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krwordgazer wrote: Magic gone afoul A mother keeping vigil Drizzly, dreary rain Severe illness/injury with long recovery A rock Fear Vineweaver’s soft blue eyes slowly opened. His auburn colored hair that looked like the orange of the setting sun was spattered in blood. “{You’re awake!}” The human’s voice jolted Vineweaver into full consciousness. He suddenly became aware that he was tied down. “{I’ve seen your kind speak with the wolves! I have seen you shape stone and tree! Teach me your magic, demon, and you might live!}” “{We can not teach the magic,}” Vineweaver tried to remember, through the haze in his mind, the human language that Shadow had been teaching the tribe. “{We are born with this magic in us.}” “{Lies!}” the Bone Dancer growled, rattling hollow bones around Vineweaver. “{I should have known the demon lies! If you won’t teach me, then I will cut your throat and drink your blood, so that it becomes my blood!”} Back at Stone Howl Holt… Stillbreeze stepped out of the tree her soulmate had shaped. “Where is Vineweaver?” She asked, immediately noticing that he was not with the others. Seeing how beaten up Wildthorn and Shadow were, she suddenly leaped down from the branch. “Where is my soulmate?” Shadow lifted his hand and gave Stillbreeze Vineweaver’s headband that they had found. (Happened in last month’s grab bag). She looked at the headband, her fingers, her arm, her heart going numb. “Where is he, Wildthorn? Where is he my chief?” Wildthorn looked at the ground. “We’re not sure.” “What do you mean ‘you’re not sure’,” Stillbreeze growled, taking a step closer to Wildthorn. Shadow stepped between them, placing his hand on her chest. “Easy, Stillbreeze,” he began. “We’re not through yet. We tried to find him – but whatever took him has hidden their tracks.” Stillbreeze slapped Shadow’s hand away from her. “You’re supposed to be the best hunter, Shadow. If you can’t find him – who can?” “We’ve come back for the wolves,” Shadow said, giving her a stern looking, then using his gaze to look behind her. She turned and saw her cubs, Echo and Windfetcher. Echo, a young male cub, had his mother’s brown hair, but was gifted with green eyes, much like the plants his father could shape. Windfetcher, named after her wild attitude, was born with her father’s hair, of the sunset orange, while her eyes were brown, like the soft soil, from which the plants rose from. “Is father hurt,” Echo asked. Shadow kneeled down, “Don’t worry, cub. We’re going to get your father back.” “Do you think it was the humans?” Windfetcher asked. “Father says that you are trying to learn more about them.” “I am,” Shadow smiled. “It may be the humans. If it is, we will get your father back. Nothing is stopping us from bringing your father back, alive, young one.” Shadow stood and ruffled Windfetcher’s auburn hair. The Bone Dancer’s Sacrifice Altar… Tamier, son of the Bone Dancer, looked at his father, as he strapped Vineweaver to the sacrificial stone. “Father, I thought you said these demons could not speak the tongue of Man?” Bone Dancer stopped, his eyes squinting for a moment, before slowly turning to face his son. “You heard him speak to me?” “I did,” Tamier answered. Bone Dancer cursed beneath his breath. “It was a trick, from the demon! It could not speak to me! It must have spoke to you – directly into your mind! Your mind and soul are weak so it was able to pry itself inside of you! Speak not of it, or else the tribe will cast you out!” Tamier looked around him, and saw that the stone was caked in dry blood. “How many demons have you sacrificed here – in secrecy?” Bone Dancer paused again, looking at his son. He was growing tired of the many questions his son insisted on asking. If he would just do as he said – and follow what he said to do – he would be the next Bone Dancer, when he passed – and would have a position of great power in the tribe. “I’ve killed my share,” Bone Dancer finally answered, proudly displaying the dry, whitened, elf skulls that lined the base of the stone. “I don’t think this is right, father,” Tamier said. “This feels very wrong.” He looked around, “And why do you sacrifice them to Grethen in such secrecy? Does Chief Wurik know that these sacrifices take place?” “Chief Wurik is a short sighted fool,” Bone Dance snapped. “When you wed his daughter, you will be both Chief and Bone Dancer. A combination never seen before!” “Krellin is the one to win her heart,” Tamier answered. “I see it in his eyes, and hers. The way they look at each other. He will pass the Tests for her hand in courtship.” “Krellin is all muscle,” Bone Dancer growled. “He is just as short sighted as Wurik. If this tribe is to survive – it needs someone with a vision of the future – you!” “I do not have what it takes to be a chief,” Tamier said honestly. “You will!” Bone Dancer snapped back, agitated. “This is why I sacrifice these demons! Either they confess their magic to me – so that I might pass it on to you! And if that fails, Grethen will reward me for all these demons I have killed!” Tamier shook his head as his father began to dance around the bound Vineweaver. This was all wrong. He felt it in his heart. In response, seemingly, to