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"A sound deception, true intent." Agn dips his head apologetically at Eirthgim. "And then, the pack." Agn bounds through the freezing water, throwing up liquid crystals that shine in the boreal sun, and leaps atop the log. Eirthgim extends a slender hand to Call the Solstice Sun, and the crystals' fire dulls. In sync, Agn's fangs flicker red-gold as they drive toward the meddlesome fey.
Eirthgim gifts Iskra a small nod, dampened slightly by their dour expression. They look down at Agn. The hearth-spirit snorts and rolls his eyes. "Come now, stoneface. You've seasons of wisdom in there. More magic with words. And you know that spirits often make poor hunting partners for one-another." It's Eirthgim's turn to snort. "Hrmph. Fair enough." The hearth-tender steps forward and raises a hand. "Spirit of water, life-giver, soul-cleanser. Thanks and respect from myself and my following," they say, bowing their head. "It brings me great sorrow to learn of your plight, and I wish that we could offer you more aid. But we are weighed down with sacred water of our own and would make poor green-gatherers today." "However!" A wide smile splits Eirthgim's face, like an earthquaking mountain or a bolt from a blue sky.
"Another water-gathering party is close by, and they come to gather from this part of the river. There," they point off to the horizon, where the wind has blown a bit of glittering snow and dust into the air, "you can see them coming. We will speak to them as we cross paths and direct them to you with all haste." They bow deeply. "Our apologies, thanks, and respect, life-giver. I hope that deferred aid will see you well. We would not want to crush this sacred flower, slow and clumsy as we are, unable to bear water as gracefully as yourself."
Eirthgim strokes their chin. "Burning Mammoths?" They look down to exchange glances with Agn; the cat twitches an ear as if in apology. "Mm. Not seen them at Hillcross, not heard of them in the stories. It is unusual for an entire following to be unheard of; steps in the Realms tend to ripple."
Slowing their pace a bit, Eirthgim kneels to make a pretense of pulling a rock from Agn's foot pads. "I am old, Agn. Older than my predecessor was when you shepherded her beyond." They flick a nonexistent stone out into the heather. "I am not looking forward to another season's worth of waterbaskets." The hearth-spirit chuckles, tracking the false projectile until it "lands" in the undergrowth. "Begrudge you a respite? You have helped most of these people dispose of their spoor, pressed wet cloth to their buttocks, and you think they would not carry water for you?" The ancient cat gently swats the geriatric hearth-tender. "Prideful. Prickly. What am I to do with you, child of my spirit and sibling of my flame?" — Iskra's quiet hiss ripples back through the scouting party. Eithgrim stands stock still, while Agn crouches down, ready to advance should the need arise.
Agn quickly climbs the tree trunk and uses it as a launch pad to vault over the same branch, landing on the wet ground and bounding after the young man.
He deftly makes his way back down to the trail. ”Or perhaps you do not know for true. Hearts are full of secrets, and yours is wind to carry them.” If he gets the sense Pakano doesn’t wish to continue the conversation, he travels alongside Pakano a few moments more before returning to Eirthgim. If the youth is uncharacteristic introspective, however, he gives him as much time as he needs; after all, is it not the hearth’s duty to be present? Constant? A thing that is there when needed.
Agn lopes alongside Pakano for a time.
Eirthgim smiles at Shemven's—they have their own connection to animals, after all—and Iskra's enthusiasm both. "I think you've earned some manner of celebration," they say, face uncharacteristically cheerful. Not that it lasts. "Just drink water," they chide, furrowing their brow, "because we work together, but there is only so much slack we can take up." They reach up to give Tomi a little scratch where beak meets feather. "Sacred vessels, I think. The Green Moon approaches, and the spiritual health of the following is most important." They go off to tend the hearth. Agn lingers a bit, tail swishing lazily, observing the chatter of the young ones. He looks over his shoulder, just catching Eirthgim's eye and the return of that little smile, and winks at his partner. Eirthgim harumphs and picks up their pace, their muttering accompanied by the schick-crunch of their staff breaking through the thin crust of snow. The ember cat turns to his companions. "You know how they are. A grand sign, a gentle rain in the dry season, that they had anything encouraging to say." He closes his eyes and rubs his flank against Impulse's axe, nearly knocking the storm-spirited young person over in his quest for a satisfying scratch. "Perhaps look for me tonight. I have not tasted maple-mead in..." His white eyes seem to flicker. "Mm. I do not believe any remain from that time. So, a taste for me this evening. Yes."
At some point during a quiet hour, Eirthgim softly steps up next to Impulse. "That was an impressive thing. Repairing the stone."
