Tired Enigma

N: Meladriss has another Thero'shan? This is wonderful. How did he find you?

I: Shan'do Rakeclaw passed away and instructed me to continue my learning with him... he said his legacy is Shan'do Moonclaw's to pass onward because he's the only one who followed his teaching completely.

What follows is a brief tangent about the ancient First Druid and how his life ended. Ilrenya does her best to direct the conversation away from herself and back to the matter at hand.

N: You wish to know how Mela struggled with control? Would that not affect the way you see him as your teacher?

Ilrenya shakes her head.

I: I think a good teacher isn't afraid to admit vulnerability so that their student can learn better...

Nara'enil smiles faintly at Ilrenya, watching her with increased interest. But she does not answer Ilrenya straight away. Instead, she asks Ilrenya to stay with her for a while as she takes a walk around Amirdrassil to find something more comfortable to slumber in when she returns to the Dream. Their conversation ends up with Ilrenya being commissioned to make a robe that she decides to fashion in the likeness of the one she wore as Freya in the play.

In the hours that follow, they end up in Bel'Ameth after Ilrenya sourced out the materials, so she can shape and sew them. Nara'enil slowly gets to know Ilrenya better despite the young woman's initial reluctance to open up about her sordid background. Yet the painful recollections are balanced by teasing out moments that give Ilrenya more confidence:  when she is working on the leather, scale, and ironbark before her, or when she is asked about her goal in life to in turn become a teacher and guide younger elves herself, whether as a craftswoman, or as a druid.

I: I.. have a long way to go.

Nara'enil responds with her usual enigmatic smile.

N: I know someone like you, or used to be like you. You'll get there one day, even if it takes you another three thousand years.

I: That's.. such a long time.

Ilrenya frowns and her ears pin back slightly.

N: It feels like it doesn't it? I envy the men who slept for centuries or even millennia at a go in the Dream. It can feel like mere weeks, but when you wake up, more time has passed than you thought. Though I'm Meladriss' age, it feels like I've lived twice as long and I'm only just starting to witness the blossoming prime of his life after I've exhausted mine.

Nara'aenil chuckles softly.

N: However, what you learn in that seemingly brief time in the Dream is exponential, and you will always carry it with you in your practice when you awake. This is why Meladriss is Shan'do and a veteran.

I: Must I... also Dream so that I gain better control over my form?

Nara'enil shakes her head.

N: That is a matter of practice and finding your own way to do so. It is about will, and most importantly understanding yourself. No one else can give you that control. Only you can.

Ilrenya pauses mid stitch. She stares at Nara'enil with deep curiosity, and repeats her questions more firmly now, growing impatient with the hours of deflection.

I: Why did Shan'do ask me to come and ask -you- about his difficulty with control? What is it that he is unable to tell me himself? He said guilt drove him to finally master it... What or who did he hurt?

Ilrenya frowns as she says this. Nara'enil's pleasant demeanour softens into one of placid somberness.

N: You understand that when we become too immersed - become too much at one with the spirit that blessed us with our form, that we can lose ourselves in it. There's no better example of this than those who sought to control Goldrinn's fury, which is nigh untameable and condemned many of our kin. But that of great Ursoc can be too, if you allow your mind to be lost to the primal beast within.

Ilrenya listens intently now, all materials and tools set aside.

N: You understand that the Balance is core to our axiom. It is that which we must apply not just in preserving the Great Cycle, but in every aspect of our learning and our lives. Meladriss immersed himself too long and too greatly for many years, retreating from civilisation and from kin, and for a while, lost that balance as he followed in the footsteps of Ursoc.

Ilrenya nods slowly. Nara'enil keeps quiet, but Ilrenya presses her further.

I: What happened, exactly? How did he gain control back?

The older druid gives a faint smile that does not reach her eyes. Her tone is as gentle as ever as she answers Ilrenya.

N: My brother’s relationship with his father, my Shan’do, is extremely poor. I am certain you know how that feels. It was so bad that he once attacked him when all Shan’do wanted to do was to tell him off and drag him away from being too isolated and too deeply submerged in the Wilds. His intentions were good, but it was the wrong thing to do, and the wrong way to approach him. I tried to protect him from Meladriss and ended up being the one hurt instead.

Ilrenya cants her head as her brows knit. Her gaze trails over Nara'enil, and she takes in the very old, faded scars that are concentrated dominantly over Nara'enil's right shoulder, face, arm, and sides. Though covered by the more recent tattoo over her shoulder, they are there.

N: That was what snapped Mela out of it at that moment. I think since then, he has been doing his best to gain better control. He did return to the Dream after that if memory serves me, but even after he awakened, it was a struggle. Especially when Nordrassil fell with the orcs invading, and then the Burning Legion.

Nara'enil does not elaborate on this further. She maintains her sombre, level eye contact with Ilrenya, making sure the young Thero'shan is listening to every word she is saying.

