in orcs land. We would be smelled out, and no difference was there between us then and the Bright Ones – not in Orc eyes.

I had decided now, and for several days we stayed with the stranger, unfurred. He had not awoken, and we carried water for him from a near brook, using folded leaves to hold it. It was cold, unfurred, and he shivered constantly. We were far, far still from our home. Too far to call for help, to send furred ones.

I had made another decision, not thinking what limits I might overstep, and when the man awoke, I put him the choice, to be left now that he could somehow – hopefully – guard himself again, or to come with the pack into the clan, but then remain.

The stranger had taken the second choice, which I thought was favourable – he had no chance on his own. The stranger had also given us his true name. Perhaps the Bright Ones did not know about use-names, clan-names, but this one had revealed the one that held him.

The Bright Ones had brought fire and war with them, but the clan lived now where the Bright Ones and their cousins seldom went. Far east, by the great water, where we had always been. North, too, and sometimes we went far like this. Maybe there were other places where we could stay as well. Maybe there were better places. But so far, we had found none.

Furred ones travelled far, and furred scouts also, and they spoke of the fights, and the huge shelters the Bright Ones lived in. This one, whose name was so difficult to speak, had come from such a fight and such a huge shelter of stone, now burning. I did not know stone could burn, but this stone shelter did. The stranger smelled of fire, and he was wounded and very weak.

The way home would be long for him. I knew we would have to take care of him very much. The Bright Ones could not go furred, and without fire, they often died of cold nights. They wrapped themselves in clothes always, but this one's were torn from the fight. The pack would have to sleep close to keep him warm. Maybe we would have to go unfurred to carry him, maybe we would have to fight when orcs found us unfurred.

But I had decided, and the pack would follow.

It was night again when the Bright One could go no further. I had practiced his name, and now could speak it easily. "Hurondil!" I called, once, twice, but got no response. Tamó came later, unfurred, and took my place to guard. I felt much better furred, out here. Together with the red wolf who had come with us I lay down beside the stranger to warm him, and slept for a while. Nek'asha, her sister and Te-nosh'k kept watch. In the deep night, we went on. Hurondil did not wake again after Tamó made him get up and drink some more.

The Bright Ones did not eat meat without fire, so we had only nuts and fruit to give him. I furred and decided to make haste even more. We took turns going unfurred and carrying Hurondil. He was taller than all of us. It was hard to carry him.

Then orcs found us. Te–nosh'k who was good with a spear took the long knife and waited beside Hurondil while the rest of the pack went furred and tried to drive the orcs away. One Onak'a killed, and the others became wise and let themselves be swerved from their walking course. They did not discover Hurondil.

We stayed that night where we were. I was suddenly frightened. The Bright One was waking a little, but not as he should. He had drunk a little, the past nights, but never eaten. He had not eaten long before we found him. All his bones stuck out. He would die if he neither ate nor drank now.

I was no shaman. I was angry. He fought to live. We still had one way to try. I had not tried yet because the Bright Ones did not eat meat bloody. It was the way we kept very sick ones alive, and little cubs when they would not eat. I sent Nek'asha to look for sharp stone. She went furred. When she returned, she held flint in her fangs. I took it, split it with the rocks that lay around here, made it thin and sharp. I tried to get Hurondil awake, managed it, a little. I cut my wrist and forced him to drink. Maybe it was good he was not awake. He would have refused much more strongly. But he drank, finally.

Te-nosh'k confronted me when he found out. He was angry, and I got angry, too - I nearly fought with him over what I did. He backed up, and we travelled on. I continued, and Hurondil survived.

When we had come very close to our home the moon had waned. Nek'asha ran before us to fetch help, and a healer.

We rested at a river, and I woke Hurondil by mind-touch.

The red had kept close to him, licking his wounds. But he seemed too weak to heal. I looked at the gash in my arm which had already become almost invisible. Even the cuts on my wrists which I had to reopen each night had already begun to close. I was extremely relieved when Nek'asha returned with the shaman.

