FSE

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Alrighty, so I realize its been a long while since I posted a stopry, but I try to finish more than one chapter at a time. Just a little bit stalled on the chapter after this one, so its coming. In the meantime, here is something at least. I hope you enjoy it.

As always, comments are appreciated and requested.

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Continued from 'Ceremony and storm...'

Toran woke up slowly, feeling very warm and rested, like he had just spent the last couple of days lounging around, doing nothing. At ease with the whole world, the teenager drifted, unwilling to make a move, or even to open his eyes. Gradually, he became aware of a faint aroma permeating his breaths, a scent that drew his mind to full wakefulness despite his desire to remain drifting, only half awake. It was complex, made of many distinct, pleasant scents. The scent of burning sagebrush on a camp fire, mingled with the unfamiliar and yet appetizing scents of food cooking set his stomach to growling softly, and he unconsciously licked his lips in anticipation. Beyond the scents of breakfast, the distant air smelled fresh and clean, the distinct aroma of wild, rain-washed grass creeping into the space where he lay. But closer, the indefinable scent of his best friend was what finally made him open his eyes. The tent was not wholly dark, but certainly not light either, only a pale, dim light peeking around the edge of the opening in the sewn hides, which had been laced shut at the bottom against the storm. The rest of the family seemed to be stirring quietly around them and Toran found his gaze drifting down his body to the tawny colored arm that was still tucked around his chest. In the dim light, in the moments before his brain got going, it actually took a few moments to register the sharp contrast between the fur of the hand tucked up against his heart, and the bare skin of the one that rested beside it. The fact that the furless hand actually belonged to him took a few more moments to register with his brain, certainly far longer than it should have.

That thought got his mind going again, and he found himself turning his hands over in front of him, looking at them like he had forgotten what they looked like. Of course they were his; in fact, there had never been a point when they hadn’t been. So why in the world did that fact suddenly seem so surprising to him? Flexing his fingers slowly, Toran caught himself looking at them closely, as if hoping to find something that would have indicated that the incontrovertible facts of his existence had changed and he shook the thought out of his head. Finally returning his mind to the night before, laying on arm on top of Senyr’s once more, he began to puzzle over the sensations that had risen in him during the ceremony. Even now, with the storm gone, he still felt the faint echo of exhilaration that the thunder had seemed to stir inside him, the primal excitement and fear tugging on his heart. He couldn’t imagine why the chanting and howling of the tribe had made him feel the way it did, to say nothing of why the sudden storm had stirred up such odd sensations. Idly stroking his fingers through his friend’s fur once more, he smiled when he felt the young wolf stir against him, merely his presence a comfort. It was a few moments before the wolf woke up, but Toran could almost sense the flash of embarrassment his friend felt when he discovered the position they were in, followed quickly by the surprise of finding Toran’s arm atop his own, the position not letting him pull it back quickly.

“Hmmm?” The wolf mumbled sleepily, lifting his head curiously and Toran finally relented with a slight smile, letting his friend have his arm back. “Toran, are you awake?”

“Good morning.” The human whispered, turning over to face the wolf when he had shifted back from him. Even in the dim light, he could see the faint blush on Senyr’s cheeks, his ears folding back on his head.

“Good morning.” Senyr replied, the pair laying in silence for a few moments, both suddenly bashful. Then Senyr finally cleared his throat and shook his head lightly, as if he had been waiting for Toran to make a comment about their sleeping arrangements, and was a little encouraged that he didn’t. “You feeling alright? You kinda scared us when you collapsed like that last night.”

“Yeah, I feel fine.” Toran replied, resolving not to mention the fact that they had spent the night cuddled up close if Senyr wasn’t going to. He wasn’t sure what the boundaries were among the hybrids for that kind of thing, but judging from how his friend was reacting, he guessed that, as pleasant and comfortable as it had been, they might just have gone a little bit far even for friends as close as they were, even if neither of them had really meant to do it. Casting his mind around for another subject to break the ice with, he suddenly remembered their conversation on the first night of their journey to the camp. It had slipped his mind until that moment that they had intended to talk to the Ter’drin about his spirit walking, the idea having gotten lost in the familiar way the entire tribe had greeted him. “Do you think we will have time to talk to the Ter’drin today? I think I have a couple of things to talk them about.”

“Yes, I think so.” Senyr replied with a smile, seeming grateful for the change in subject. “We got to camp a little late yesterday, so we should have more time today.”

