It took me a while to finish this up, because it’s looooong~ But, here is part 2, the continuation of THIS STORY HERE . I was going to do a header for this one, but I spent all day writing and I’m too excited to wait until I finish drawing and coloring the header image. XD So, until then, it’s all text, baby. I’ll post what was the header image for this when I finish it up, though. So, uhm... For the curious who have been following these. Or to the aether. I’ll throw it out to either, because, AH. I love writing this stuff.
"Where have you two been?"
Like urgent fire, the words found Atleion and Elyia as they emerged from the thick brush of the forest. The sun had nearly fallen, painting the sky a wide array of pastel tones that nearly sang. The soft breeze of the day was crisp, and the symphony of the coming evening sang throughout the air.
Standing before the two Aurin children was another boy. Broad of shoulder and face, he glowered at them with piercing amber eyes. His thick jaw set with an accusatory sneer. Bathed in the light of the setting sun, his red hair shone like wildfire.
The red-headed boy grabbed hold of each of them, tugging them behind the trunk of a nearby tree. His small, pointed ears dropped down flat against his head.
Atleion and Elyia staggered as they were pulled forward. Each of them tripped over their feet, tails lashing and eyes wide. They shared a look with one another, and Atleion set his eyes on the ground.
"Don't be like that, Firethorn. We made it back in time." Elyia huffed. She nudged him away with each of her hands, then straightened her simple tunic.
Atleion's fingers curled about the base of his blue poncho, feeling the fringes and the texture of the woven garment. His tall ears drooped down, briefly bumping into the flowers left braided within his hair.
"Whatever." The red-headed boy, Firethorn, rolled his eyes. He peered around the base of the tree, taking in the surroundings with a keen precision. "Everyone's already gathering by the Olders burrow. If we go around, I think we can get by unseen."
He crouched down low to the ground. His ears pricked up, one flickering to the slightest noise of a cracking twig. "You owe me big time, Elyia."
A soft smile dawned upon Elyia's face. She brushed a few strands of her snowy white hair from her face and crouched low to the ground herself, settling next to Firethorn. Her long tail swayed over the soft grasses of the forest floor. "When we're all hunters, I'll let you take the first game. How is that?"
She turned her head briefly, motioning for Atleion to crouch down with each of them. He did, settling between them. His long, wavy hair swayed out with the motion, but the flowers held firm. He was smaller than each of his companions, delicate and soft. His wide eyes, a deep shade of charcoal, stared out from their hiding space at the village grounds before them.
"Flowers. Really?" Firethorn quirked his brows. He gave a shake of his head and a sigh. Before he even thought to say another word, Elyia's bestial glare set him right and he bristled. "W-what?" He asked of her.
Elyia left her gaze on him until she felt her thoughts were suitability conveyed. Without a word to the red-headed boy, she reached over to grasp one of Atleion's hands and give it a tight squeeze. "You look fine. Ready to run?"
Atleion's face painted red, washing out the array of freckles dappled from his cheeks to his nose. He held Elyia's hand tightly within his hand and gave a silent nod, tight-lipped as he'd been since their return to the village's outer perimeter. He had not even been able to bring himself to protest Firethorn's jostling and scowling face.
"I'll go first and signal. Just be careful. Olders are still around." Firethorn held a hand up before dashing from their hiding space. He moved with all the certainty and force of a raging bull, barreling from the security of the tree trunk 's shade to a nearby hedge. A short while after he entered the distant overgrowth, he was motioning for the other two children to follow his steps.
"You'll do great, Rainsong. I promise." Elyia gave her small, purple-haired companion another reassuring squeeze of the hand. Without another word, she tugged him along, bounding through the thick grass that led from the tree trunk to the dense foliage across the way. Every motion was smooth and practiced; her nimble feet stepped over twigs and pebbles, and as she entered the brush, she did so without hesitation or struggle.
Atleion followed after the graceful girl. His bare feet dug into the soft dirt beneath his toes. The feeling of old pine, grass, and earth flooded his senses each brief moment his feet collided with the ground. He ran as swiftly as he could, tripping and stumbling through the tall grass with all the grace of a wounded gazelle. By the time he reached the brush, he tumbled forward, crashing into Elyia.
