It's my turn to keep the wolves away
It would come to us like primal longing, a whisper, a dream, as it had every year since the dawn of our birth. By gossamer strings we were bound to it, entwined until the fading respire of our last waning breaths. We could not object the siren's song as it beckons, pulling us closer and closer to the warm plains of the Brushvield. Why were we drawn here? Whose voice called from the shadows, a guide in the otherwise dark of this instinctual march? Few knew the answers and yet we gathered still year after year. Even now I could not help but venture towards the location where I knew the countless faces of the summoned would welcome me. This year, however, I would not come as the apprentice but - rather - as the lead doe of a crumbling herd that had barely survived the year's turmoils. ࿙෴࿚
The doe would loft her head at the barren clearing that had, years before, been littered with the jovial laughter of young does and the hum of their gossip. Which buck claimed you? Are you with fawn? Their bashful retorts to such an invasive interrogation would elicit laughter from the elder does wise beyond their years. The clash of antlers would resound as the bucks tested their mettle and the tilled earth flew beneath the hooves of the racing does. This year, however, when Shyvnierri approached the clearing, it seemed empty. Was she early? Guarded gaze remained upon the growing vista as the young doe approached the depths of the Brushvield. The brittle, frost laden grass would give way to her location as it snapped beneath the weight of her hooves. Her movements were languid, almost methodical as she sought anyone that had also received the Brushvields call. It would not be long before their silhouettes began to manifest in the distance and with a renewed step, she'd approach the gathering. |
Jahi