“Good.” Toran said, sitting up and following his friend when he led the way outside, the young wolf sweeping the hide covering back from the opening. It seemed to be just after dawn, and most of the tribe was only now stirring, the openings to other dwellings swept aside as the wolves made their appearance. But, despite the early hour, it seemed that the Oro’en had been busy in the early hours of the morning. The children of the sea were all gathered around cooking fires, roasting a catch of trout over the coals, the scent making Toran’s stomach growl. Walking over to the nearest fire with his friend, the human accepted the loaded woven plate the smiling wolf woman tending it offered him, thanking her gratefully. Walking to a rock overlooking the river, the pair settled down to eat. As he had expected, the fish was delicious, as was the fried bread made from a light brown meal he couldn’t identify and Toran had to remind himself to slow down and enjoy it, even though he felt ravenous this morning.

“So, you said you had a few things to talk to the Ter’drin about?” Senyr asked around a mouthful of his own breakfast. When Toran nodded, he looked at his friend expectantly and the human grinned.

“Well, first of all, I want to know how its possible that I can spiritwalk at all, much less see the same thing over and over again.” Toran answered, stripping a fish bone out of the bite he was chewing and tossing it aside.

“Obviously.” Senyr confirmed, nodding. “But there is something else, right?”

“Yeah.” Toran replied, taking a deep breath, trying to figure out how to phrase his question. “Last night, during the ceremony, I...” Toran said, then rolled his eyes and stopped trying to find a delicate way to say it. “Senyr, I sang along with you, right at the end, in your language. I have to know how that is possible... I mean, I can’t even remember how to do it now, but I know I did. It almost felt like a dream, but I know I did it.” When Toran revealed that, the wolf beside him raised his eyebrows, looking surprised.

“Really?” Senyr asked and Toran nodded. “Wow. I’ve never heard of that happening before.” Looking back across the river, the wolf was silent for a moment, chewing his last bite of fish, then shrugged, shaking his head. “Well, I’m sure its nothing to worry about. Besides, if anyone has the answer, it’s the Ter’drin. No sense worrying about it until we can talk to them.”

“I guess not.” Toran agreed, finishing up his fish and tossing the rest of the bones in the same direction his friend did. Judging from the sounds coming from the camp behind them, the rest of the tribe was still eating, and the two friends stayed silent for a few moments, watching the grass of the hills beyond the river dance, the dew glistening on their stalks in the sunlight. Toran considered just staying quiet until they had to get up and start on the day, but, despite the silence being as companionable as it always was, he could feel the subject they had avoided in the tent hanging between them like a cloud. “Senyr.”

“Hmmm?” The wolf replied, looking over at him.

“About last night...” Toran began. “How we slept...” When he said that, the young wolf beside him blushed again, looking away and letting out a breath slowly.

“Right... That.” Senyr’s ears folded flat and he tapped his fingertips together, not quite nervous, but apprehensive. “I’m sorry Toran. It just kind of happened... I know it was weird.”

“No, no, no, I don’t mean like that.” Toran said, looking at his friend in surprise. “Well, I mean...it was kind of weird, but not in the way you are thinking.” When the wolf looked back at him again, clearly just as surprised, the human continued. “I... Well, I’ve never slept so well as I did last night.”

“Me neither.” The wolf replied after a moment, his blush deepening.

“Senyr...” Toran said, concerned, laying a hand on his friend’s forearm. “If there is something wrong about what happened, I want to know.”

“Well, its not that its wrong exactly. It’s just, sleeping like that is...” The wolf started to say, then paused, as if not quite sure how to explain. “Its special, to us. We are both supposed to be agreed before we lay like that.”

“Well, I don’t think either of us meant to do that.” Toran said and Senyr shrugged a little in answer as if he wasn’t sure. “So shouldn’t it be ok if it happened?”

“I don’t know... I guess.” Senyr replied and the pair fell silent again.

“Well, so you know...” Toran said after a few moments, a grin tugging at his lips again. He had been right, it was a little far. But, even knowing that, he didn’t feel any shame or reluctance in the idea. “For next time, you have my permission. You know, if it happens by accident.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Senyr replied, grinning even though he was still blushing. “You too, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Toran said, certain that the warmth in his face was from the rays of the rising sun, and most assuredly not because he was blushing in pleasure, for no apparent reason. That would have been silly...

