Chapter 5
The wereman bowed slightly to him. “Until tomorrow, Lord Avhonari,” he said rather solemnly. He watched as the human nobleman turned and walked away toward his own bedchamber to change his clothing and get ready for the party. Z’sharan sighed, feeling a little lonely already. Lord Avhonari was his touchstone in these strange lands; the human had saved his life and was now most kindly going to return him to his own people. He didn’t like being left alone in this enormous house with all of these strange humans.
He trailed away to begin prowling the enormous mansion. Z’sharan poked his nose into all of the rooms, taking in the sights and scents if the place. He sneezed in some of the unused rooms, as dust had settled in them. When he found the music room, the wereleopard wandered in and touched one or two of the instruments curiously. What were they? When he came to a standing harp, the claw on one of his fingers caught in a string. He jumped and bridled as it twanged his golden eyes rather wide. Then he realized that this must be a thing to produce music. His own people had similar musical instruments, though they mostly used drums and horns. He’d never seen a stringed one before. He reached out to touch it again, rippling his fingers over the strings in awe of the light sounds that came forth.
He wondered if Lord Avhonari knew how to play this. Perhaps he could ask the human to do so? He would very much like to hear the music that such a thing could produce. He would ask the human tomorrow when he saw him again. For now he padded out of the room and closed the doors behind him. He’d already learned that the servants got annoyed when he left the doors open as he prowled the mansion. He went on his way, finding a long picture gallery next. He blinked as he stared at the rows of portraits and landscapes no the walls. His people had nothing like these! True they did produce symbols and line drawing on tanned hides or pieces of bark, but paint was a new thing for him. He paused at one painting of a stern-faced but handsome human who had to be an ancestor of Lord Avhonari. The eyes were the same, as was the mouth. His sire perhaps? Or maybe a grandsire? A formidable-looking human.
Z’sharan gazed at the paintings for a long time. He just didn’t get tired of seeing them, and he knew he had to ask Lord Avhonari about how they were made. Perhaps this was something else that he could take home to his people, the secret of these curious pictures. But finally he left the gallery and pottered along opening and closing doors, finding many unused bedchambers and some rooms whose uses he could not fathom, like the ladies solarium. Although he couldn’t understand what this room was for, he really liked it. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, making him want to stretch out on one of the couches and take a nap. Finally he shrugged and did just that, curling up one the comfortable couch and closing his eyes. A low thrumming sound rose up from his throat, and if anyone else had been in the room at that moment they would have thought that it sounded suspiciously like a purr.
Lord Avhonari walked through the crowded rooms of the Palace, feeling decidedly claustrophobic surrounded by all of these people. This was one of the aspects of being a nobleman that he really disliked. He was solitary person at heart, and to have to pretend to enjoy himself at these revels was a great burden for him. Fortunately he was a fair actor, so very few people were aware of just how much he disliked coming to parties.
How he wished that he were home with Z’sharan. The wereleopard was fascinating, and he would have preferred to just continue talking to him. Instead he had to smile and talk to people he didn’t even like, to mingle for hours. How he loathed mingling. And he frankly despised a great many of the noble people attending this party, finding most of them to be spoiled, petulant irritants whose only desire in life was to have a good time. If the King hadn’t specifically requested his presence here he wouldn’t have come at all.
Suddenly a hand grabbed his elbow. He stiffened, turning to give the person who was rude and stupid enough to touch him a dressing down. But when he saw who his accoster was he felt a jolt of unease ripple through him. By the Gods, could this have happened at a worse time?! “Hello, Uncle,” his nephew Traggen said with a grin. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
‘The very opposite of happy,’ Lord Avhonari thought. But he replied aloud: “Of course, nephew. I am ecstatic to see your face once again. Has you mother exiled you for your behavior this time, or is she still trying to find you an eligible young lady?”
“A bit of both,” Traggen replied with a shrug. He glanced around the room in a bored manner. “A dull crowd tonight. I haven’t found anybody interesting yet. So I’m afraid that I’ll be coming home with you, Uncle, much as I’m sure that you’d rather I didn’t.”
Lord Avhonari lifted a supercilious brow. “I’ll be delighted to have you at my home, nephew,” he replied.
Traggen laughed. “You’ve got to teach me how to lie with a straight face, Uncle,” he told Avhonari admiringly. “Mother can always tell when I’m lying, which is what gets me into trouble all the time. Although she seldom figures out what I’m lying about, which is what saves my ass in the end.”
