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krwordgazer wrote: A healing Breaking some kind of rule Something to eat Invention Falling A secret place The dance of the dual moons slowly crept across the night skies; like a pair of unblinking eyes, watching the events to come, slowly unfold beneath them. Shadow felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder. “You know I’d follow you anywhere, Shadow,” it had Vineweaver, whose mate Stillbreeze had just given birth to their son, Sunsword. “But I do have to question … bringing a human here. It’s against every rule that we have ever had.” Shadow answered without turning, “Those were the rules of the chiefs before me. Their shortsightedness has kept us at war with the humans.” Now he turned to face Vineweaver. “I am going to change that. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of the hate. How long has it been since we have warred against the humans? Can you count? Do you know?” Shadow turned back and faced towards the fires in the distance. “The reasons for our hate have been bled from our bodies for so long, that we do it because we know nothing else.” He jumped down from the rock perch he had been standing on then looked at Vineweaver. “That is going to change.” Stillbreeze approached Vineweaver from behind, holding their newly born cub. “He’s different, isn’t he?” Vineweaver stared after where Shadow had walked off. “He’s like no other chief.” “Do you believe him? Do you believe that he will lead us to finally be at peace with the humans?” Stillbreeze inquired. “I believe him,” Vineweaver nodded. “High Ones help me, but I believe him.” “Good,” a peaceful smile came across Stillbreeze’s face; her soft brown eyes lighting up. “Now if you could go get our cub something to eat, I believe he’s done feeding off his mother’s milk.” Vineweaver turned, ran his hand through his cub’s thin, wispy waves of hair. “Of course. I will return in but a moment.” “So your mighty chief leads you to war?” came an all too familiar voice; though not heard for a long time. Foxhair turned to see a large, bulky figure step out of the shadows. “Trollforge!” She exclaimed. “We haven’t seen you since…” She didn’t need to say the words. Trollforge had not surfaced from the caverns below Stone Howl Holt since the death of Purespring. “Yes,” Trollforge said with a nod of his head; his black mane of hair falling past his shoulders; his black beard streaked with grey, as if paint had dribbled down his glorious beard. “What brings you out of your hole, troll?” Foxhair asked, approaching the old troll to hug him. Unlike most of the other trolls down below; Trollforge had always been kind and respectable; different than the rest; with an interest in Purespring that was never truly explained. “I know what it’s like to lose someone,” Trollforge said. “Someone close. And I know that chief of yours is something to you – more than just a friend. More than his sister’s best friend. So I made something for him. For all of you.” He tossed a large, round steel object at Foxhair. She dodged it and let it fall to the ground. She looked at it quizzically. She had never seen anything like it. “What is it?” She asked as others were approaching. “Pick it up,” he said. “Slide that strap through your arms. Yes, just like that.” “It’s heavy,” she shrugged. “But what does it do?” With incredible speed, Trollforge took Treerunner’s axe from his hands and brought it down on Foxhair. Foxhair instinctively raised the shield and blocked the blow. The axe made a loud clang, but was otherwise ineffective. She slowly lowered her shield. “What do you call this round thing?” “A shield,” Trollforge said. “Small invention of mine, if you will. Learn to use them. They will save your skins against the humans – whether they use sword, axe, spear, or even arrows. Now,” he turned around and tossed Treerunner’s axe towards him, “don’t get yourselves killed. I’m just getting used to having you around.” With that he slipped down into the shadow, and into the holes that led into the secret, troll caverns below. “Did you see how quick he disarmed you?” Stream asked, looking over Treerunner. Treerunner was fuming and said nothing. Stream placed her hands on Treerunner and began trying to heal, before opening her eyes and shaking her. “Nothing I can do for that wound.” “What wound?” Treerunner muttered. “The one on your ego,” Stream muttered, before picking up one of the shields that Trollforge had left on the ground. “Now are you going to help me learn how to use this thing or am I just going to chase you all through the battle field all night healing the lot of you?” She raised her weapon and prepared to train. “Who wants the bruised ego next?”