Yemana
07-19-2007, 03:07 PM
The Longest Day had passed, but the power of Earthmother's golden child only seemed to grow stronger as the hot summer months progressed. An'she's brilliant, unblinking eye glared down upon the dark figure that knelt beneath His fiery gaze. Yemana crouched over the thick hide that was speared to the Earth beneath her, leaning with all her weight upon the stone that she ground and rubbed into the leather, over and over again. She was grateful for the cloudless sky - it meant that there was nothing between An'she's intense heat and the hide she was working as it dried. Unfortunately, she thought ruefully, it also means that there is nothing between His scorching eye and me. The Shu'halo was stripped to the waist, but it did little to cool her - her thick, black fur was soaked with sweat and her muscles burned as she rocked back and forth, but she could not stop. At this stage of the curing process, the hide had to be worked constantly to keep it supple and soft. Yemana had been grinding the worn stone over the leather for most of the morning; she would continue to work the hide through the hot midday hours until it was completely dry.
Nearby, strips of meat from the butchered kodo hung from racks over small fires. The heat would dry the meat; later, it could be added to stews or pulverized with water into gruel for the very young or the very old. The odor was disturbing Gray Cloud Hide as she grazed near the druid; with a disgruntled mrawwwwr, the she-kodo began to move away from Yemana to a grassy hillock upwind of the drying fires. It would be most of the day before Yemana was ready to go back to the village, but she knew that the kodo would not stray too far.
The druid had been putting off her training for weeks as she spent more and more time in Bloodhoof Village with her mother. There was plenty to do to prepare for the coming winter - the kodo had to be hunted, their meat preserved and cached, their hides cured and made into heavy coverings and clothes to warm the Shu'halo through the Long Nights. Yemana kept herself busy during the days and went alone to her bed at night, filling her mind with the tasks to be undertaken the following day, with grain and meat, with hides and tents and drying racks, with anything in order to keep from remembering the path she knew in her heart she should be walking.
Try as she might, though, the druid could not escape her dreams.
Every night, her spirit walked free from her body and became trapped in a rotting wood - the brittle, hollow trees dripped with thick, ichor-like sap everywhere Yemana looked. Her lungs were choked with the heavy stench of corruption; the Shu'halo was constantly suffocating to a death that never came. She would bend to a stream to rinse the taste from her mouth only to discover that it was clogged with slime that seemed to eat away at the banks that contained it.
Yemana would awake every morning with a whimper, a sleeper's scream, her fur damp with sweat and the knowledge heavy on her heart that the Felwood that Yichimet had told her about was as real as the beloved plains outside her tent. What would happen when she went to war against those responsible? Without the Earthmother, there would be no life - surely bringing Her justice down upon the transgressors was her responsibility, but how could the druid be a Guardian of Sanctuary and the terrible hand of the Mother at the same time?
And so, Yemana remained in Bloodhoof Village as neither Guardian nor druid, but as Shu'halo, her armor stacked against the wall of her tent with her purple and gold tabard folded neatly underneath and her day-to-day tasks leaving little room for anything else. Her time spent with Sanctuary had forced her to close off her heart against the hatred that hammered louder and louder every time she fell to the magic of the pink-skins or the blades of the long-ears; over time, it had become easier to ignore everything else as well.
Yemana was lulled by the rocking motion of her body as she leaned on the stone over and over again, pressing it firmly across the smooth leather, thinking of nothing beyond the next moment, the next drop of sweat, the next breath, the next stroke of her arms. She was so engrossed in her work that she did not notice the approaching hoofsteps; it was not until a shadow fell across her that she raised her head.
"You are not stone, child. Why would you force your heart to beat as one? A Shu'halo with a stone spirit does not bleed, but neither does it feel, and when the wind stops blowing, it ceases to be. Do not allow yourself to die, my daughter."
Yemana shielded her eyes with a heavy hand as she looked up, startled - then alarmed. A Shu'halo stood over the druid, backlit by An'she's brightness. She was young, of an age as Yemana - the druid suspected her to be in her early fifties. Her fur was a creamy white, spotted with reddish patches here and there, but it was her face that struck Yemana the most. The eyes that had first looked her into existence, the mouth that had sung her to sleep and spilled wisdom and laughter - Yemana's eyes prickled, with sweat or unshed tears, she was not certain. She was suddenly two summers old, only knee high, looking up at the magnificent form of the stooped, gray figure grown impossibly young again, shield slung on her back and weapons at her side.
"Mama?" she breathed, her voice a mere whisper and as tiny as she felt.