“And what were you lying about this time?” Lord Avhonari enquired acerbically.
Traggen grinned. “The stable boy,” he said in a purring voice, “Is a very…accommodating sort of fellow.”
“I see,” he said with a sigh. “Why don’t you just tell your mother about your proclivities, Traggen? Then she’d stop trying to find you a young lady to wed.”
“Hah. She’d cut me out of her will, that’s what she’d do. She wants grandchildren, you see. If I tell her that she has more hope of her dog producing grandchildren for her than me, she’ll cut me off without a penny. You know what she’s like.”
He did. His sister was a formidable woman, who took after their father even more than he did. When she wanted something by the Gods she’d better GET it. Or the heavens help them all. “So how long do you intend to go on with this farce?” he asked aloud.
His nephew shrugged. “Until she dies,” he replied. “Then I’ll marry whomever I want to and adopt someone to take over the estates when I’m gone. I don’t care about producing children from my own seed. It’s probably just as well if I don’t anyway.” He added with a gleam in his dark eyes.
“Yes, you’re right,” his uncle agreed dryly. “That WOULD be a disaster.”
Traggen guffawed and punched him on the shoulder. “Have I ever told you what fun you are, Uncle Avhonari? That’s why I love it when Mother sends me to Court. I get to stay with you and watch you interact with all of these idiots. It’s more entertaining than watching a troop of jugglers complete with a clown or two.”
Lord Avhonari gave him a cold stare. “I’m glad that you find me entertaining, Traggen,” he said in a cutting tone of voice.
His nephew looked unfazed by his cold stare. Traggen merely sipped at the drink in his hand while glancing around yet again. “Is it my imagination, or have this lot gotten more dull and boring since I was last here?” he demanded in disgust. “Oh, for ANYTHING interesting to happen!”
Lord Avhonari felt apprehension at these words as he thought of the visitor currently staying in his house. Traggen was SURE to find Z’sharan quite interesting. The boy would be attracted to the wereleopard’s exotic looks, and would most likely attempt to seduce him. He ignored the clench of jealousy that twisted in his gut at this thought. There was every reason to keep his nephew away from the Wereman as much as he could. It had nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t want Traggen to cozy up to Z‘sharan. Of course not.
Z’sharan awoke when it got dark. He stretched in a long and lithe way, his muscles relaxed from the very nice nap that he’d gotten. He sat up with a pink-mouthed yawn, scratching at the top of his head with his claws. His golden eyes blinked lazily as he looked around the darkened room. His night vision was excellent, so he had no problem negotiating the obstacles in the room as he padded slowly toward the doors. He really liked this room; he thought that he’d return here when he wanted another nap in the sunlight.
He opened the doors and stepped out into the hall. Candles were burning in glass holders here; the servants kept all of the holders in the hallways stocked and lit even if they didn’t do so for the unused rooms. Z’sharan stood still as his eyes adjusted to the light, then turned back toward the center of the house where the living quarters were. Not that he was tired at all; but he was starting to get hungry again. He thought that he’d try to find the place where they cooked things in this house and ask for some food.
It didn’t take him long for his very sharp nose to discover the right place. He entered the kitchen, sniffing in appreciation of the scents of roasted meat and gravy. He stopped when he saw the servants working in the kitchen gaping at him, his golden eyes wary as he hesitated in the doorway. But finally one of them said: “My Lord? Ain’t you the one who is His Lordship’s guest?”
Z’sharan blinked at her, and then nodded. “I am Lord Avhonari’s guest, yes,” he replied in his oddly-accented voice.
“Oh! His Lordship said we was to give you anything you wanted,” she replied with a slight curtsey.
“Be you hungry, My Lord?” a large woman with graying hair asked him.
Z’sharan nodded again, eagerly. “Yes, I am hungry. May I have some food?”
“Anything you like,” the older woman said indulgently. “What’s your pleasure?”
It took him a moment to work this question out, then he asked: “May I have some meat? It smells very good.”
Her bosom swelled rather alarmingly. “Oh, aye, you can have some of my roast. Ain’t no one as can make a roast as succulent as mine,” she bragged. “Just you set yourself down there,” she pointed to a scrubbed wooden table, “And I’ll fetch you some. Little thing like you needs to be fed up,” she added, eyeing his lithe body disapprovingly.