Onakir did not ask any questions about the Bright One before starting his shaman business. Tamó was called to assist, and I drifted closer, curiously, but also to keep watch. When Onakir was finished and ordered Tamó and Te-nosh'k to carry Hurondil to the clan's place, he kept me back.

"You have brought him here. He's not of the clan. Will you be ash'kh'nor for him, K'ashi?"

"I-" I broke off. Ash'kh'nor was serious business. If Hurondil for some reason turned out to be a danger, it would be my duty to deal with that. I would also be responsible for his integration into the clan.

"I am not ash'kh'nor. I have never taught or guarded" I objected.

Onakir shook his head. "He is grown, not a child. Who else could take that position rightly? You have given him your blood"

"He would have died otherwise"

"You bound yourself"

I stared at Onakir. That then was why Te-nosh'k had been so angry. He knew more, that way.

"He said he chose us. I did not want him to die. He struggled to live"

Onakir nodded calmly "Then see he brings the clan no harm and all will be well"

I shrugged and accepted the obvious "I will, then"

After all, I had decided. My business, now.

Wolf clan had a new camp. We learned that on our return, when we did not walk on east but south. It lay between the mountains where we spent the winters and the great water where we usually went in summer. But scouts had gone far this sun-course, and found a sheltered valley near the edge of the deep forest. A stream ran through it, and vast numbers of small animals lived there. Nothing unfurred had come here for very, very long. Here, we could have woven mats as shelter against the frequent rains, when we were unfurred. And we would not eat as much fish and sea-prey as usual, both of which suited me very well. Catching fish, scouring the sea-edge for shells, gathering whatever could be caught without swimming out into the treacherous great water was not my favourite way of hunting. And it took time. Lots of time, which I would not have now. I supposed even the great hunts of autumn would fall flat for me this year. It was only a few nights since we had returned to the clan. Without prey, but with Hurondil. I was supposed to be ashk'nor, but for the present, I was less concerned with any trouble Khai'toh ways might have with or cause wolf clan than with Hurondil's continued survival. Onakir had healed his wounds, but he was very slow to recover. He was desperate. But it did not make him angry, it made him sad. I spent all my time with him, prying him awake at regular intervals to make him drink water, and trying to feed him when he was awake enough to chew something. He chewed things, now, and drank water. I wondered what he remembered. Sometimes when I woke him, he was frightened. I did not know if of dreams, or of me.

On the fourth day, an enormous thunderstorm went down over the valley. As usual, that did not do much to lessen the heat, only increased the dampness of the forest. Winter was near, but properly cool days had suddenly turned into late summer again. Water spurted over the woven mats wolf clan had fastened between the bushes, and the others had either furred or huddled under the mats. I cowered under my own shelter, watching over Hurondil, who came awake slowly as thunder literally shook the ground. Thunder road. It was a good sign that he woke, I thought. It was not good to sleep when shin'a'sha was as close as this.

I reached out tentatively "Huron'dil" I still had difficulty speaking that name, into silence. Hurondil's strange, bright grey eyes fixed on me. I returned the gaze uncomfortably, unable to read the expression. He turned his head with an effort and looked out into the downpour longingly. I seized on that.

"E-pelor?" I asked "H'te e-pelor?" Out? Do you want to go out?

Hurondil stared at me helplessly. I took his hands and reached for his mind, something I had done so often over the past days that it was no longer uncomfortable. Onakir had shown me what to do to speak properly that way, to do it without danger to either. At least so we could communicate with each other. Hurondil was able to understand what I meant when I spoke then, and, I guessed, once he was better, he would learn our words. I repeated the question now, and saw Hurondil's eyes light up. So I pulled his arm over my shoulder and helped him out from under the shelter. I had not yet risked taking him to the stream. And as the camp was new, wolf clan had made no bark vessels yet to carry more than a few sips of water. We needed special trees for that, and so far we had not found suitable ones. All of us were well, and when we were thirsty, we went down to the water. The lack of those trees was a real drawback of this site, if we wanted to stay here often. We could not carry bark vessels from one camp to the next, we had to make them on the spot.