N: It is easy to withdraw into comforting darkness, away from people, away from reminders of pain. Habits are difficult to break for that reason. Even after your Shan'do joined the Sentinel cadre, he still found comfort in shifting back into his bear form and retreating from socialising. It was only after he forged strong bonds with them that he found more balance, I believe.

Ilrenya finally nods. She looks away from Nara'enil to a few younglings, slightly younger than herself, joke and laugh further down the Terrace. Nara'enil peers at her with a smile.

N: But should you ever hurt someone you never meant to, be not so hard on yourself. You are not perfect, and you are still learning. Even the greatest Archdruids still have something new to add to their knowledge. Sometimes getting into trouble is how some individuals understand.

A scarred hand lifts to support her temple. Ilrenya turns back to Nara'enil searchingly.

I: It's a very high price to pay for learning...

N: From what I can see, you are the sort to be cautious until you are allowed not to be, is that right?

Ilrenya shrugs. She looks down at her hands, breaking eye contact once more. Nara'enil smiles.

N: You will find your way along your path. The beast acts in accordance with our own deeper emotions. It is your work to understand what those are, and why they are. Goldrinn the Ferocious knows only the hunt. His spirit will turn even the most placid and rational into nought but the manifestation of single minded, unending fury. This is why it cannot be controlled on one's own, and the worgen need an external means to aid them. On the other hand, Ursoc the Mighty knows protection and loyalty. His rage and tenacity is directed when and where it is needed. What are you protecting, not just outside yourself but also within? Why are you protecting it? These are questions only you can answer. In them, you can start to find your way towards control if you fear so much to hurt those close to you.

Nara'enil reaches out to touch the beads around Ilrenya’s neck.

N: Are these a lingering practice of Bereon Rakeclaw?

I: I.. am not sure. I have only seen Shan'do Rakeclaw as a bear. He embodied Ursol more than Ursoc. But Shan'do Moonclaw gave them to me. He has a similar one he wears too.

Nara'enil smiles.

N: I have seen them used in meditation. Perhaps Meladriss uses them as such. Perhaps they will help you in your own journey.

There does not seem to be anything else Nara'enil has to say on the topic. Ilrenya finally lets out a small sigh and bows her head in respect, mind in deep thought as she ponders all that she has heard.

Before Ilrenya departs Amirdrassil once more, she presents Nara’enil with her new set of armour, which the older druid accepts with gratitude.

I: Won’t the Priestesses be unhappy that you are wearing white like them?

N: Maybe, but surely any intelligent person can tell that I am not one of them.

*

There were multiple aspects to being part of the wilds and understanding them. Shan'do Moonclaw told her what she had to do, but something held Ilrenya back, and it was shame. Shame from her inadequacy. Shame from Elders who regarded her with the lack of confidence that they had for the other Thero'shans. Shame from being irrationally afraid, even after her An'da was long dead, even after Shan'do Rakeclaw's kindness, that she was going to be punished for being less than perfect. The same shame that stopped Ilrenya from, in her time in the wilderness, trying to connect with the prides of sabers that she passed. The same shame that prevented her from trying to understand the bears be they in groups or solitary, whenever she came near them. What if she was not cut out for this? She was afraid of the same righteous fury she felt for others who were helpless, all because her father directed every single iota of his anger and irritation at her since she could remember. 

But Shan'do Moonclaw alleviated her shame. Ashamane would not punish her for her father's sins. “She stands far above any of that and believes YOU build your own path and YOU alone decide what happens on it. You ALWAYS have a choice,” said Shan’do Moonclaw. Ilrenya was not her father. She was her own person.  

He brought her to Priestess Moonglow, who in turn, reassured her that there was nothing wrong with making mistakes. There was nothing wrong with being less than perfect. “I will fail a million times so that my victory, in the end, means that  much more,” said one of the sentinels near the Priestess. 

In the bristlebruin den, with her salvaged Rooksguard spear embedded in its ceiling, Ilrenya scooted closer to the beasts. It was all right if they did not accept her. It was all right if they chased her out. She had to start somewhere, and it might as well be now. If they did not accept her, then she would keep trying.

She did as she was told, and asked the wondrous beasts with leaves growing alongside their fur to share their warmth with her overnight. She did her best to personify what Shan’do Rakeclaw had taught her before, and what she had seen Shan’do Moonclaw do, to ensure that they knew she was not a threat, that she was here to live and to learn.

It took a while, and it took patience, but they let her lie near them. Not enough to be warm, but enough not to freeze. 

It took some more hours - perhaps a day, or even more, but eventually they let her scavenge and hunt with them. They let her come near when they tended their young. Ilrenya picked up on their behaviour and their habits, and how they communicated. She had always known, but she never approached so closely nor trusted herself to even try. 

She watched how they protected themselves against other predators. The food chain was the way of nature and the great cycle, but the bears would die to protect their young and their own. Ilrenya knew this, but for the first time, she tried to push away the fear and the relentless flashbacks that her Doubt and her Shame kept recalling of her father doing the opposite. She was not him. The Wild Gods would not punish her for what he became. She would not turn into a monster who would strike and try to kill their own offspring and hurt their allies without a single second thought. 