She caught him quickly, brushing foliage from his soft poncho, and then the trek throughout their village, the Sea of Stars as it was often called, continued in necessitated silence.
For one who had never set foot within their quiet home, navigating their way through was an arduous task. The trees of the forest blended with those roaming throughout the village, and the grass grew tall, untamed as the wilds beyond its borders. To the undiscerning eye, there was no village to be found amidst the verdant green wood. Yet, to those who knew where to look, signs remained everywhere.
Nestled close to the trunks of several trees were holes that burrowed down beneath the roots. They followed at an angle, creating runs for those would-be settlers to travel in or out. Resting over each was a colorful awning propped up on sticks, each burrow marked by a different color, and each burrow neatly adorned.
Fortunately, the three children knew their way around such a hidden locale. The sound of wooden wind chimes filled the air as they passed from tree to tree, bush to bush, watching the procession of colorful awnings and burrow runs with an alert care. All three of them paused at every subtle sound too close to a footstep. Their ears, thickly furred, stood tall as they could; they were alert, like small animals treading cautiously into an open meadow.
One final run bore them to their destination on the far side of the burrow run, where the trees began to grow close to one another and vast. Their trunks were as the legs of mountains, with dark wood that spread out for what felt a great distance to small Aurin. Moss and vines worked their way up the tree bodies, and the grasses filled to the brim with radiant flora.
As Atleion moved through the ocean of grass, it tickled his face. It combed through his hair, laying gentle stalks over the waves of purple and lavender, dappled with the ornate white flowers that made the boy their home for the time. He released Elyia's hand, peering at the tall blossoms of white, and yellow, and blue all about them. His heart was pattering so quickly that he thought it might burst from his chest and bathe the plants in his life.
When he turned his head to his companions once more, they had arrived. The Olders' tree stood before them, distinct from all those throughout their forest. Flowers crawled up its trunk, all the way to its spire-like top, evergreen and ancient. It stretched higher into the sky than any before it, and, as such, cast a blanket of shadow down over the ground below.
Gathered in front of the tree, before the tall, soft white awning adorned in feathers, bone, and flowers that dangled from thin twine, were dozens upon dozens of Aurin. The crowd was neatly segmented, with older adults crowding about the back of the cluster, chattering amongst themselves with jovial whispers. More than one turned their gaze to the three children slipping from the grass to join the gathering, greeting them with smiles and the gentle stroking of their hair.
Towards the front of the mass of Aurin sat the youngest. Small before the mighty giant of the Olders' tree, they barely registered. There were not many of them, perhaps no more than thirteen of a similar age, with much younger children crowded about in front of the adults. Only those twelve or so moons of age sat separated from the pack of Aurin, directly in front of the burrow... And before them, standing vigilant sentry, was a fierce man.
His silver eyes firmly planted upon Firethorn, Atleion, and Elyia as they drifted to the segmented off group of twelve-moon old children to take a seat in the back. He furrowed his brows at them, bushy, thick, and unyielding. Amidst the shadows of the great tree, he was barely visible with his dark blue skin, only the white speckles that lined it glimmering when they caught the light of the falling sun.
Atleion shrank beneath the harsh gaze. He bunched the base of his poncho into his hands, grasping it tight enough the claws of his fingertips worked between the knitted fabric.
Elyia sat beside him, calmly wrapping her tail about the two of them. She kept her eyes forward, her face glimmering with a building excitement.
Firethorn, or Olyro, as he was often called, joined each of them, returning the gesture in turn as his tail too wrapped about the smallest of their group. It was a sign of silent solidarity, for this night ... Was the night their lives would change forever.
"Friends!"
The man standing next to the burrow stepped forward. Thick furs dangled from his body, covering him in a robe of beasts great and small, dark and light. He spread his arms out wide and shook his head to dispatch the long, straight hair within his face.
"Another year, another moon and season, has come and gone." He began. His voice was deep like a canyon, tender like the spring air to surround them.
"We have seen much. From the quelling of the angry Bark Bears, to the harsh cold of the snows. But as the spring does thaw the ice of winter, so too did we persevere, as our Olders before us, and theirs before theirs, and the great Old Ones before us all."
