Closed Pilgrimage, part V

[Colt]

61st of spring
before the breaking of the morning

His dream had been different. It was not the dark, apprehensive foreboding that had haunted his nights for so long; this dream had held no fear or constricting sense of waiting. No peering into a nameless gloom looming before him, knowing that he was growing closer to it by the day. In this dream, he was no longer an approaching spectator; he had been in the gloom. It had surrounded him, filled his lungs and his mind. But it did not inspire dark thoughts; it had instead brought him a clear, uninterrupted calm. It was the crystalline clarity that lingered in every breath, hovering between the gentle intake of air and its delicate release. It was the flash of green as the sun touched the horizon at the end of the day, and it was the absolute serenity that lingered over the crouched predator in the moments before the leap to kill. It rang in the very core of his being, filling his spirit with a single, consuming knowledge:

It is time.

It was darker than he had expected when he stepped from his tent into the open air. The great arms of the Serenity Tree trapped and enfolded him, allowing less of the warm eastern glow that he was used to. The breaks in the canopy allowed watery shafts of half-light to cast the camp in a pale gray glow, and there was no morning fog beneath its branches to veil his vision.

Silence hung over the Sea of Grass, arm in arm with her sister, stillness. Nothing spoke, and nothing moved save for him.

He took his usual care as he moved away from his tent; most of the leaves on the ground were black with mold, and so they made no sound as long as his steps were slow. He took a moment to regard the Tree, for indeed, it was the largest he had ever seen in his single year of memory. It sprawled over the grassland, colossal size a testimony to its age. He took a great deal of time creeping in a circle, stepping over the branches that lay upon the ground, ducking under those that didn’t. He didn’t approach, not yet. He simply walked, admiring its truly vast body.

He came around the opposite side, where one of the limbs lay prone upon the ground. The closer he grew to it, the more quietly he walked; it was very early, after all, and he didn’t want to startle the Tree into an early morning.

He came to a halt and sank into a crouch. Reverently, the hunter extended his hand to touch the thick moss; it was lush and cool, just like it had looked the day before, and he allowed his fingers to roam over the miniature forest that appeared green even in this dimness. As they explored, eventually wandering in the direction of the trunk, he leaned close to the verdant carpet as if preparing to whisper a precious secret to its fronds and his fingers began to roll delicate signs against the bark.

Good morning, he said to the Tree. Calm, gentle greeting, I have a question.

His hands continued to meander as he signed, dancing farther up the limb until they reached its abandonment of the ground. It rose above him, joining the Tree with a gentle slope some ten strides farther. The slope was gentle, the wood thick, and the many crooks and crevasses at the joining of the branches beckoned him with the prospect of what might be there. He abandoned the moss and turned his attention towards his feet; taking care not to make an undue amount of noise, he had soon undone them and left them to lie beside him. The damp leaves were chilly against his bare feet, and he curled his toes until he became accustomed to the new feeling enough to accept it. In another moment his hands were back on the mossy limb, but they were more determined now. He leaned close to the wood as they tested one area after another, tickling the Tree with signs as they did so.

Calm, he finger-whispered. Question, an important question, but gentle. Sleepy, understand, will wait just a bit more, my friend.

The man’s odd speech paused as his fingers found what they were looking for: a long crack in the wood. They curled around the flaw, tightening beneath the moss in determination. He took a single, deep breath, then carefully hoisted himself onto the huge arm of the Serenity Tree.

[Khida]