Slowly, Ilrenya began to understand. But was she ready yet to find Shan’do Moonclaw?

*

There were multiple aspects to being part of the wilds and understanding them. Being able to protect and defend your pack was one of them. Being able to do so effectively and successfully was another. Being able to put down those who would threaten the safety of you and yours, was yet another.

There were other beasts in the wilderness of Amirdrassil’s island. The dreamsabers in particular prowled the edges of the shadows of the forest, and were, as any wild large cat, entirely different from the bristlebruin. They were not as welcoming. Their hackles raised as she passed with the bears, prepared to pounce if she dared to take a step towards them. Ilrenya wanted to give up, but then told herself that it was not a ‘no’. It was simply ‘not yet’. They smelled her fear and her doubt. She was not a predator like them. She was still prey.

Ashamane would not punish her. Her path was her own to forge. Ilrenya tried to remember this and not fall into the reflex of drawing back from feeling unworthy. 

Maybe she needed what she had told Shan’do Moonclaw: time. 

Nara’enil did not have time to piece her thoughts together. Between the time her staff was burnt and slowly revived, the combined forces all over the Dragon Isles had gathered, and then collectively moved through the gate at the Ancient Bough. By the time she joined them, they had started to establish themselves under the very secret that was harboured within the Dream the entire time. 

There was a lot to take in and process: how Amirdrassil came about, how long it was there, and the adversaries that all of the forces were now facing. 

It took a while, but Nara’enil eventually found a quiet moment of respite, amidst the orders and briefings. While everything sank in, there was one significant aspect that stood out about their new home. It was under its immense roots: the same strange blue that threaded through its bark, visible across the entire region they were in. The same blue that faded the living beauty of the Dream into ethereal shades of twilight and indigo. 

Nara’enil almost expected wisps to be present, but they weren’t. It felt as if they were woven into the very body of the World Tree itself. As if the large pond with its odd landscaped swirl, that was unlike any of the other intricate grassy patterns throughout the Dream, held its own secrets that only those who passed on knew of. In this garden of dusk under Amidrassil, this space of winter amidst the verdant summer of the Dream, she felt both safety as well as the notion that she did not belong. As if she was standing at a precipice, at the brink of a change in seasons, a step in the unending cycle of life and death. A cycle of balance.

She sank onto the azure grass by the edge of the water, next to the arrangement of druidic stones that decorated the circles of the pattern. Nara’enil could not help but feel the emptiness that she had tried her best to overcome over the millennia. It resurfaced every time someone she knew passed away, and gnawed at her chest like a hungry beast wanting to be fed. 

It was quiet where she sat. All the activity fluttered above. Few druids came this way. Her staff, rejuvenated and no longer charred, was propped beside her. The smallest furls of leaves had started to sprout - a miracle wrought by “Elder Bearclaw”, a tauren from Hyjal who turned out to be an emerald dragon the whole time, and who told her that the staff was not of Azeroth, whatever that meant. 

Amidst the encircled calm, the emptiness within her slowly faded into a familiar anaesthesia as she regarded the shimmering water. All she could think of were the faces that she once loved and still remembered. Were they part of the multitudes who gave up their existence for their new home and their people, or were they still on the other side, perhaps witnessing everything that was going on through their own similar patch of water and unusual swirls in the ground?

A memory came to her, random and unbidden, as she absently stared at the broken reflection of herself.

“I was Dreaming in the Barrow Dens north of Ashenvale when the satyrs attacked. All I knew was when I woke up, I was surrounded by the healers resuscitating me, with the branch already in my hand.”

It was another made-up story of the origin of Veldrinath’s staff. The very same she now carried. Nara’enil vaguely remembered the banter: how she joked that the healers gave it to him to hold as they expected him to violently lash out at them; how he laughed and retorted that he stole it from the Dream, or beyond it. 

The numbness turned to pain. Somewhere in her consciousness, she always knew that she missed him more than anyone else who passed on. Somehow, she hoped that she was sitting on a patch of water, earth and grass that was touched in some way by his soul, that maybe all of this could have been a way for her to see him again. Or hear him. Anything to know that he was still around. 

But he was gone. He had been gone for almost a thousand years. Neither he, nor min’do Ilisana, nor so many other sisters and brothers whom Nara’enil lost over the years, would be coming back. 

She had to move forward. She needed to move forward.

Like many times before, she brushed aside the unshed tears and steeled herself. After all, she would be dishonouring their deaths if she was to continue to mourn, and not live on for the sake of those who survived. 

In the near distance, she heard her name being called. Fresh instructions were being issued, and she was needed elsewhere. Her staff touched the water lightly as she manoeuvred it to support her standing. Nara’enil reluctantly tore her lingering gaze from the pond, then turned and walked up the slope without looking back.