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The elements are.... New Beginnings Metamorphosis Blooming A storm Rain The skies were dark, and the once biting rain, had now turned to harsh snow. His black hair was like a crown of midnight, contrasting against the snow, as he lay face down, his face turned sideways, his green eyes struggling to see – but his vision blurred, and blackness came over him. The wound in his side, a cut from a troll’s sword, was deep. His blood oozed into the snow, slowly spreading and painting the once white snow, a soft, gentle pink, as his life ebbed away. Shadow opened his eyes. His body was transparent, floating. Had his body undergone some strange metamorphosis? “High Ones, where am I?” he asked, his voice echoing in the sheer darkness that surrounded him. “Your soul is near the palace,” a familiar voice answered. Shadow spun and turned. “Wildthorn… but you’re … “ “Dead,” Wildthorn smiled faintly. (1) “Does that mean…” Shadow began. “Not yet,” Wildthorn answered. Purespring came to stand next to Wildthorn and waved silently to her brother. She had been killed by the very same human Wildthorn had killed, but not before being mortally wounded himself. “You must wake up now. Your tribe – our tribe – needs you.” Shadow’s eyes suddenly opened. He screamed in agony as a bolt of pain coursed through his body. He took a succession of rapid breaths, his eyes darting all around. Everything began to become clear. His memory was returning to him. But he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to be alive. He heard his lovemate, Foxhair call out his name and come running up to him, carelessly colliding into him, wrapping her arms around him. “High Ones, it’s… so bad…” she wept, “So very bad.” Against the wall, Shadow could see the bodies of the twin brothers – Wardance and Warsong. Neither of them was alive; each with mortal wounds in their abdomen. Next to them, their cubs, brother and sister, Dusk and Dawn, were also no longer among the living. Skyshade, their mother, was lying at their feet. Though Shadow could see no wounds, he knew that she was no longer alive. Fear gripped Shadow’s heart as he turned to Foxhair. “Our cub?” She pulled back, her eyes brimming with tears. She did not need to say the words. Shadow could feel it, Snowspring, only five seasons young, was among the dead. He looked around the rest of the cave and saw the Pridewalker, Spearclaw, clutching his abdomen, though he had major cuts to both arms and his left leg. Stillbreeze, Vineweaver’s soulmate, was tending to his wounds, while Vineweaver himself was trying to console his cubs, Echo and Windfetcher about the loss of their youngest, Sunsword. Stream, the tribe’s healer was being held up by the Pridewalker, Snowcloud. That was all that remained of the tribe. Shadow had long strived to find and make peace with the humans and trolls in the world. Tonight, something dark bloomed inside his soul. A new beginning was being born. He hungered for vengeance as he’d never had before. The wind whipped his blood stained hair around, as his eyes stared out into the blood stained snow. His green eyes, which resembled blooming grass, now brimmed with frozen tears, as the chilling wind relentlessly beat against him. He stood, as if frozen, but he breathed in the chilling air, slowly, exhaling so that a he could see the clouds of breath each time. In the snow, he could see where members of his tribe had fallen. There in the snow, he could also see the bodies of the Frost Men, as he had called them. Men who came aboard long, wooden ships, having sailed down from Muchcold Water, and down through the river. The humans spoke a different tongue than the humans Shadow had dealt with before. He had tried to speak with them, when they first brought their boats to the shore while he and his tribe were out hunting. Their initial reaction had to been to attack. Shadow felt as if he had stepped out of his body as he recalled the moment he saw his tribe fall. Wardance had taken a spear to the leg in the attack; but Shadow had immediately called for everyone to flee. The other Frost Men had unleashed a wave of arrows during the attack. Shadow and the Priderwalker, Spearclaw, had spent many nights keeping an eye on the Frost Men. The Frost Men seemed interested in ravishing the land, taking, killing and hunting everything that was in their way. Shadow had a deep, disturbing feeling that this was going to change things. These Frost Men cared nothing for peace. Shadow had watched from a distance as they had made camp, pitching tents made of leathers from animals they had hunted. They were not leaving anytime soon, Shadow knew. By the looks of their clothing, it appeared they had left a colder region behind; perhaps their food supplies had run dry. Now they were here – in a forest full of game and food, where even during the cold season, things continued to bloom. It looked to be settling for the cold season. Shadow had told his tribe to stay clear of the Frost Men at all costs. He had hoped when the Frost Men had gathered enough supplies, they would either return back to the ColdWater or continue further down the river and no longer be a problem. “Shadow,” her voice was gentle and soft. Shadow turned to see his love mate, Foxhair, her auburn hair soaked by the rain and snow, blending and washing away her tears she strived so hard to hide. “They will be back,” she said. “There’s too few of us to defend ourselves against their numbers.” Shadow looked beyond Foxhair, and standing there were his dearest friends – Vineweaver and Stillbreeze, their arms around their two eldest cubs, Echo and Windfetcher. Beside, Stillbreeze, Spearclaw stood, despite the gushing wound in his abdomen. Stream was trying to tend to his wounds, but she was exhausted, pushed far beyond her limits. Snowcloud was next to Stream, trying to tell her that she would take care of Spearclaw, and that she had bandages, but Stream was sobbing too much, crying how she had failed everyone already. This was all that remained of them now. Warsong, Wardance, Dust, Dawn, Skyshade, and even his own cub, Snowspring were among those killed in the Frost Men’s attack. It had only been the wolves who had helped drive the Frost Men back. But Foxhair was right. The Frost Men would be back. They perceived Shadow and his tribe as a threat to be conquered and wiped out. Shadow thought about just a few hours ago. There had been a strange sound, a horn. Then Warsong fell first. An arrow through his chest felled him quickly. Wardance warned the others of the attack, but he had been playing with his cubs. That’s when the Frost Men appeared, charging forward, having used the snow to camouflage themselves until they could get close enough. The Frost Men knew about the wolves, and attacked downwind from them, so that their scents would not be picked up. They charged forward, from the snow, and without thought or remorse cut down Wardance, and his two cubs. Skyfire screamed and charged the Frost Men, and found an arrow piercing her already broken heart, before she slumped to the ground. Shadow and the others had charged the Frost Men, but then they drew their shields and slammed them into the ground, forming a shield wall. From beyond the wall, they lunged forward spears and arrows, one of those spears striking Spearclaw, one of those arrows, flying so high came down and struck Foxhair, and then the next three arrows from the air struck Snowspring. Foxhair’s hand was on his shoulder. “We need to leave Stonehowl.” Shadow’s gaze became vacant, glazed, staring out into nothing. A new beginning was coming. Change. And they would have to change with it. __________________________ (1) See the August 2007 Grab Bag: http://www.tawmis.com/stonehowl/august2007.html