The night had passed unremarkably, save for the whispers of wind through the branches of the massive tree overhead. The falcon found she had become unused to the sound, after seasons away from the crater and its verdant landscape. Eventually, she had fallen asleep in her perch atop the hunter's tent. And eventually, dawn's insistent approach roused the bird from her sleep. The rustles in the tent beneath her contributed as well, but it was some moments after the hunter had made his soft-footed departure before Khida finally blinked her eyes open. She awoke into shade-dappled twilight, the vast overarching canopy of the tree masking most of the sky from her view. It was an impressive tree, its branches twisting and gnarled in their outward reaching, long since grown out into full and verdant leaf; Khida wondered in her idle lassitude how long it had lived, and what had passed beneath its great spread of boughs. Truly, it was a bit daunting of a thing... for a great immobile tree. But something else in the shadowed glen was not immobile, a shift of shadow against gloom catching the peregrine's eye. She turned towards it, interest and caution piqued, putting aside her idle musings in favor of more immediate concerns. Khida watched for a time, but it didn't move again -- or rather, it had passed around behind the great tree, as after some moments she caught a glimpse of motion there. A tall form which knelt, suggesting human identity; after some moments of study, she resolved its profile into that of her partner. She was surprised, to find him outside; curious, to watch him with his hands pressed against the tree and not understand in the slightest what he was about. He did not hunt, and she did not think he sought wood to carve, but what else...? She saw him remove his shoes, which was a strange thing; then he set his hands once more upon the tree's bark, though what they did there Khida wasn't certain. They moved, a dancing of finger, wrist, and arm which made indecipherable by her perspective; perhaps he signed something? But what would a tree, however old, know or care of sign? That was strange to think. Perplexed, the falcon gave her wings a wide, reaching stretch, then leapt from her perch. Mindful of the oddly quiet atmosphere, she made no calls as she flapped upwards from the air cradled beneath the tree and entered the canopy proper. Khida lofted over one thick and gnarled branch, then angled sideways past the jutting offshoot of another to land on a third some short ways above the limb the hunter climbed. There she furled her wings and settled in to linger, tipping her head to focus on the man below with puzzled interest.

[Colt]

The gargantuan branch bobbed slightly under the weight, but it was not great enough to dislodge him. He clenched his fist to his handhold until his knuckles became white, and in due time the gentle rocking became still.

The damp moss greeted his feet with chilled caresses, dampened as they were by the twilight dew. He shivered involuntarily, wriggling his toes to explore both the sensation and the integrity of that upon which he stood. A shift of his weight informed him that the cover of greenery was a trustworthy footpad if he dug into it; if he remained on top, however, it was quite slippery.

A dulled movement above caught his eye, startling him enough to set the branch bouncing one more. He tightened his grip, then turned his gaze heavenward to regard the peculiar shadow that flickered within the leaves. It wove delicately between the forest of twigs and leaves, and when it came finally to rest a small ways above where he himself crouched he knew who it was. He unlatched one hand from the split bark so she would know that his signs were for her.

Pleased. Hello, my friend, he said with a smile.

He returned his attention to the branch, aware of her inquisitive gaze. He was in no hurry, and the limb created a gentle ramp that, for all his lack of skill, he still thought he would be able to climb. One foot abandoned its cushioned rest, carefully coming to land one step ahead of the other, and, with that accomplished, he began to search for a second handhold. He tickled more signs against the bark conversationally, more to test for openings than to entertain any real thought of the Tree responding. Still, it was a heavy question he was preparing to pose—if the Tree was to answer it, he should tell it as much about himself as he could.

First, alone. No, not exactly; alone, but not lonely. First, gut, primal, nature; there, safe. Gut, primal, nature… home. Peace. Content, without need. Next, another me. Me, company, not alone. Follow, discovery: many me! Us. People. My people.

There. His fingers burrowed into another flaw in the wood, and he tentatively released the first one. Another step, two, three; a good five feet of empty air now lay between him and the ground. He looked farther up his path; he would have to go at least twice that to reach the crest of the wooden arch. He gulped, but steeled himself; it was not very far to fall, after all. He could do it. A pause, a deep breath, and then he was once again extending his arm in search of a new anchor.

[Khida]