The towering figure shifted and An'she's light blinded the druid for a moment, forcing her to turn her head away and squeeze her eyes shut. Yemana felt a hand smooth her sweat-soaked forelock back from her face, but when she looked again, the figure was gone.
The druid's heart hammered within her chest as she scanned the grassy plains that surrounded her. The only sign of life was Gray Cloud Hide as she grazed on the hill - Yemana was alone. She looked back down at the hide and ran her hand over her eyes. She felt exhausted, but would not allow herself to stop her work. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, the Shu'halo picked up the smooth stone.
Only the next drop of sweat...only the next breath...
Nearby, strips of meat from the butchered kodo hung from racks over small fires. The heat would dry the meat; later, it could be added to stews or pulverized with water into gruel for the very young or the very old. The odor was disturbing Gray Cloud Hide as she grazed near the druid; with a disgruntled mrawwwwr, the she-kodo began to move away from Yemana to a grassy hillock upwind of the drying fires. It would be most of the day before Yemana was ready to go back to the village, but she knew that the kodo would not stray too far.
The druid had been putting off her training for weeks as she spent more and more time in Bloodhoof Village with her mother. There was plenty to do to prepare for the coming winter - the kodo had to be hunted, their meat preserved and cached, their hides cured and made into heavy coverings and clothes to warm the Shu'halo through the Long Nights. Yemana kept herself busy during the days and went alone to her bed at night, filling her mind with the tasks to be undertaken the following day, with grain and meat, with hides and tents and drying racks, with anything in order to keep from remembering the path she knew in her heart she should be walking.
Try as she might, though, the druid could not escape her dreams.
Every night, her spirit walked free from her body and became trapped in a rotting wood - the brittle, hollow trees dripped with thick, ichor-like sap everywhere Yemana looked. Her lungs were choked with the heavy stench of corruption; the Shu'halo was constantly suffocating to a death that never came. She would bend to a stream to rinse the taste from her mouth only to discover that it was clogged with slime that seemed to eat away at the banks that contained it.
Yemana would awake every morning with a whimper, a sleeper's scream, her fur damp with sweat and the knowledge heavy on her heart that the Felwood that Yichimet had told her about was as real as the beloved plains outside her tent. What would happen when she went to war against those responsible? Without the Earthmother, there would be no life - surely bringing Her justice down upon the transgressors was her responsibility, but how could the druid be a Guardian of Sanctuary and the terrible hand of the Mother at the same time?
And so, Yemana remained in Bloodhoof Village as neither Guardian nor druid, but as Shu'halo, her armor stacked against the wall of her tent with her purple and gold tabard folded neatly underneath and her day-to-day tasks leaving little room for anything else. Her time spent with Sanctuary had forced her to close off her heart against the hatred that hammered louder and louder every time she fell to the magic of the pink-skins or the blades of the long-ears; over time, it had become easier to ignore everything else as well.
Yemana was lulled by the rocking motion of her body as she leaned on the stone over and over again, pressing it firmly across the smooth leather, thinking of nothing beyond the next moment, the next drop of sweat, the next breath, the next stroke of her arms. She was so engrossed in her work that she did not notice the approaching hoofsteps; it was not until a shadow fell across her that she raised her head.
"You are not stone, child. Why would you force your heart to beat as one? A Shu'halo with a stone spirit does not bleed, but neither does it feel, and when the wind stops blowing, it ceases to be. Do not allow yourself to die, my daughter."
Yemana shielded her eyes with a heavy hand as she looked up, startled - then alarmed. A Shu'halo stood over the druid, backlit by An'she's brightness. She was young, of an age as Yemana - the druid suspected her to be in her early fifties. Her fur was a creamy white, spotted with reddish patches here and there, but it was her face that struck Yemana the most. The eyes that had first looked her into existence, the mouth that had sung her to sleep and spilled wisdom and laughter - Yemana's eyes prickled, with sweat or unshed tears, she was not certain. She was suddenly two summers old, only knee high, looking up at the magnificent form of the stooped, gray figure grown impossibly young again, shield slung on her back and weapons at her side.
"Mama?" she breathed, her voice a mere whisper and as tiny as she felt.
The towering figure shifted and An'she's light blinded the druid for a moment, forcing her to turn her head away and squeeze her eyes shut. Yemana felt a hand smooth her sweat-soaked forelock back from her face, but when she looked again, the figure was gone.
The druid's heart hammered within her chest as she scanned the grassy plains that surrounded her. The only sign of life was Gray Cloud Hide as she grazed on the hill - Yemana was alone. She looked back down at the hide and ran her hand over her eyes. She felt exhausted, but would not allow herself to stop her work. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, the Shu'halo picked up the smooth stone.
Only the next drop of sweat...only the next breath...