Agn splays a meaty paw on Kala Dja's forehead, part reproach and part affectionate pat. "Child, no one sees the full picture. I doubt the gods do. Our eyes are all clouded with personality and desire." He jumps off the rock, landing gingerly despite his size, then plops down next to the girl. "An example—me. I am not a cat. I am more than even Eirthgim can see, bound though we are. I am a spark that burns fiercely at the heart of the Broken Tusk. A flame built from spirit and fire, yes, and from people. Or their ideas." His tail curls around to twitch under Kala Dja's nose. The heatless tail flame casts warring shadows as it waves back and forth. "But this shape is something like a cat, and as I am part idea, I find that for all my age and inhuman experience..." he pauses a bit as the princess's fingers find another scratchable spot behind a horn, "...there, you see? I am something like a cat. I cannot see the full picture, shaped as I am in this way, by these people." "And if a spirit with roots beyond mortal memory is not all-wise, I would not expect an emberhaired girl of not even twenty winters to be all-wise, either. And as for use, well," he purrs, ancient eyes twinkling. "Little summer fox, peak beyond this rock. Do you see your family, your following? They all have doubts. They all seek their place, now and then. That is why we are a following. No one can be all things to another—and they need not be." He rolls over and to his feet, then circles around to sit on his haunches in front of Kala Dja. White eyes bore into hers. "We all feel lacking at times. This is natural and healthy. But do not forget how you lead a fresh pack of scouts to the hunt and brought back many meals' worth of flesh. Do not forget what Asha has said to you—that Asha has said something to you, for they are silent for most." A spring of powerful legs and Agn disappears above the boulder again. As he prowls away, his rumbling voice drips off the edge and into Kala Dja's ears. "Do not forget the spark at the heart of you. After all, a princess is a rare thing among the followings."
Agn climbs quietly up the boulder, dangling his paws over its edge and looking down at Kala Dja. He doesn’t say anything. Just a little snuff at the air, a little yawn. Small sounds to make his presence known. She’ll speak when she feels the need. Always so, even as a tiny crawling climber with barely any hair.
Eirthgim's steps into the clearing are slow and soft. Agn hangs back a bit, just in case the Shemven's wary of flaming cats. "No, we never feel alone - the tusk that's broken is our home." The hearth keeper's face clouds with sadness. "Or not alone as Shemven's heart, which follows ravens like pole stars." "With raven's fair we cannot help, but Shemven's hair, plucked out? His yelps? That's a deed we rectify by returning the stone—all them and I. The ravens hereabouts, you know, are linked to spirits, sky, and snow. That stone you've got, to woo your star? Ravens anger when it's far. If it's returned, I'm resolute," Eirthgim nods solemnly, "you can continue love's pursuit."
Agn spits out a mouthful of smoldering feathers. Eirthgim mutters and ceases making the Beckoning Sign, letting the earth's power sink back into the land. The elder pulls some bundled herbs and calfhide out of their satchel to begin tending to their companions' wounds. The hearth-spirit prowls over to Pakano. "Child of Eiwa's child, not all words serve at all times. The hunt was a hunt. The successful pack works together, plans, acts when the moment is right." The cat points his curled horns toward Eirthgim's medicinal efforts and the scattered raven corpses. "There are times when quick action is best." Flaming shoulders rise in a feline shrug. "Then there are times when a packmate acts rashly; the pack still comes to their aid, for not doing so would weaken all."
"There you are, Pakano—the hardest task when we've the most strength. Smarter than marmots, and I ev—erk!"
"Well then?" Eirthgim bends over and rubs at the top of their foot. "You're at least acquainted with these spirits, what do you recall of their temperaments in recent seasons?"
After the impressive displays of Iskra, Tomi, Impulse, and Kala Dja, there's little for the moose to do but bugle its last breath and collapse to the snow-kissed ground. "Wolf-mind," Agn intones, a hint of pride in the ancient spirit's voice, "you have done an impressive thing. A credit to the following." He then turns whiteflame eyes on Eirthgim. "But why did you not join the pack, hearthread? You are not so old or infirm to miss a hunt." Agn's flaming tail mischievously swishing tail left glistening meltwater in its path. The elder huffed and rolled their eyes. "Not every packmate must clench their fangs for the kill. Flames to drive the bravery from the prey are easily as valuable."
Eirthgim leaned on the forked staff they used to move pots, poke coals and, it seemed, pursue prey. They'd rarely been involved in hunts, but the dour elder was always preaching about the following banding together to fill the community's needs.
They craned over the Oski's drawings, then lifted their chin twoard Impulse's knotwork. "A sound plan, and sound craftwork. Lead it into the trap, tire it out, then we can further entangle it."
Agn padded up behind them and, without looking, Eirthgim leaned back against an ashen flank just as the little god settled onto his haunches.
Eirthgim stands facing the horizon, their sharp, dark eyes tracking the play of wind over snow and sky over earth. They tuck a few errant strands of black hair behind a tapered ear, then mutter in frustration when the ever-present wind immediately teases them back out. The same breeze tickles the many fox furs, summer and winter both, that crowd the collar and shoulders of Eirthgim's heavy robes. At well over 20 hands tall, they'd entertained more than their fair share of jokes about how cold it must be up among the peaks. Really, it was just that everywhere was cold compared to their usual spot by the hearth. Unless, of course... Eirthgim turned back to where hearthsmoke curled up from Musk Ox tents. "Not long now before the Green Moon, friend, and I know how you love the standing stones. Will you walk with me, before the field overcrowds?" By way of response, a familiar sigil flickers to life on Eirthgim's forehead. It had felt blazing unbearable at first, those many years ago, but now they appreciated it. Hot as hearth and holding and sacred duty, all the things that sustain and drive us. It should burn. A few firelights twisted out of the chill air at Eirthgim's side to assemble into an identical sigil. There was a rush of hot air, smoke, and steam, like seeing a star fall into a frozen lake, and then the next moment the great cat was beside them. His back, tail, and curved ram's horns were all alight. They smiled down at their friend and mentor. "It's a cold and lonely world without you, Agn. I don't know how the others manage it." The cat's laugh emerged in a puff of warm, steaming breath. "Not everyone shares your commitment to curmudgeonliness." |