He looked up at the whisper of her wings, and raised a hand to sign -- warm approval, greeting, the sign she now knew to mean 'friend'. Khida bobbed in response, but remained silent; the atmosphere here was... well, she didn't quite feel comfortable introducing noise into it, if she didn't have to. She wasn't sure why, and as the man set about climbing his way up the great bough, the falcon lifted her gaze to its canopy, considering this odd impression. Hushed, quiet; calm, serene. The stillness seemed almost tangible, yet not in an oppressive way. It seemed... almost rude, to disrupt it, though the esoteric rules of rude and polite were not something with which the Kelvic often concerned herself. Strange. But then, it was a strange tree. Strange, that he climbed the tree instead of setting out to hunt, instead of packing his gear and preparing the horses for another day's travel. Was this his goal, then? To come so far across the Sea only to climb this tree? What made it so special? So... ... ... sacred? That Drykas woman, Vallora, had used the word to her before. Sacred, special; respected, important. She had described that living things were sacred, in some way -- though some were more sacred than others. Was this tree also more sacred, more special than the small copses sparsely scattered through the Sea? Certainly she'd never seen one quite so large, or that grew in quite the same way. Perhaps that explained their journey, though Khida still couldn't imagine why he would need to come all the way out to this particular place. Settling comfortably into her perch, prepared to witness and learn what one did with a possibly-sacred tree, the peregrine returned her attention to the hunter in time to see him hesitate. She tipped her head, considering his apparent discomfort with the climb, then decided not to stay on her present perch at all. Khida swooped down from the high bough down past the hunter, then winged up a bit to a protruding branch near the base of the thicker limb he was climbing. There, she turned about to face the man, then bobbed again, offering silent encouragement to his efforts.

[Colt]

She nodded in a return greeting, and if she found his actions odd, she did not give her concerns voice as he continued his story against the tree.

My people. Me, I had a people. I, of a people. Others, many, many others. Maybe… too many, sometimes. Others, loud, closed, could be too much. Company, hard. But still, endure. Learn. Later, not so bad. Can endure.

The gentle almost-whisper of her wings announced her return to flight, close enough that he could have touched her had he stretched out an arm to do so. She swooped slightly, then landed upon another branch just a little ways away from his destination. The muted rustling of calloused talons upon a roughened perch reached his ears as she turned towards him and nodded once more, this time to lend support.

His fingers curled around the stub of a forgotten offshoot, preventing him from responding with anything more than a nod. Was it just his imagination, or did the ground seem much farther away than it should have been?

No. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

Another step. Release the second handhold, both hands on the third. Another step. The slope’s angle was growing more planar, providing easier balance, and his grip was stable. He was alright. Still, he kept his eyes closed as he hugged the bough with his knees, dug his fingers into the moss and half-crawled, half-dragged himself high enough to put one foot on the crook that had been supporting his hands just moments before. From there, it was short work to haul himself to the mostly-horizontal portion of his odd ramp, and it was only then that he had enough confidence to relax and open his eyes.

Well, it wasn’t so bad, after all.

There was a bit more distance between him and the earth than he would have liked, but as he straddled the limb, feet dangling on either side, he was fairly certain that he would not fall.

Relief, though he wasn’t quite sure if he was signing to her or to himself.

He remained there for a few moments, regaining his breath and allowing the slight burning in his arms to subside. Now that he felt safe, the potential fall didn’t seem nearly as threatening.

The perch upon which she stood was within easy reach, even while sitting down. He took ahold of it a foot or so away from the feathered form, and then carefully, very carefully stood up.

[Khida]

The man nodded towards her, then looked down at the ground again. He appeared to steel himself for further efforts before continuing his way up the bough, one handhold and foothold at a time. His climb left divots in the moss, brown disturbed patches come unrooted, but of course the tree beneath was not impacted at all. As the falcon watched, he made it up to the top of the limb, then looked down again, seeming to consider the change in view. Apparently, what one did with a maybe-sacred tree was climb it. She was left to wonder, then, what made the tree so special. People climbed trees all the time. Even Khida had done so in her youth, when it was an entertaining novelty. They weren't this tree, but... the same things happened. The falcon shifted her grip on the tree, settling her weight in more comfortably. She canted her head and peered down at the man as he reached up to take hold of the branch she perched on, using it as a brace while he stood up on the bough. Khida wasn't quite sure she appreciated that, and eyed his hand on the branch with some concern. As long as he didn't do anything untoward, though... With the hunter now in such proximity to her, Khida cheeped a query at him, stillness or no stillness.