The man turned his head to the group of children separated from the crowd. With the motion, glittering stones attached to thin twine jingled, clattering with one another about his neck.
"Before us sit seeds within the soil long yet sown."
He placed his eyes on Atleion, and the boy squeaked, quickly hiding his gaze. As such was done, the blue skin man's face softened. He inhaled a deep breath, once more looking to the gathered crowd of Aurin, a sea of faces in near every color.
"As too does the year pass, so shall we one day join those before us in the Weave, in all that is life, here and gone. These kits, though small, are our futures."
He closed his eyes. "The Old One's flowers stir this night that they might bloom when the moon is high, and as they shall, so too may these seeds before us begin to grow under their guidance."
The man cleared his throat. He stepped to the side of the awning and burrow, peering at the shadowy blackness leading down, far beneath the ground.
"Before the Oldest of those yet living. Before the Ancestors long since gone on this hallowed evening. May they speak their promises unto the Weave that their paths be marked, their callings known, and their journeys begun."
Hushed whispers filled the crowd, only to soon fall silent. A hundred eyes bore down upon the children, watching them with equally as many emotions. Pride, wistfulness, love, even disdain found them within their space before the great tree.
"My Kits." The man's tone softened as he turned to the children to speak. His eyes grew easy, and his tall ears pointed forward attentively. He looked to each of them in fond hope. "Who among you would speak first?"
The small group of children huddled close together. Each of their eyes sat wide, staring up at the fur adorned man with a mixture of fear and awe. Not one stirred from their place upon the ground.
All about them, the world seemed to condense. Atleion could feel the myriad of emotions permeating the air. His heart roared. The fur upon his ears and tail rose to their very tips, and he breathed a stilted breath, certain the answer to the man, Shaderoot's, question was not he.
Amidst the silence, a pressure in his shoulder captured his attention. He turned his head towards it, only to see Olyro, Firethorn as he was sometimes called, using him to leverage rising to his feet.
The red-headed boy straightened his back as he stepped around the huddled group of children, walking to the very front. His tail flicked back, the sharp white tip snapping as if to punctuate a silent answer.
The man in furs, Shaderoot, set one hand upon the boy's shoulder, urging him towards the run that would lead into the deep burrow.
"Then so it is... Firethorn. Go. They await you before the Matria's council."
Olyro did not look back at his friends. He took slow steps, breathing in and out equally as slow, until he came to the run. Quickly, he slid down and disappeared from view.
The crowd stood in utter silence. Only the howl of the breeze, the call of far off beasts, and the tender tone of wooden wind chimes filled the air about the village of Aurin.
"It'll be okay. I'm here." Elyia whispered. She leaned against Atleion, wrapping her arm defensively into his. She did not look to him, however, focused intently on the burrow's entrance.
Atleion swallowed a lump in his throat. He had not realized he were trembling until Elyia's arm steadied his own.
The silence continued as the sun passed below the horizon, birthing the night. Stars twinkled high within the blue and black sky, and the moons of Arboria showered them all in their pale beauty.
It was that moment Olyro emerged from the burrow. He paused next to Shaderoot at the entryway, grasping something firmly within his hand. It was a knife of polished bone, its handle fine wood wrapped in neatly tanned leather. He held it high, a smile on his face. His eyes lit up with prideful fire as the gathered crowd cheered and cooed, for this day, and this knife, marked his journey to becoming a hunter.
With the cheers still in the air, Olyro took his place with the standing crowd, soaking in the hugs, pets, and ruffled hair that came as he surrounded himself with the village's grown Aurin. The younger children, not part of this ceremony, clamoured to crowd him, tails earnestly swaying and voices mewling.
With the excitement in the air, those children on the ground, awaiting their turn, began to clamour over one another. One after the other, they would descend into the burrow, only to re-emerged to the sound of cheers and praise. Some carried knives like Olyro's, others carried small sticks adorned in leaves, holding them high above their heads when they emerged as if to declare something to those all around them. Each was met with the same, cooing, hugs, kisses, ruffles. Hands fell over them, or lifted them up, engulfing them in a sea of affection and pride.
Soon... Only two children remained in the former, separated pile of twelve-moon old youth. Elyia and Atleion.