Rain drove down hard and spattered from the leaves, drenching us in a few moments. Hurondil straightened gingerly, taking some of his weight from my shoulder, but could not stand alone yet. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the rain with relief. The pouring rain washed most of the dried blood and sweat off him and out of his hair. I glanced at the sagging mat after a while. A little shifting it, and the water that spattered to the ground around it collected into a stream that shot over the edge. I helped Hurondil over and sat him down under the small jet, crouching beside him to untangle and wash the long strands. Thunder roared, and water spattered over us both. I found Hurondil staring at me in wonder, and cocked my head in puzzlement. Hurondil said something and gestured. He used our connection to mind-speak much more tentatively than I.

'It doesn't wash off' he said finally, mimicking a rubbing motion with his hands.

I laughed, suddenly understanding "Akhai" I held out my arm for Hurondil to examine the tattooed lines 'I would be really worried if that washed off'

'I…have…never seen…that' He repeated the word. I nodded and smiled. Thunder growled overhead. Shin'a'sha. He was not going to die anymore. We were on shin'a'sha now, and he was trying to learn our words. After that, he closed his eyes and let me finish washing him. The rain did not stop. I even got the last clods of blood out of his hair. He was exhausted, and fell asleep quickly when I had helped him back under the mat.

I had wanted to know what the Bright Ones called akhai, but he had never seen something like that. They had fire. They did not eat their meat bloody. They could not fur. It would be hard, I thought, watching him sleep, to find things we had in common.

Several days after that, Hurondil was well enough that I could leave him alone for some while. After he had woken that day in the thunderstorm, he had got better swiftly. He woke by himself, ate and drank more, and asked for the names of the things he was given. I had first thought only of teaching him our words, but then realized I had better learn his as well.

I think he was glad to be on his own for some times. Seeing how strange he seemed to me, I could imagine how he must feel with us. There were furred ones around, and I knew khai'toh did not like them. Hurondil was terrified of them, so I kept them away, mostly. They were curious, though, and did not have my clanmates' restraint in waiting for the stranger to get better before coming to him. They sneaked furtive looks, but the furred ones needed to smell, lick, touch. I gave up finally, and tried to make Hurondil understand that they would never hurt him, as he obviously still feared.

It was only then that Khai'la came to me. We had intended to be nok'uni this summer, but then the scouting had come in between. The three seasons of leaves were the time for that. It was pack-business, and neither of us had questioned its precedence over such matters. Khai'la would not scout with us, but she was usually in charge of the hunts for the clan. Mostly, each hunted small things for himself, but regular hunts as a pack ensured greater prey and a share for everyone. Khai'la was a better hunter than I, but that did not mean she was patient outside stalking prey. I had assumed she was gone already on the great hunts. Also, I would have expected her to choose another nok'uni and not to waste one sun-course for cub-raising waiting for me to return. We were attracted enough to be not only nok'uni but aran'cha as well, but we had no intention bonding exclusively with one another. She would have had every reason and right to choose someone else while I was unavailable. Khai'ashi, I would have thought, as they too, liked each other very much. But she hadn't, and I felt warmly pleased for that.

She was unfurred now, but probably only because I still was, having just left Hurondil to roast his meat. I did not like being there then, so near the fire. She glanced over at him curiously, as we sat under a beech at the other end of the camp. This was the gathering place, but deserted as it was bright day.

"How do you say his name?" she asked, and when I said "Hurondil" she stumbled over the word as much as I had done in the beginning.

"I cannot say that. Will you give him a name in our words, K'ashi?"

"That depends if he will take one" I said carefully "And before you tell me as ashk'nor I should do so, I do not know enough of him to give a good name"

Khai'la grunted an agreement. She took my arm, looking at the fading scars "You took risks"

"I didn't think it can go wrong"

"No" She frowned "It can"

"You waited for me?"

Another agreeing grunt "Now that you don't need to spend your time guarding, do you have a lair for the days?"

"Are you offering me one?"

She grinned now "One sun-course more or less matters not, does it?"

"To me, no"

"A pity it is winter now, soon"

"Well, we can share a lair without sharing the furs. If you would wait until the oka'sanok" I said.