[Colt]

She observed his hand cautiously, and he briefly wondered if she would take offense to such an action. Their seasons together had brought them close, closer than any human he’d ever met and certainly closer than any bird and falconer he’d ever seen. He’d seen plenty of birds, and every now and then he’d spotted a bird-handler at work on the fringes of Endrykas. They had baffled him, at first—tying their birds’ feet and blindfolding them, like dogs too wild to control. And the raptors themselves…

She softly asked about his hand, and he moved it an inch or so away from her perch. Not enough to make any practical difference, but enough to convey that he did not intend to venture any nearer. Seasons, they’d been together, and never had they been so close; he signed slowly, mindful that he was in her space.

Peace, my friend. Not to harm. Apologies.

… compared to other raptors, she seemed so much… more. It was impossible to name, but it was there; when he looked into her eyes, there was not simply the steel efficiency of a common bird. She saw, recognized, thought, absorbed, learned, and those night-like eyes reflected the world back upon itself with perfect clarity of perception.

He took a measured step and did not fall. His second was stronger, more confident, and by his third he had struck up a true pace, albeit a slow one. And as he walked, he continued his story against the tree.

Now. My people, Drykas, family, hurt. Great hurt, pain, difficult to overcome. Very great need. I need to help. But first, I need help. Very important question, need answer.

Please.

He made his way away from the falcon and into the wide cradle of the bough’s base. It wasn’t truly at the head of the tree; there was still another ten feet or so before the body split into the great reaching arms that supported the canopy. This one ended in a little cranny, tucked snugly against the trunk. There, he sat himself upon a cushion of moss, then returned his gaze to his feathered partner.

He could feel it coming, rumbling in the back of his head like the ringing of the air before a storm. Something fluttered in his gut, and he flexed his hands nervously. They were damp, but he wasn’t quite sure if the moss was the culprit. The calm expectancy he had woken to had suddenly become a suppressive one, and even the simple act of swallowing was becoming increasingly difficult.

It had been a long time since their meeting. What was it, almost a full year now? And so quickly passed; so much had happened in so short a time, and yet, through that single year that was his life, she had always been there. The early, carefree days of his childhood, dog days spent lazily in summer shade with nothing to do but live. When that came to an end, she had seen his abrupt discovery of manhood, and it was with her shadow beside him that he had discovered that this world was far, far wider than he could have ever imagined; through his adolescent days awash with half-formed terrors masked by contempt and incoordination—she had been there for them. For him. Always. Here he stood, abandoning such thoughts, walking along the cusp of his final transformation: the transformation to maturity. And here she stood, gaze as wickedly sharp as the first day he'd seen her in the sky, showing him all the world in her endless, measureless black orbs.

What could he say to her, knowing that? Thank you? Countless times over he’d have lost himself without her, either to death in the grasses or madness in the tents, but even that was not all. His gratitude for her presence, the wordless ideas and emotions that passed between them—these things, he knew, more than anything else, had shaped him into the man that now sat within the arms of the Serenity Tree, looking at his partner as he prepared to discover his identity. But what signs could catch the gravity of his emotions, when it was so difficult to even recognize them, himself? Too much to say, and there was no time left to do it in.

The silence around him, usually so soothing and coveted, had become oppressive and demanding; the time was now.

He half-turned towards the trunk, posture belying nervous, need, important, now, question, at last, fear, overcoming… but he still needed to tell her something, anything to convey even an inkling of what he felt. Though a thousand signs may not have sufficed, he was forced to make do with two:

thank you. I love you.

He shifted from his seat, and with movements almost serene with fear he came to kneel before the dark, weathered trunk of the Tree. One hand was placed upon it, then the other, fingers splayed tenderly against the cool, age-worn bark—so old, and yet still so vibrant with life. It was a knower of many things, this immobile giant, this warden of the horse-people’s secrets.

He leaned close, resting his forehead against the moss as if in prayer. In its own way, perhaps that was what it was. No longer through sign, but through touch did he attempt to tell the Tree of the sea of feelings and thoughts that raged within him, sending blood rushing through his ears and closing him off from the world until every heartbeat felt like a quake of thunder. There was nothing, nothing but him and it; the lonely, nameless Drykas and the mossy, stalwart guardian of his desperate hope for absolution.

His hands curled into the moss, preparing for whatever the result of this primal, core-forged prayer to be. The words were barely a whisper sighed into the Tree's skin, words carried upon solitude, desperation, exhaustion… and upon hope.

