Fairspell Meadow Whiplash

For @Qiao

White clouds billowed in the skies overhead. Winds carried them, building in size and darkening in the distance.

On the meadow, Stormchaser raced. The tall grass reached out to him, tickling the hairs at his belly and chest. The scent of wildflowers filled his nose and swam like a perfume in the yearling’s head. In the distance, he could see the mesa that had been claimed by the wolves of Akashingo.

Qiao should be there. Lifting his head, the young wolf called out to her.

the new rhythm of akashingo took time to understand. the crone kept to herself, the metaphorical fly on the wall — while life in the red temple bustled around her. 

she left for the gardens at early morning. once, she and sayf had laid out the groundwork here — now it was overrun by weeds. 

the call of her disciple sounded. she gathered herself and shook the dust from her old bones, finding him speeding across the green. he’d grown leggy these last few months; a dark weed bolting towards his appointed destination. 

setting aside her to’lang, the crone waited for him to speak.

By the time the yearling had reached the old woman, he was breathless and warm. The sun peered through the clouds and clung to the dark hairs along his head and back. The scents upon his fur coat would give him away. He had spent many days in the sands to the south, hunting the creatures that thrived in the wicked heat.

Drawing his golden glinting stare up to her face, Stormchaser smirked.

You look like you woke up from a long nap, the boy growled. His tone sat on the razor thin edge between mocking and familiar. In truth, Qiao looked as she always did - cold, watchful. The sharpness of her stare no longer sliced through him. He’d grown to weather her withering looks.

the to’lang suddenly shifted, a bone set loose as it was placed on the ground. qiao shifted her gaze from the satchel to the stormharried youth, noting the scent of agave and sand to his pelt. 

there are spells that could have great use of your tongue, you know. qiao returned, a pleased smile lingering for a second before it was steeped in her usual coldness. much like he had learned to live with her crabbiness, she had become accustomed to his youthful energy and quick tongue. what did you learn in the south?

Over their time together, Qiao had threatened him with multiple spells - he was certain she’d threatened to turn him into a goose, though it might have been an early dream. When the two had first met, Stormchaser had found himself terrified of the crone and her crankiness. Time had tempered this feeling.

When the woman threatened his tongue, he took it as a sign of approval. Even if it wasn’t, it lifted the boy’s lips into a toothy sneer that crinkled near the edges of his eyes. Stormchaser did not carry memories of his youth, of being offered as a sacrificial lamb, of surviving. Qiao had taken him under her wing and so she had become the only wolf he trusted. It did not matter what her original intentions had been.

The south is warm. There are two groups that have claimed territories in the lowlands. Seems like it’d be hell in the summer. The boy’s tail flicked. How are things in Akashingo?

the boy loosened a toothsome sneer, the edges of his thin face crinkling. qiao suddenly remembered the boy’s first trial; how she’d set his round and small frame upon the granitestone dial, called for the spirits of the overworld to come collect their tophet. she cast her first haka — only for the spell to go hideously wrong. as the last word left her lips, she was struck by something blindlingly white. the force of it propelled her backwards, nearly breaking her spine. 

it was a sign from the hidden gods that his purpose laid elsewhere — the cost of her error being the loss of the first two digits in her left paw. 

unlike ephraim, this boy did not have a taotaomona lingering menacingly around him, protecting him from evil. but something lingered, and qiao had learned a bitter lesson that day. 

stormpup earned his name and life that day. he was the first of a long line of child-prices to inconceivably survive their ensouling ritual. 

akashingo’s rhythms are different. she dusted a blade of grass from her pelt and reverted back to their former topic. the tribe may be one of those packs. she recalled their friendliness to her kind. he was just svelte enough he might be welcomed. where is the other?

I dunno much about it. Smelled them before I realized it was claimed territory.

The young Stormchaser thought back on his trip through the southern terrain and focused on the unknown pack he had discovered. It had been too difficult to get close without crossing over their marked boundaries. He’d kept to the outside, hoping he might be able to lure someone from within. Brutes loved to flash their teeth in warning to curious outsiders.

A sinkhole maybe. Caves. None of them came out when I got close.

Intriguing maybe. If Qiao wanted more information, Stormchaser could return to the southern reach and make enough noise to draw someone out. It would not guarantee answers, though it would provide more opportunity to learn what they were doing there.

the crone took the news in silence. at a later date, they would have to investigate -- but there were far more pressing matters at hand. he had at least secured the knowledge of neighborly presence; the rest would have to wait.

she changed the topic with a grave inhale. before things would fall into place, qiao had to set up the pieces. that is enough scouting. i believe we owe the coast a visit. she motioned to the to'lang, which sat quiet. i am told there is something powerful in those waters.

The crone’s silence was not a sign of disappointment. She was the type of woman who held her cards close to the chest. There was no need to share the depth of her plans. Only what was necessary to get the job done, he’d found. While frustrating, Stormchaser had come to accept it was merely her way and he had adopted a sense of understanding for it.

When she mentioned a trip to the coast, the young wolf’s ears pointed tall on his head.

The coast? he inquired in a rough voice. You know I’m not much of a swimmer.

Stormchaser’s mien reflected the boy’s hesitance. Even if the waters held this artifact of great power, how were they to obtain it? The sea was something he’d only heard of, never seen. What he understood of it suggested this would be no quick trip.

don't need to swim. qiao grunted in her no-nonsense way, bending down to collect the to'lang.

she paused to assess the boy's change in posture. while his ears stood like twin peaks atop his narrowly framed face, he looked hesitant.

come, qiao redirected -- sparing him a glance that could almost be called gentle. she shouldered the to'lang and began to walk. the gods gave us four legs to cross streams, rivers, lakes, and oceans. if we did not have need for four types of terrain, we would not have a leg for each one of them.

Qiao said there would be no swimming. The crone bid him to follow and the stormy yearling gave a last glance over his shoulder - peering at the southern stretch - before he turned and slunk after her. Dark ears swiveled forward to catch her illuminating comments on their appendages.

The boy had never bitten his tongue before.

The Gods could not give us wings so that we might fly over them?

Stormchaser clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tsking. Goldstone eyes glimmered with mischief. While he had never outright spoken against Qiao’s precious Gods, he carried a piece of doubt in his chest for them.

the to’lang clattered with each step. qiao’s slender ears turned to the soul besides her, expression wry. 

he was young and had much to learn. not in this life, the crone supplied dryly, motioning with a forepaw the direction they would travel. we break for camp in two hour’s time, when the sun is level with the plateaus. come.

Not in this life or the next, he assumed. If there was another. Stormchaser had only heard whispers from his father, faded memories of a place where all those who passed would take a place in the sky among the stars. It had seemed fanciful, even to a boy who knew no better. By the time Qiao had found him and taken him under her wing, the idea of Starclan had become nothing more than a tale told to a child.

When she gave him her plans, Stormchaser nodded his head.

Wherever the crone would go, so would her stomcloaked familiar.