"I would"

Very well. These were her decisions. She had to bear the cub, so of course she would decide. I was her first mate, too. I had even less right to argue this than I was inclined to challenge pack-rule. What mattered much more was having a companion for the season of khai-khanshe imaire. Which, I realized was another problem. As ashk'nor I was responsible for Hurondil. He could not fur. We would have a cave for the snow-season, he could safely make a fire there. But wood might be short one time or other, and I realized I would have to produce furs for him. See that he stayed warm. I found my loyalties divided sooner than I had expected. Ashk'nor overruled everything else.

"You see" Khai'la said after a while "Three of us might also share a lair. Two keep him warm easier than one"

I looked at her thoughtfully "I imagine his people think differently of this. Come with me and we tell him that now. I have the feeling he might need some while to digest this"

He did. As curious as any wolf Khai'la went with me that night and we, or rather I since we had to use mind-speech, broached the topic to Hurondil. The first thing I had found out was that his people had a very different sort of pack-law. Khai'toh did not talk about such matters as wolf clan did, it seemed. Hurondil coloured red when I explained what we intended to do, and why Khai'la was with me now. He often coloured, and it was easy to make him do that. I had not intended it this time, so I could not laugh. I asked the word for what he did, which was 'blush', and then found out that his people took only one mate in all their life, and were bound to each other forever, even beyond the death of one mate. And when the time was bad, when there was trouble and fighting – which was nearly always – they did not have cubs at all. Khai'la, brisk about everything, was determined to learn Hurondil's words as well, but for now channelled her questions and objections though me.

"But your pack will die out if you never have cubs!"

Hurondil coloured deeper and explained that there had been many more of his people in the one stone-shelter from which he had fled than there were to all of wolf clan here. They would not 'die out' so soon. He could, however, understand our way of doing things, though I could tell he did not like it. How little, it was no telling. He kept those things well hidden from me. But in the end, he agreed that we three would share our winter-lair.

Between Khai'la, Onakir and me Hurondil learned our words very quickly. He could not stick them together into very long speeches, and mostly knew words that meant things that existed, or things that were done, but he soon knew enough to speak to us with ease. What he left out or said wrongly, we could add in for ourselves. We learned his words in our turn, and knowing soon how difficult his words were to say, no one of wolf clan ever objected to the way he spoke.

The winter was hard for him. He helped with things as best as he could, even went with hunters and scouts when I also came, but lots of his time were spent near the small fire he hugged in the far end of our winter cave. He had been nearer the entrance first, to let the smoke escape, but then our cubs and the furred ones were afraid to enter the cave. When he removed to the far end, there was more smoke, but the light was better hidden, and after a while we realized that there was more warmth. Gradually, I think, we became friends with that fire of his, though only a few of us came nearer the flames than four strides.

When the season of khai'shin'akh came, Hurondil lived well with us. He had been shocked beyond, to our eyes, reason when two young cubs had died in midwinter. It took some explaining until he understood that for us, this was a rather good year. In fact, a very good year. There was warmth, there was prey, and we still found roots and earth-mushrooms under the snow. Three cubs of five lived through the winter.

By the arrival of khai'khanshe kelare he could not yet speak the simple code, but talk to and understand the others who could not mind-speak him. I had learned enough of his words so by now we could insert words of his into mine or the other way round if we lacked the right ones.

He watched us like a wolf watches the pack next to his territory, and observed who counted who as nok'uni, aran'cha or machasan, and what that meant for the way cubs were raised. The winter lairs broke up when the nights were no longer filled with frost. Khai'la and I stayed with Hurondil until khai'osha though, when the bright winds already whirled pollen through the mountain-air and the first wolf cubs were born. This, too, was the season when our cubs were born. It was good hunting now, with the forests and mountains full of stupid young ones, and having no cubs of our own to mind the three of us went with the hunters.