“Who am I?”

[Khida]

The man looked at her, and looked at his hand upon the bough, and gestured words at her: calmness, friend, apology. Something else in the middle was less familiar, though Khida was fairly sure she recognized negation in the sign. He moved his hand a little bit away, indication that he didn't intend to disturb her perch; not deliberately, at any rate. She bobbed again in recognition of his actions -- though he turned away and began to walk along the limb, and likely did not see. The falcon watched as he made his way towards the trunk of the tree, slow and cautious, mindful of his steps and the distance to the ground below. His hands resumed their motion, gesturing a monologue -- a conversation? -- presumably to the great tree. It certainly wasn't addressed to her, at his back, and Khida could think of no one else to speak to. She recognized no sign in the fluid motions save one: please. Khida turned her regard upon the tree, peering at the rough bark framed by her talons. She generally wasn't one to give much thought to plants; they fed her prey, at times sheltered it; they provided her with places to perch. Rooted to one single spot on the earth, they were at times convenient or inconvenient, but in either case were treated by the peregrine as just another part of the landscape. They did not move; they did not have eyes to see, a nose and mouth to breathe. Yet she did not doubt that a plant such as this tree could live and die. If it lived, if it was sacred, if the man could talk to it and expect to be understood... then... did it also think and feel? Her thoughts promptly shied away from that strange idea. Plants, thinking; it was a supposition too foreign to so readily contemplate. Besides, the man had turned his regard back upon her; she did him the courtesy of returning his attention. He stood in silence, both of voice and gesture, his manner an odd melange of so many attitudes she couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking. He was anxious of something -- was it something to do with her? Khida couldn't imagine what; she tipped her head, shifting a bit on her perch, wingtips rustling in her uncertainty. Stilled, attentive, as he lifted his hands to gesture: a sign she associated with warmth, affection, approval, and another she was less sure of. She blinked at him, uncertain what sparked the phrases, then burbled a few soft notes in return. He went on to address the tree again, turning away and kneeling before the great girth of its trunk. His posture was clearly reverent, a humble supplication, an attitude which more than anything he had done so far definitively moved the tree from maybe-sacred to sacred in Khida's reckoning. Whatever that did mean. Khida shifted uneasily, talons scoring shallow divots in the tree's thick bark. She might have left her perch, moved to a lesser tree that wasn't quite so inspiring of unsettling conclusions... but there was something about the way he knelt with his forehead pressed to the tree's bark that kept her in place, feathers slightly fluffed, silent witness to this strange and mysterious production.

[Jackalope]

A man who knows not himself knows nothing, or at least's that's what they say. For there is no more noble journey that one of self discovery. Without that knowledge, all you accomplish is for naught. Actions without purpose are meaningless, even if they bring good into the world. Life, death, and everything in between is an endless battle with one's soul to discover meaning, and for Khasr, could that finally be arriving? The tree, it held so much history. So many questions were asked of it, even if it it couldn't answer, even if it couldn't speak. For the Drykas, this tree could offer closure. Though the souls of the Drykas passed on had long since returned to the web and possibly began a new cycle, the weapons which it held could offer up those memories of loved ones who have passed. When the Drykas man placed his hands upon the tree, when he pressed his forehead so forcefully against the ancient bark, when fingers dug into the moss and he cried out for something, for an answer, for a clue, for a light....for anything.. ...Nothing happened. The tree didn't respond. The tree didn't open his eyes to the path he needed to take. It didn't show him his soul. It didn't shine brilliantly and lay the answer at his feet. To expect so would to be foolish. The tree couldn't give advice. But it could give one a chance to reflect. To ask questions and look on them one's self. To find your own path, blaze your own trail. Make your own name. When Khasr blinked, suddenly in his hands he felt a weight, and from seemingly nowhere, a weapon was in his hands. Perhaps a man built for it could. Nearly two and a half feet long, the waraxe which was now in his hands was a thing of beauty. Detailed carvings of what seemed to be Cyphrus Striders were galloping across it, and a mighty looking axehead was attatched at the top. It was in flawless condition. And it was Khasr's and he it's. To Khida, it was a strange sight indeed. One minute there was nothing, and the next moment there was. She felt nothing in the tree as its mysterious powers went to work. No shifting, no rumble, no warmth. But even though the Serenity Tree could make no sounds, it's message was clear, and its gift was given. The tree had nothing further to impart. KhasrPlease add a waraxe to your inventory. Also, as part of this contract with the tree, I need you to alert me whenever you go to use the weapon against someone or something. Enjoy the rest of the thread, you two.