Elyia held onto Atleion's arm. Her tall ears, slender and rabbit-like, pointed towards Shaderoot as if she dared to challenge he make her move before she was ready.
Shaderoot stared back at her. His eyes drifted between the two of them, waiting, watching each move.
"You'll do great."
Elyia whispered. She gradually released Atleion's arm. Her fingers stroked his hair, carefully dodging the flowers she'd braided into its length. A smile fell upon her face as she rose to her feet, for it was her time.
She left him there, passing Shaderoot on her way to the burrow run. Calm and graceful as the wind itself could be, she descended ... And Atleion was alone.
Atleion instinctively reached to hold the edge of his poncho. His doeish eyes were wide with terror, and he felt the weight of a hundred or more eyes upon him. He did not dare look to the crowd of his gathered village, trembling from his seat upon the ground. His woolen ears drooped down far as they could, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes as he dwelt on the pressure that was soon to come on this night ...
Elyia emerged from the burrow. Her genial features were sweet like the flowers of spring as she held a polished bone knife up over her head. Her long white hair caught in the wind, fanning out. Like those before her, she joined the crowd, tail eagerly swaying and laughter ringing. She turned her eyes to Atleion and pressed her hand to her heart. There was no more she could do for him this night.
Atleion hunched into his clothing in an attempt to make himself as small as he possibly could. He could hear quiet whispers on the breeze, only for them to cease when a shadow fell over him. His head turned up, and his gaze met with that of Shaderoot's. Try as he did not to stare, Atleion gaped at the silver eyes, familiar to him, but not in such a state. He could not read them as the man knelt down before him, setting his hands on his shoulders.
Shaderoot leaned forward, setting his face near Atleion's ears before he whispered something inaudible to those around them.
But Atleion heard it, clear as he could hear anything.
Listen, and you will know what to say.
Atleion swallowed a lump in his throat. He rose to his feet; his legs buckled beneath him, trembling like a newborn fawn taking their first steps through the forest. He did not loosen the grip on his poncho as he walked towards the pale white awning. The wooden wind chimes caught in his ears, and the world seemed to fall away from him. His eyes were fixated on the hole in the ground, padded down with dried grass and soft leaves to line the slope leading inward. He could see tiny golden lights, like fireflies, filling the night air around him, around the Olders' great and sturdy tree...
Atleion held his breath. He placed one foot in front of the other, crouching down near the burrow's entry way. Slow and anxious, he scooted down it, sliding through the brush until he no longer could hear or see the world outside of the dark underground.
It was nearly black, and the heady smell of earth filled his lungs. Still the fireflies danced, all along the tunnel, to the very base where it opened to a grand room supported by the roots of the tree itself. Vines hung from the ceiling of the burrow, each holding an array of adornments. Animal bones, dried blossoms, carved wood, and leaves, all mingled as one, dangling from their twine as the fireflies danced about the cavernous space.
Atleion hunched down as he passed beneath them. His toes curled into the dirt, only to find there was not dirt. Piles of warm furs stretched out over the ground. Every step he took was like walking upon a woolen beast's back. It was warm, almost comforting, until he set his eyes upon those few souls who named this burrow theirs.
There were four of them. Old, grey, and weary, they sat against the far wall of the burrow. The fragrant scent of tea, and herb, swirled about them, rising to the very height of the cavernous burrow. There were three women, and a single man, each with thickly furred ears and tails, and each covered in warming furs as Shaderoot himself had been. Glittering stones, or bones, sat about their necks on twine. Some held long sticks upon their laps, unused canes, and others still held hollow, thin bowls filled with tea.
Before them sat two baskets, a polished bone knife in one, a stick decorated with leaves and blossoms in the other.
Atleion paused within the center of the room, keeping his distance. Not a word left him as he shivered in his spot.
"Ah. Little Rainsong. You've grown bigger, haven't you?" One of the women, thin, lithe, and bony cooed. She shifted upon her seat, leaning forward as if to take a closer look at him.
"How would you know, you old coot! You're blind as a newborn Moss Mole!" Another of the old women howled with laughter, plump and round of face. She patted her knees with her hand and waved once through the air.
