[Flashback] This Bitter Earth

[Rorugir]

Timestamp: 72nd Summer 511 A.V. Wind howled uselessly across the sharp carvings of earth. It was torn by the jutting mountain peaks and caught on the cloak of one singular man. It nipped at his heels, pushed against his low chest, and in general did everything it could to stop him in his tracks. He struggled valiantly against Zulrav's protestations, even as crimson blood flowed through a gash across his forehead to mingle with blue-black hair; it ran in rivulets down a ridge of bone over his eyes, dancing across dense, pale skin. A battleaxe, bloodied as much as the one who carried it, hung loosely from a shell-shocked grip. The wound and pounding headache is inspired should have long forced this isur's knee to bend, but he carried on regardless. For there was only one thought in Rorugir's mind, an instinct ingrained by a heritage as hard as stone. And it was - survive. In the Unforgiving Mountains, the wanderer kept on wandering. May the Gods have pity...but that seemed to be the one thing the Gods weren’t giving Rorugir right now. And, despite his attempts to stop them, memories kept on slipping through the cracks of his mind. It seemed that Qalaya too was toying with him; for the memories evoked were painful and all too fresh. They recalled earthen boulders, dropped by overhanging cliffs onto a caravan, destroying the front two wheels. They recalled the pack of beasts that had taken advantage of the traders' mishap, eyes burning with hunger and teeth that shone with vindication. And, above all, they recalled the trader Amenius, fat cheeks jiggling as Rorugir dispatched the wolf that stood over him, only to find he had arrived too late. Why? was screamed on a silent tongue. What have I done wrong? Is this because of Sultros? But there came no answer. There was only the wind whistling in his ears and the earth grabbing at his heels. His head hurt. Hell, his whole body hurt. He could only walk so far, and Rorugir knew he was reaching his limits. The ground suddenly stopped, stopped moving forward. The animal and the rocks became locked into his place as Rorugir lost feeling in the legs keeping him standing. He seemed almost as rooted in place as . The adrenaline that had kept him moving forward, the strength that had sent him careening away from that holocaust on the road, had abandoned him. His world stopped. Give up, the cold wind whispered, and again the world agreed. His vision wavered. Rorugir breathed out, for a final time. His eyelids felt heavy. He just wanted to close them, and drift off to sleep. Just curl up here and sleep, and sleep, and sleep, and... Something stopped, the course of fate stalled. Words, unbidden, sprung to his mind. It was a song. Delved from deepest memory it was, springing unexpectedly to fill his mind and his mouth. They roused him, though it was a minute before Rorugir realized something had prompted him to sing. Where had these words come from? The vision of a dark room, the feeling of heavy cloth and of a mother's breath washing over him, accompanied those words. It seemed so familiar...with a jolt of surprise, Rorugir realized he was singing one of his mother's lullabies. “The keen of a pickaxe, low and strong, echoes across the mountains broad. The sound, it fills the ears of a solitary man Patience in his blood, and the world in his hand. We are isur, born of mountains tall And, through it all, we will never fall.” The crook of Rorugir's knee bent, and the ground drew away from him. The air tickled at his back again, but this time had no words for him. “Oh, the heavens, how it does thunder And the earth, how it does rage But we are isur, and we break through our cage. We rise above to look the Gods in the eye And tell them that, no, we will never say die.” Now the trees seemed closer than ever, their trunks no longer forbidding, their bark no longer harsh. Now they drew close, their branches suffused with a motherly smile. “So sleep, little child Sleep long and without shame Knowing your brothers protect you, And that soon it will be your job to do the same.” Something caught at the corner of his eye. Rorugir looked and saw something glitter in the darkness. The mountains ahead...they seemed to glow with light. Was that firelight? “We are isur, born of mountains tall... And through it all, I will never fall.” he finished softly. Then, he began to walk.