***

Letting out his breath slowly, Toran nocked the freshly made arrow to the string of the short bow in his hands, looking at the stump ahead of him instead of the weapon in his hands as Foryn, Senyr’s father, had taught him. Beside him, Senyr stood with another bow, watching his human friend with interest. The stump a few dozen yards away must once have been a sturdy tree, thick and hale, but from the way it had split near the top, it looked to have been hit by lightning at some point. But, though the wood of the tree was long since bleached a light grey by the baking sunlight, its roots were still anchored solidly in the soil of the plain. Squinting his eyes slightly, Toran focused on the knot a foot from the top, trying to get his hands lined up just so. Then, drawing a breath while he drew the string back, Toran paused a heartbeat at full extension, then let go, the string snapping forward, feathered shaft buzzing slightly as it sped out from his fingers. With a loud thunk, the arrow struck the tree, low and to the right of the knot, and the human frowned.

“That is not bad at all.” Senyr commented, the pair walking towards the stump. The tree was studded with arrows, Senyr’s shots hitting the mark with ridiculous ease, the broken branch he had been shooting at looking like some weird form of cactus. Sadly, Toran’s target didn’t have a single arrow stuck in it, his shots all going wide.

“Yeah, right.” Toran commented, shaking his head.

“I’m serious Toran.” The wolf insisted, coming to a stop beside the tree. “You shot better than I did the first time I handled a bow.” Starting to pluck his arrows from the wood, the wolf continued. “Half my arrows didn’t even hit the stump when I did it. And all of yours are in the same area. Its really impressive.”

“Mostly.” Toran replied, plucking an errant arrow of his from the target, a shot that had come within two inches of missing the tree totally. He suspected that his friend was humoring him, but still, he could sort of see what Senyr was talking about.

“The rest comes from practice.” The young wolf assured him, grinning. Toran returned his grin while he pulled the rest of his arrows from the target, slipping them back into the buckskin quiver his friend had lent him once he was sure they weren’t damaged. “Besides, at least you haven’t skinned your arm with the string. That really hurts...”

Sharing a laugh, the pair walked back to where they had been shooting from, Toran massaging his right arm with his left. They had had quite a lot of fun that day. After breakfast, they and the other young Sherok had finished the arrows that they had been working on the day before, then they had all gone out onto the plain over the hill from the camp to play a game that they called Hunters and Prey, the rules of which he still was not entirely sure he understood. Half foot race and half wrestling match, it had involved trying to move a stuffed rabbit skin to one of two rings of stone, and, though he still couldn’t divine what constituted a team or how you won, the game had been a surprising amount of fun; all of the teens eventually ending up sitting in the trampled grass, tired, covered in dust and sore from tackling and wrestling each other, but laughing and grinning all the same. After washing themselves off in the river, the others had gone off to help their parents, but Senyr had promised to show him how to shoot a bow, a task that Foryn had stopped by to help with, which was how they had ended up shooting at the dead tree. Above them, the afternoon sun was hot, but the heat actually felt good as it soaked into his tired body. He was about to select another arrow from the quiver he carried when he noticed that they were no longer alone and stopped short.

“A fine afternoon, young Senyr.” The female Ter’drin Toran had met when they arrived in camp said, greeting the pair as they came up. “And you, young Toran.” Both teens immediately bowed low and the woman smiled. “Come, let us speak together.” With that, the shaman turned and walked off, the pair unstringing their bows while they followed her, the beaded staff she carried thumping softly in the grass. Following Senyr’s lead, Toran slid the bow into the quiver, sliding the bundle from his shoulder and depositing it against the side of the family’s tent as they passed it. Keeping an easy, unconcerned pace, the black and white wolf woman led the way to a tent set up a distance away from the rest, finally stopping on the side that looked north, along the course of the riverbed. Sitting down on a hide blanket with her legs crossed beneath her, the shaman laid her staff on the ground, indicating that the pair should sit before her. When Senyr had settled into the same position, Toran settling down beside him, finding the position a little awkward, the shaman looked at the human expectantly.

“You have questions?” She prompted after a moment and Toran nodded, wondering how to start. Finally, he took a breath and started to talk.

“Well, this all started last winter,” Toran began slowly, Senyr giving him an encouraging nod from where he sat beside him, the story becoming easier to tell as he went on. “One really cold night, I was having trouble sleeping and, I guess I was missing Senyr a lot, because I kept thinking about him. When I finally drifted off, I had a dream, a really vivid dream. I dreamed I was flying, high over a valley in the mountains somewhere and down below me, I saw the tribe in its winter camp,” Toran went on, describing the dream and the details as closely has he could remember them. Finally, when he came to the part of the dream where Senyr had seemed to turn towards him, he faltered for a moment at the look on the Shaman’s face, then finally finished the story. “...Then, just when he looked in my direction, I got woken up by my father...”

“You spiritwalked.” The shaman stated. It was clearly not a question. “It wasn’t the only time either, was it?”