his father’s dancing – or perhaps his own emotions – the skies grew dark, and a cold, dreary rain fell from the skies. Stone Howl Holt… Stillbreeze watched as the rain came down. Normally she enjoyed the rain. It washed the dirt away. And as her mate always told her, brought life to the very plants that he shaped and loved. But now she was concerned this would complicate any chance there was of Wildthorn and the others tracking down her mate – especially since whoever took him had already done a fine job of hiding the tracks even from Shadow, who was renowned for his hunting and tracking abilities. {Reyk,} she sent out Vineweaver’s soul name. {Please, if you are alive, come back to me… I need you… the cubs need you… The tribe needs you… } Stillbreeze stood outside the opening of her holt in the tree, her tears mixing with the rain. “Don’t worry mother,” she felt the tug on her shirt. She looked down to see Echo. “Father will come home. You wait and see.” “And if the humans hurt him,” Windfetcher added, “Me and Shadow will go hurt’em back!” A small smile escaped her thin lips, as she rubbed her hands through the manes of her cubs. “Go back inside, where it’s dry.” She watched them go back – Echo was passive, and undoubtedly would be a plant-shaper himself. Windfetcher was wild, like the wind, always changing her direction and obsessed with hunting with Shadow, to become the best hunter that she could, despite her young age. After a moment, she went inside the hole within the tree that her soulmate had shaped, but her eyes never truly left the hole that served as the doorway – waiting – wanting – for her mate to suddenly appear there, fine and alive. The Hunting Party… “The rain is an ill omen,” Treerunner said, riding on his wolf. “The tracks will be harder to find.” “It means we look harder,” Shadow snapped back. “I promised that we would bring Vineweaver home. We’re going to bring him home. There is no other choice.” The Sacrificial Stone of the Bone Dancer… “And by Grethen – do I cut out the heart of this demon, and stop its vile magics from tainting these great lands!” The Bone Dancer looked down at Vineweaver and whispered, “I give you one more chance to tell me your secret to magic – and I make this a quick ending! Deny me, like the others who have denied me, and this will be a slow and painful death!” Vineweaver could barely open his eyes, from the severe beating he had taken at the Bone Dancer’s hands. “Choke on dung,” was all he had managed to mutter. Bone Dancer placed his dagger on Vineweaver’s chest and slowly began to cut into his flesh. The blade – it was tainted with poison from a fergadun leaf. Vineweaver let out a howl that came from the depth of his soul. Pain, like he has never known before – attacked his body. His soul seemed to scream out of his body. His vision blurred. And then it happened. The vines around the sacrificial stone moved. The Bone Dancer looked down, and watched in horror as the vines rapidly moved around his legs – acting like strangelevine. Like slithering snakes, they wrapped around his body – he struggled and cut at the vines, but they kept coming. Soon enough the vines had wrapped all of his body, save for his face. They began tugging at his limbs, threatening to rend him from limb to limb. Slowly, Vineweaver raised his head. “Your hatred has killed many of our kind,” Vineweaver growled. “The blood of my brothers, sisters, and ancestors, have bled on this stone – because of your hatred. Because of your fear of us.” Vineweaver made no effort to speak the tongue of man – his tone spoke the message clearly. “I should kill you. I should let these vines rend your arms from your body. I should. But all that would happen is that your other humans would blame us – fear us further. It would fuel the hate. Fuel the fear. High Ones, you deserve a painful death. Something … slower. More cruel. But I can’t. I won’t be like you. I could have it choke you. I could have it rip your head from your neck. But I would be no better than you.” Suddenly the vines released him. “{Go,}” Vineweaver growled in the tongue of man. “Before I change my mind,” he said, forgetting to speak the man-tongue. The Bone Dancer didn’t need to know what he said. He saw a chance to escape and rapidly fled through the brush. Vineweaver tilted his head back and howled. He waited a moment, then heard a howl. It was Shadow. There was another. Wildthorn. Then another. They were out there – looking for him, just as he thought they would be. Shadow was the first to arrive. “What happened? The humans?” Shadow asked, leaping off the wolf and cutting Vineweaver free. “Yes,” Vineweaver replied, collapsing into Shadow’s arms. “We will strike back,” Shadow began. “No,” Vineweaver said. “No. You have been right. We need to understand them. Learn their tongue. So we can speak with them. And remove this fear they have of us. Or else this will never end – and next time, seasons from now, it might be one of my cubs on this stone.” Shadow pulled him onto the back of his wolf. “Let’s go home,” Vineweaver smiled. Shadow tilted his head back and howled. He knew Stream would be able to heal Vineweaver’s wounds; but even still – it would be a long recovery for the plant-shaper.