[Colt]

There was no splitting of the heavens, no great visions of great wisdom, no brilliant illumination of what exactly it was that lay beneath his flesh and bones. No trumpets announced its arrival; when it came, it did so silently, without ceremony—there was the damp moss beneath his hands, and then it was there.

Surprising, but not quite startling, the feel of something cool and smooth in his palm seemed to appear from nowhere at all. He blinked and raised his forehead from the tree’s trunk, turning curiously to regard what had inexplicably come to now be in his grip. The subtle glimmer of tempered steel smiled back at him, as a weathered warrior smiles upon a new comrade. It was a fierce, beautiful thing; the shaft was adorned with galloping horses, the head sleek and keen. His hands fit it like a pair of old shoes, and deep in his heart he knew that this weapon belonged to him and that he now belonged to it.

He slowly leaned away from the tree, returning to his seat in the crook of the bough. He turned the axe over, playing his fingers along the handle, the blade’s edge, the vicious counterspike. The weight in his fingers was surreal, tinted by the disbelief of its sudden materialization.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting. He didn’t know what he had been hoping the tree to offer him; answers, wisdom, a magic rock, the color of his soul? He had come upon a half-formed justification of the guttural need of some form of closure, something to prove what he was. To prove that he was, if nothing else, that he was more than just a nameless, clanless man that hid on the outskirts of the tent city, too afraid to venture closer and too afraid to venture farther.

The war axe in his hands gave him no guidance, but it did not need to; it was its own end. He had posed his question of the Serenity Tree, and this was what it had bestowed upon him.

Who was he?

He was himself. And perhaps that was what he had been searching for all along.

But what was his name? A secondary issue, one he had come to the tree hoping to have answered. But he had received no divine words to tell him who he was; the tree had given him its response, and that now lay in his lap for him to interpret it as he would. It hadn’t told him who he was, but it had shown him who he was—and those were two entirely different things. And the question remained.

Very well. He would forge his own name, then.

Shafts of gold pierced the canopy as dawn broke, bringing with them the susurrus of the wind through the leaves. Behind it, the familiar rattle of grass against grass stirred, quickly becoming louder as the crickets and cicadas fell to silence. Somewhere high above, a bird burst into song, only to notice the falcon below and then quickly go quiet. Elsewhere, other birds began to chatter at each other over the first morsels of the day, rising once again into the ancient symphony of sunrise.

He closed his eyes.

Here was where he had been born. These sounds, the sounds of grass and birds and leaves and maybe the faintest chuckle of an unseen stream had seen him emerge from the darkness of Semele’s womb, sheltering and nurturing him. It was the first lullaby he had ever heard, and was these sounds that he would turn to for his name.

The warbling of the birds faded from his awareness, while the grass and the leaves faded into one another, crafting the gently rocking song so similar to rain that had lulled him to sleep since the day he had first seen the sun.

sssshhhhhhhhhhh sssshhhhhhhhhhh sssshhhhhhhhhhh sssshhhhhhhhhhh

He stood, taking the axe in one hand so he could balance with the other. As he surveyed the bough once more, it didn’t seem nearly as intimidating; going down looked like it would be much easier than it had been coming up. Even if he were to simply drop from the cranny, he probably wouldn’t suffer serious harm, and the last foothold he could see was only five feet from the leaf-padded earth. He stepped onto the limb once more, and as he did, his lips moved to mimic the sounds around him.

“Sssshhhhhhhhhhh sssshhhhhhhhhhh sssshhhhhhhhhhh.” No, that would make a terrible name. He shortened the sound a bit, connecting one to another until there was a much more tangible cadence. “Ssshhhhh-ssshhhhh, ssshhhh-ssshhhh, ssshhhh-ssshhhh.” A bit better. Two syllables felt better upon his tongue than three, and would probably sound nicer than one.