"Hush, the both of you." The old man seated with them spoke with a voice sharp as a spear. His face was obscured by the mass of white hair atop his head, stretching far to the ground. His patchy tail, grey and partially missing, curled about him.
The final woman, with hair neatly braided, and rosy red cheeks, rose to her feet. She balanced against her walking stick, and her very joints seemed to struggle with the motion of standing. More than one bone creaked as she rose.
"Come closer, my child. Closer." She gestured with her bony hands, beckoning him nearer to them. "Let me see you, now. My. You have grown taller, and your ears no longer fall."
Atleion remained rooted in place, staring forward with wider eyes than before. His lip quivered.
"Bah! There's always one, I tell you. Like a little leaf. The wind will just carry him away." The old man huffed. The statement triggered a cough, and, soon, he were doubling over, seeking his shallow bowl of tea.
The bony woman who beckoned Atleion hummed softly. She took one step, then another, the beautiful stones about her neck shining in the light of the fireflies and sparsely placed, thin-leather lanterns.
"Hush, Whisperfoot." She spoke firmly. Her eyes, blue as a clear day, settled upon Atleion as she drew closer.
"My little Rainsong. Have you your words to speak?"
Atleion stared at the old woman. He nearly tore his poncho with the force of his grip. His mouth opened, then shut. His lips drew into a thin line.
"Is that so?" Said the plump woman in the back of the room. She laughed once more, wheezing and chortling. "A man of words he will be, I am sure!"
Atleion's tail curled between his legs, wrapping about his ankle. He inhaled a deep breath. "I... I... I'm... I want to... I..."
He stammered every part of his statement.
The bony woman reached over with one hand, pressing it to his freckled cheek. She held his face firm, setting her eyes on his even as he tried to shift them away. When she release him, she looked back to her three companions and smiled gingerly.
"If you would be so kind..." Her ears, shaggy and tall, leaned forward towards them.
The three stared back at her, then shared a look with one another.
"Of course, Softleaf." The plump woman said as she rose to her feet, assisting her companions. Their bodies ached and groaned as they moved, passing by Atleion and the bony old woman. As each of the old Aurin passed, they brushed their hands over the small boy's hair with a tender sweetness, even the gruff old man with his partially missing tail.
The bony woman, Softleaf, returned her focus to Atleion. "Thank you, my friends... Enjoy the flowers above."
She smiled, waiting patiently until the three old Aurin left the burrow. She stood alone with Atleion, amidst the cavernous burrow, and the soft warm glow of the thin-leather lanterns.
"What troubles you, my little one?" Softleaf grasped her walking stick, weakly drawing herself close to the ground. Her long tail, bushy and covered in fur so thick it sagged, curled about her feet. "Your eyes sing of fear."
Atleion released his hold on the edge of his poncho. The fringed garment dropped down, over sized and large upon him. He folded his arms around himself as if to hold himself tightly, only for the old woman to pull him close and wrap hers about him.
"There is nothing to fear." Softleaf cooed, stroking his long hair. She placed a soft kiss atop his head. "Tell me. Why do you hesitate so?"
Atleion unfolded his arms, sinking into the hug. He grabbed hold of the thick furs over the old woman, burying his face into them. "I don't know what to say."
His shoulders shook and he sobbed. His little body tensed up. "If I say something wrong, then... Then..."
The old woman smiled. She ran her fingers through his hair once more, mindful of the flowers braided within. "There is no right or wrong path to take, or promise to make. Listen. And you will know what to say."
She held him, cradling the small boy as the fireflies gathered around.
In a hushed whisper, Atleion spoke. His voice rested, muffled against the furs he pressed his face into. "I can't."
Softleaf hummed. She pulled one small flower from his hair, holding it within her shaky hand. It tumbled to the floor, sitting among the animal furs.
"Is that so?" She asked him sweetly. She leaned back, seating herself upon the ground in front of him. A tiny laugh erupted from her throat, and she pulled him down to sit with her.
She listened to the empty sound of the room, humming quietly as she continued to pluck flowers from his hair. Each flower she plucked, she gently placed upon the floor around them.
"Tell me, my sweet boy. What shall we do about that?" She tipped his head upward to meet her eyes.