He gave her an uncertain look, but finally slipped into a chair at the table. The servants bustled around finishing supper, talking and chattering above his head as they worked. He listened idly to their speech, hearing gossip about people he didn’t know. At last the older woman set a plate in front of him with the command to: “Eat it all, dear.”
His nostrils flared at the scent of well-cooked beef and luscious rich gravy. He fumbled with the utensils, trying to remember how Lord Avhonari had used them earlier. He would have used his nails, but he knew that they would consider that to be rude behavior. He was trying to follow the humans’ rules while he was in their lands. Finally he managed to cut a hunk off and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing with fervor as the delightful juices ran into his stomach. It was so good! Even better than the pale bird meat that he’d eaten earlier. He savored each bite, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
The head cook watched him in satisfaction for a moment before bustling off to her work supervising the kitchen. The strange little foreign man with the weird eyes seemed to really appreciate her cooking. She liked any man who knew good cooking when he came across it. She left the stranger eating his meal with gusto, clearly relishing each bite.
Because the kitchen was pretty loud, no one heard the low rumble of sound coming from Z’sharan’s chest. He couldn’t help but make it at times like these. Even in human form his people tended to purr when they were feeling pleasure of some kind. The meat he was eating was just so wonderful that he couldn’t have stopped himself from making that sound. It was just his good luck that so many people were talking in the kitchen that the humans didn’t hear the purring and wonder just what kind of odd person Lord Avhonari’s guest was.
Z’sharan finished his meal and left the kitchen with a grateful word of thanks to the nice lady who’d fed him. She smiled indulgently after the little foreigner as he padded out of her domain. Anyone who liked her cooking that much was good in her book. She turned back to overseeing her underlings, who were starting on making the dough for the morning breads.
The wereleopard moved through the house, heading for the courtyard that he and Lord Avhonari had eaten in earlier. He wanted to be outside to look at the stars. He lifted his face to the night wind as he entered the courtyard, sniffing at it to take in the mingled odors. Pacing over to a planter, he sat down on the side of it. It was peaceful here. He decided to recite some of his stories aloud, a practice he did every day if he could since it kept them fresh in his memory.
He began with one about a Spirit who’d become angry at the wereleopards because they’d made a dam over His sacred river. The Spirit had raged and sent a terrible storm that had wrecked the dam and part of one of their tree villages as well. To appease His wrath, their shamans had to go to the river and cut their skin, letting their blood fall into the water as an act of contrition. Afterward they’d rubbed colored paste into the scars so that they didn’t fade, and would remain as a symbol of their devotion to the River Spirit. Shamans for that village had ever afterward carried out this practice, and their colored scars told visitors to the village who they were.
Once he’d finished that one, he began another about a werechild who’d become lost in the jungle. She’d been scared by the sounds in the trees around her, and had run and run until she was in a part of the jungle that she’d never seen before. She’s climbed a tree in his terror of the wild beasts that roamed the place. Sobbing for her mother, the girl had clung to the limb of a tree for many hours. Then she’d heard another noise, and when she looked down through the trees she’d seen a being of wonder – what looked like a mobile tree stalking along majestically. It was a Tree Spirit, one of the wise old beings that lived at the heart of the jungle.
This Spirit had heard her cry of awe and stopped at the base of her tree. He spoke to her, coaxing the frightened child to come down. When she’d climbed out of the tree, the being had asked her who she was and where she was from. She’d told Him of her village, and he’d carried the girl in the crook of his arm back to her people. But He set her down at the edge of her village, and no one believed her when she tried to tell them about the Spirit who’d born her back to her home. She was punished for both running away and her lies, and was so saddened and disheartened that she considered running away for real this time.
She stood at the edge of the village in the dusk for many weeks and called out to the Spirit. Finally one night she got a response, and the Tree Spirit walked toward her out of the gloom. The girl cried, confiding in him about how she’d been punished by her parents for telling lies. When she was done, the Tree Spirit broke off a twig from his own body and handed it to her, telling the child to give it to her parents as proof that she’d spoken the truth.
When the girl took the twig to her parents, they were amazed. The tiny leaves had a sparkling patina on them, and the wood a brushed metallic look. Moreover, the twig never died even though it had been broken off the Tree Spirit’s body. It bloomed in the girl’s windowsill where she displayed it for the whole village to see. No one was surprised when the girl became a powerful shaman after she grew to adulthood. It was said that she could talk to even the ordinary trees, and that they would grow green again under her touch even during a drought.