“No. It happened again and again, almost every night until Senyr and I met up again.” Toran replied, feeling unsettled by the close look the Shaman was giving him. Once more, he got the distinct and disquieting impression that she was looking right through him, into the deepest parts of his heart, and he tried his hardest to ignore the urge to look away, wanting to know the answer.

“How old are you?” She asked suddenly, cocking her head to the side.

“Thirteen.” Toran replied, the shaman giving him a half smile, compelling him to add, “And a half.”

“Strange.” She said, her expression utterly unreadable. Then, she closed her eyes, her expression becoming thoughtful, as if she was calling to mind an old memory. After a long minute spent in silence, the woman spoke again, her mismatched eyes still closed. “It is said in our most ancient legends, that many lifetimes ago, in the dawn of the world, hybrids and humans lived as one, sharing the same ways, the same tongue, even the same beliefs, sharing equally in the gifts that the Great Spirits gave us when they created our world. In those days, all could walk free from our bodies whenever we chose; experiencing the lives of all things that surrounded us, for we were as one with the ebb and flow of the life’s blood of the world. But, while our people were content, and chose to live as we were, in harmony with the world, humans chose to walk down a different path. As the generations passed, men stopped listening to the world, stopped seeking to know the lives of other living things, and so lost the ability to walk free from their forms.” Then, the woman opened her mismatched eyes and looked at Toran with an oddly piercing gaze. “And even we, who keep true to our ancient ways, can now only spiritwalk when we exert great effort, or else when the entire tribe is united in the attempt. But, it seems, in you, young human, the gift to walk free nearly at will has come again. Rarely indeed is such a gift bestowed; among our people, the ability to Spiritwalk by instinct alone, manifests during the thirteenth turn of the seasons. But I have not heard of the gift showing itself in any human outside of legends.”

“What does it mean if someone with such a gift sees the same thing, night after night, when they spiritwalk?” Senyr asked after the silence between them started to drag uncomfortably, taking the shaman’s attention away from Toran, the human feeling a rush of relief to no longer be under that odd gaze, and a surge of gratitude towards his friend for interrupting. The shaman didn’t seem to mind the question, her unsettling eyes turning to the young wolf instead, and the woman paused for a moment before answering.

“When one walks without intent, our spirits go to places and to people that are important to us.” She replied, one hand lightly caressing the beadwork on the staff. “Where important moments in our pasts took place, or sometimes, to places where one day, important things will take place.” With that she shifted her gaze so both boys were held in her sight. “For example, the first time you walked, Toran, your spirit sought out the company of your missing friend, someone of obvious importance to you.” As the pair shared an embarrassed grin, the wolf woman continued. “I must assume there is a reason you would ask.”

“I have been seeing the same place, over and over again when I dream.” Toran explained. “The dreams feel the very same way that it does when I have been spiritwalking, but I have never been where ever this place is, if it even exists.” Toran started laying out every detail he could remember from his dream, and he saw a glimmer of recognition in the Shaman’s gaze as he explained, the glimmer becoming more intense as the picture he described became clearer.

“Something about that place rings a bell, as your people’s saying goes.” The woman finally said, stroking her chin thoughtfully, looking away towards the glistening water that flowed by the camp. “But I cannot place it. It must be far from our tribe’s lands, but not so far that I would not have passed it at some point. I will send word to others of my clan, perhaps the other tribes would know it better.”

“Thank you.” Toran said, the words hardly seeming adequate to convey the wonderfully light feeling of the heavy uncertainty being lifted from him. When the black and white wolf gave a slight bow in return, the trio fell silent again, a warm breeze sweeping through the grass beyond where they sat, tossing the blades like a wave. It was pleasant to sit there in the sun, just listening, and Toran felt reluctant to bring up the last thing he needed to know, but he could feel it tugging at his mind, and finally, he took a breath and let it out slowly, working up to it. “There is one more thing I have to ask.”

“I thought there might be.” The shaman replied, nodding for him to continue and Toran took another breath. “Last night, during the ceremony, when everyone was chanting, I started feeling really warm and drowsy, like I was falling asleep, but I didn’t pass out, or at least, I don’t think I did.” Shaking his head slightly, Toran suddenly felt incredibly awkward and shy, blushing under the stare of the wolf woman. “This is going to sound crazy, but, I started to feel like I do when I am spiritwalking, but this time, I saw the camp, and I saw myself, sitting there. And then, all of a sudden, right before everyone started to howl, I was back in my body again, without thinking about it, but I was singing along with the chant, like I knew the words exactly.” When he said that, for the first time, he truly seemed to catch the shaman by surprise. Her mismatched eyes went wide, and she cocked her head at him, wonder in her gaze.