Atleion's own eyes filled with tears. They wandered frantically, unsure of what to say. Barely audible, he spoke. "I don't know."
She chuckled warmly, placing another flower on the ground. "Mm. So it would seem you do not know a great deal." She paused, tracing her fingers upon the petals. "Beautiful, are they not? That you might wander so far to find them, these little blossoms. Many are afraid of the forest."
Atleion rested his head against the old woman, still holding onto the furs. "I like it..."
The old woman plucked another flower, placing this one upon Atleion's tail. She hummed once more. "It is both dangerous and kind to those who might follow it." She closed her blue eyes and her tall ears drooped forward beneath their own weight. "I like it as well. Its songs, and voice..."
Atleion's tense posture eased. He uncurled his hands from the furs over the old woman. "I do too."
Softleaf paused. Her eyes thoughtfully sat upon the young boy nestled on the ground with her. Her tail wrapped about the two of them and she set her walking stick on the hard ground. Without a word, she reached to the back of her neck, pulling one of the twine string necklaces up over her head. Dangling from it, neatly tied, was a stone clear as glass, reflecting everything that stood before it in fragments.
She leaned forward, setting the necklace over Atleion's head. She worked it over his curly mass of hair, settling it calmly around his neck. Once placed, she straightened it, and her quaint smile only grew. Her blue eyes twinkled with fondness and certitude.
"Repeat after me, little one."
Atleion looked up at her. His ears drooped down. His fingers grasped the stone, and he turned his gaze to it, catching sight of his own reflection within it.
"Guide my hand, winds of old." Softleaf began. Her voice remained a hushed whisper. "Fill my heart as the rivers. Clear my mind as the skies. Shine light that I might see."
She reached over with each of her hands, cupping Atleion's cheeks as he spoke, repeating her words after each phrase with confusion. "That I might walk among a sea of stars... And know the way."
Atleion exhaled as he said the last word. He could feel a chill creeping across his skin, reaching down to the very bones within his body. His ears leaned up tall and he murmured something yet indistinguishable. He wasn't sure what the word meant, but as he uttered it, Softleaf placed a kiss upon his forehead.
She patted him on the back. "Go now. Before you miss this year's bloom. I am sure your friends are waiting, my little one."
Atleion blinked. He stood up, hands still clutching the stone attached to the necklace around his neck. "But I didn't choose---"
The old woman raised a single hand. Her eyes shone with a knowing fondness. "Your words are spoken, and they are known."
She reached for her walking stick, settling it over her lap.
Atleion did not understand. One ear raised higher than the other. He turned to head back up the burrow run, pausing at the base of it to look back. As Softleaf smiled at him, he too smiled, hurrying up the run to join his village at long last.
He emerged from the burrow hole, the crowd still gathered, even the three old Aurin who lived within the burrow with Softleaf. They all waited, a hundred eyes upon him, expecting something... That never came.
Atleion did not let go of the necklace around his neck, staring at the group with wide eyes. A few quiet murmurs caused his ears to flicker.
From the crowd, Elyia looked to him. She held her hand above her head shortly, mouthing something to him.
Atleion hesitated. He did not have a knife, or a stick, to hold over his head. He had nothing.
... Or did he?
He inhaled a deep breath. Nervously, he pulled the necklace over his head, holding it up where the crowd of Aurin could see.
He was not met with cheers or joyous coos. There was no clapping, or clamoring. There was only forward ears, soft whispers, and the sound of wooden wind chimes on the evening breeze.
Atleion looked to Elyia, who smiled. She tucked her hands behind her back and her tail began to sway.
As Atleion stood still, the weight of a hand on his back caught his attention. He turned his gaze upward, peering at a dark blue face, dappled in white specks, and home to silver eyes. They met his own, and for a moment, Atleion was unsure if he may have done something wrong.
Then it came. The little crowd of Aurin erupted into cheers and coos. They didn't wait for him to come to them. Rather, they crowded around, ruffling his hair, pulling him close. Atleion squirmed within the grasp of adults and peers, smothered in a sea of praise and fondness, until he felt Elyia nearly tackle him into the ground.
"What is it?" She asked him, laughing and hooting.
Atleion's ears fell flat. He held the necklace close to his heart.
"I don't... I don't know."