There was mounting tension in the clan by the time khai'shin'akh arrived. It was the hot season, dark leaves, berries, and the first signs of autumn. The oka'sanok was danced. This was mating time now, and everyone with a partner by now occupied their own, separate lairs. Hurondil blushed repeatedly, and appeared very much relieved to be yet unconcerned by the courting. Khai'la and I had our own lair, too, since some time before Oka'sanok, and suffered a good deal of teasing from Hurondil when we were with him.

Cubs were born in spring. Malar and I had had a cub together some sun-courses back, but we had only been nok'uni, and she had raised the cub with her aran'cha. If it lived, Khai'la and I would raise ours together, which was quite different. The winter seemed long to me, and I consciously kept back sometimes when Khai'la went hunting, realizing I was in danger of following her everywhere. Hurondil was merciless in his jibes when I admitted that, but unexpectedly helpful. He kept me from worrying. He still learned the simple code. I still puzzled with his words. We used the winter for that, somehow.

On a night in spring Khai'la disappeared. I had assumed she would, and was not surprised, but that did not keep me from worrying now. Females sometimes died when they gave birth. Hardly ever we could do anything against that. This was Khai'la's first cub. But then, this was the way the furred ones' females did it. They retreated into their burrow and snarled at everyone who disturbed them. We had no burrows, so our females chose suitable places in the forest. Some of them did, some stayed with the clan. There was no rule. Khai'la, brisk and solitary by nature, would go off, I knew that. Again, this was her work, and her decision. She would not have gone had she expected to need help. I held on to that, waiting alone after a day of near driving Hurondil mad.

It was night when she came to our place. Silently, purposefully, placing a small bundle of furs in my arms without sitting down. I was so startled I almost dropped it, then I got to my feet gingerly. She grinned, and I grinned back. Relief and elation made me feel a bit dizzy. I held her hands with the bundle between us, and we howled, triumphantly. The furred ones joined in first, then the rest of our clan. They came running, softly, curiously, the younger cubs milling around us, standing on tip-toe to get a better look. Again, the clan had grown. The first loss of last winter had been replaced. With every cub we hoped it would live through the snow-season, and grow. And with every cub there was the knowledge that it might not. Cold, an attack at unawares, lack of prey, all that might kill the very young. A cub was not considered truly out of danger until it could fur, could live a cold night on its own, knew how to catch at least a mouse with fangs. Until it could walk, could stay with the furred ones alone for a while, and until it no longer needed help every day it was a very, very dangerous thing to get attached deeply. Hurondil had taken some time to accept that, too. A cub was given everything, and all the love of its parents, but if it died, the parents could not afford as deep a mourning as such an instance would have caused in Hurondil's world. It simply did not happen.

I did not think much about that, though I knew it, on this night, holding Khai'la's hands with the cub between us. Spring time, with the great hunting season before us, and we were making a racket with every new birth, howling defiantly before we hid in silence again.

Chapter Notes:

Ashi'kha language does not distinguish between members of the clan and other beings, esp. wolves which are K'ashi's reference-point here. They have no expressions for 'man', 'woman' or 'child'; asha means both an unfurred female and a she-wolf, nok'un means both pup and child.

Ash'kh'nor: a kind of guarantor (meaning both teacher, guardian & protector, implying responsibility for the actions of the "protégé")

Nok'uni: mate chosen for offspring

Machasan: soulmate

Aran'cha: mate chosen out of desire

oka'sanok: the Mating Dance, usually held in late summer.

khai-khanshe imaire: "bound-light-falling" (December, January, February)

khai'shin'akh: "bright-storm-dark" (June, July, August)

khai'osha: "bright wind" (April, May)

khai'khanshe kelare: "bound-light-rising" (March, April)

khai'toh (pl. khai'tohr): Bright One (s), Ashi'kha title for the Eldar

Khai'ashi: day-wolf

Malar: guard

Khai'la: day-star

Akhai: "lines, pattern", tattoos

Shina'a'sha: "shadow-of-lightning"

Shin'a'sha: "path-of-thunder": an Ashi'kha ritual of both celebrating life and mourning. They have a knack for ambiguous concepts (see RDCTS "Why the Wind howls", "Only the Hawk remembers death")

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