“Are you certain it was not a spiritwalk?” She asked, seeming suddenly eager.

“I guess so.” He replied and a strange smile creased her muzzle before it suddenly vanished again. “I mean, I am not sure how I could be certain, but it didn’t feel like it. When I have been spiritwalking in the past, it has always felt like I was dreaming. This... this felt like I was wide awake.”

“What does it mean?” Senyr asked, when the shaman didn’t speak.

“I don’t know, not for sure.” The shaman said, seeming excited and distracted at the same moment. “But if it is true, then...”

“What?” Toran asked when the woman trailed off.

“Well, there are several things it could be.” The shaman began, the eager light in her eyes bright. “It reminds me of a very old story. There are legends; legends that come from the time when human and hybrid shared all things, before our peoples drifted apart. Even we Ter’drin remember these legends only out of habit, since it is long since any of what they tell us have been seen.” Pausing, a frown creasing her lips, the shaman’s eyes flicked back and forth as if searching her memory for what she spoke of. “What you described is something I have heard before, but long ago, when I was only a child. I cannot recall the story fully, but I know that it is there, in my memory.” Looking up at them both, seeing the shared look of concern in their eyes, the Shaman suddenly smiled. “I am sure it is nothing to be concerned about. It seems that you are very... unusual, Toran. I will have to keep an eye on you, while I seek for the story once more.”

“Okay...” He said, suddenly getting the distinct impression that the conversation was over. “I think Senyr said the same thing about me before.”

“I have always said that he is perceptive.” She commented and the two boys bowed before getting up, heading back to the main camp. But, as they walked the human could feel her odd, thoughtful gaze on him once more and he knew without being told that, despite her words, there was definitely something to this, and maybe he really ought to be concerned...

***

Toran ducked through the tent flap, one hand flipping it back down over the hole behind him as he entered, following his friend in the dark. The pair had spent the early hours of the night stargazing, discussing the day while the rest of the tribe was bedding down for the night. Thankfully, the unsettling feeling that the conversation with the Shaman had left him with had faded swiftly, and the rest of the day had been as pleasant as their stay had started with. The evening meal had been just as wonderful as the breakfast had been, Senyr’s family sitting around their campfire, roasting venison that the adult Sherok had gone hunting for that afternoon, and it was about the middle of the meal when Toran realized that he truly felt at home among the wolves. In fact, it felt much more home-like than sitting around the table with the ranch hands and his parents. When he had mentioned it to his friend, Senyr had taken it as a great compliment, grinning broadly. Moving over to their corner of the tent, Toran lay down beside his friend, the other members of the family already mostly asleep, or heading that way. Lying with his head on a rolled up skin, his best friend beside him, the human closed his eyes, asleep in minutes.

***

Once more, Toran found himself on the vast featureless plain, the starlit night above him rapidly consumed by storm, the clouds building from nowhere into towering thunderheads. On the distant horizon, mountains were lit by lightning, the echo of thunder in the distance shaking the ground. The storm was drawing ever closer, or perhaps, he was being drawn towards it, for at last, there was something on the vast plain, a distant dancing light he could only barely make out, a light much like a fire. And then, the storm wrack was upon him, lightning striking the world below, thunder growing louder and louder in his ears, the rain soaking the earth. And again, he could feel the storm calling to him, his heart thrilling with a dangerous light. Then lightning struck right beside him, the peal of thunder rolling loud and long through the plain...

Toran suddenly sat bolt upright, the blanket sliding off him, confused as to where he was for a moment. Beside him in the sheltered alcove where they had made camp, Artie was stirring himself to wakefulness, the other scout not as in tune to the world as Toran was. Hopping to his feet, Toran’s hand immediately went to the polished surface of the antler handled knife he wore on his belt, his eyes looking east. Finally fully awake, Artie looked in the same direction and rose so he knelt on one knee, the revolver he carried in his hand, his thumb drawing back the hammer. Though the sky was still dark with the middle of the night, only the stars lighting the world, the dark mass on the plain that was heading towards them, stirring up a cloud of dust, was impossible to miss. The thunder that had woken Toran was not the thunder of a storm at all, but the hoof beats of hundreds of horses, moving swiftly towards them. What was more, it wasn’t some herd of wild horses coming this way. Even in the dark, Toran could make out the outline of flags, flapping and snapping in the hands of several horseman as they rode. There could only be one possibility of who it was coming this way. His father’s Rangers were coming up the trail, and fast…