He slowed as he approached her perch, signing calm and doing his best to let his hand trail behind. He searched for another handhold, but there wasn’t one within reach, and so he took care when he lowered himself to sit upon the wood. He winced when the release of her branch caused it to bob. Apology. The stub he had used in his climb was within easy reach of his foot, and though it took a bit of adjusting to accommodate the war axe, he managed to begin his descent.

Still, ‘Shh-shh’ was hardly a proper thing to call himself. He liked the beginning, but perhaps an alteration to the second syllable? “Sshhh-sssss.” No. “Sshhh-hhhhh?” Perhaps. But it still needed more.

The angle of the limb sharpened, and he had to lean against the tree to avoid sliding ungracefully downwards. With his free hand he managed to find one of the flaws in the bark that had drawn him up, and he was able to carefully move another few feet.

An R would make a nice ending. He liked Rs; they sounded like so many things on the grasslands; growls, barks, purrs, even Akaidras’ neighs. “Sshhh-hhhhhr.” But it was still not enough.

He leaped the last few feet, landing with an ungainly thud upon the ground and nearly falling over. In a few moments, however, he was once again stable on his feet, and he let his arm drop from where it had clutched the war axe to his side. The weapon’s pull was comfortable, and he swished it around experimentally as he tested different vowels.

U was not right. O just sounded ugly. I was alright, and so was E, but it was A that he thought felt the best.

“Sshhha-hhhhhar.” He rolled between his teeth and tongue, molding it, smoothing it, taking off what was not needed and weaving together the rest until he knew that it was correct.

“Shahar.” Shahar. He turned towards the nearest break in the tree’s leafy shroud; he wanted to see the dawn. “Shahar.” Again he said the name, allowing it to settle over him like a cloak. “Shahar.” Shahar.

The eastern sky was ablaze with the fire of morning. Reds and golds and pinks and purples were splattered vibrantly above the horizon, almost vibrating with the violent light of the waking sun. The plains were coming alive as the day-walkers rose from their slumber, shook their shoulders and began life anew.

And his surname? That was a different matter. He had no family, no pavilion to call his own, so he was left to his own devices with this name, as well. He scanned the area for inspiration, pulling up words that he could associate with himself.

Dawn. Birds. Grass. Whispering. Axe. Blade. Hunt. Javelin. Quiet. Listen. Day. Throw. Stalk. Sway.

He examined the words, picking out his favorites and combining them. Some were thick to say, others lilting, some just silly and others that sounded far too self-important for their own good.

Dawngrass. Bladewhisper. Daystalker. Quiethunter. Dawnhunter. Dayblade. Birdlisten. Grasswhisper.

He huffed and traced the engraved horses of the axe’s shaft as more combinations danced through his head. Some were pleasant, others weren’t, but he couldn’t help but feel cautious to choose one; his family name was the name of his legacy, the name that survived after he was dust beneath a cairn. Every one of the names sounded both good and bad in their own ways, but he knew that lingering too long on any decision was never helpful.

He frowned as he drew a thumb across the gentle curve of the weapon’s counterspike.

Dawnwhisper, then.

He strung the two together and tried them. Yes, that would do nicely.

The chorus of birdsong reached a crescendo as brilliant red and gold began to submit to more muted pink and purple. Soon enough these, too, would submit, and the sky would settle into blue. The grass continued to murmur before him and the Serenity tree continued to murmur behind him, just as they always had.

He chuckled suddenly, something that he did not do often, at all, and turned to face the tree. How small he must seem to this guardian of history, who he knew had been standing for centuries, at the very least, while his two days at its base amounted to nothing in comparison. He could stay here his whole life and make no addition to its appearance of eternity, and yet it had still decided to impart a gift upon him. Him, one man with no past in search of a future, and that was a miracle in itself. There was little he could give in return, and even less he could say, but silent words had carried him this far already.

With the same reverence of his climb and the new gratitude of his gift, Shahar Dawnwhisper raised his hands to the Serenity Tree, though he knew it would not be moved by his sentiment.

Thank you.