The tales flowed off his tongue easily, his voice rising and falling as he chanted the words. The night listened to his words, and even the wind stilled as though it were interested too. Finally he was done, and he stretched lazily as he stood up once more. The night tempted him to Change, but he knew better. It was too early in the evening; he might be seen by one of the servants or guards. He sighed, moving back into the house for now. Later there would be time to let his beast run free. His people were partially nocturnal anyway. Once the humans were slumbering in their beds he would sneak out and let the Change take him.
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The wereman bowed slightly to him. “Until tomorrow, Lord Avhonari,” he said rather solemnly. He watched as the human nobleman turned and walked away toward his own bedchamber to change his clothing and get ready for the party. Z’sharan sighed, feeling a little lonely already. Lord Avhonari was his touchstone in these strange lands; the human had saved his life and was now most kindly going to return him to his own people. He didn’t like being left alone in this enormous house with all of these strange humans.
He trailed away to begin prowling the enormous mansion. Z’sharan poked his nose into all of the rooms, taking in the sights and scents if the place. He sneezed in some of the unused rooms, as dust had settled in them. When he found the music room, the wereleopard wandered in and touched one or two of the instruments curiously. What were they? When he came to a standing harp, the claw on one of his fingers caught in a string. He jumped and bridled as it twanged his golden eyes rather wide. Then he realized that this must be a thing to produce music. His own people had similar musical instruments, though they mostly used drums and horns. He’d never seen a stringed one before. He reached out to touch it again, rippling his fingers over the strings in awe of the light sounds that came forth.
He wondered if Lord Avhonari knew how to play this. Perhaps he could ask the human to do so? He would very much like to hear the music that such a thing could produce. He would ask the human tomorrow when he saw him again. For now he padded out of the room and closed the doors behind him. He’d already learned that the servants got annoyed when he left the doors open as he prowled the mansion. He went on his way, finding a long picture gallery next. He blinked as he stared at the rows of portraits and landscapes no the walls. His people had nothing like these! True they did produce symbols and line drawing on tanned hides or pieces of bark, but paint was a new thing for him. He paused at one painting of a stern-faced but handsome human who had to be an ancestor of Lord Avhonari. The eyes were the same, as was the mouth. His sire perhaps? Or maybe a grandsire? A formidable-looking human.
Z’sharan gazed at the paintings for a long time. He just didn’t get tired of seeing them, and he knew he had to ask Lord Avhonari about how they were made. Perhaps this was something else that he could take home to his people, the secret of these curious pictures. But finally he left the gallery and pottered along opening and closing doors, finding many unused bedchambers and some rooms whose uses he could not fathom, like the ladies solarium. Although he couldn’t understand what this room was for, he really liked it. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, making him want to stretch out on one of the couches and take a nap. Finally he shrugged and did just that, curling up one the comfortable couch and closing his eyes. A low thrumming sound rose up from his throat, and if anyone else had been in the room at that moment they would have thought that it sounded suspiciously like a purr.
Lord Avhonari walked through the crowded rooms of the Palace, feeling decidedly claustrophobic surrounded by all of these people. This was one of the aspects of being a nobleman that he really disliked. He was solitary person at heart, and to have to pretend to enjoy himself at these revels was a great burden for him. Fortunately he was a fair actor, so very few people were aware of just how much he disliked coming to parties.
How he wished that he were home with Z’sharan. The wereleopard was fascinating, and he would have preferred to just continue talking to him. Instead he had to smile and talk to people he didn’t even like, to mingle for hours. How he loathed mingling. And he frankly despised a great many of the noble people attending this party, finding most of them to be spoiled, petulant irritants whose only desire in life was to have a good time. If the King hadn’t specifically requested his presence here he wouldn’t have come at all.
Suddenly a hand grabbed his elbow. He stiffened, turning to give the person who was rude and stupid enough to touch him a dressing down. But when he saw who his accoster was he felt a jolt of unease ripple through him. By the Gods, could this have happened at a worse time?! “Hello, Uncle,” his nephew Traggen said with a grin. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
‘The very opposite of happy,’ Lord Avhonari thought. But he replied aloud: “Of course, nephew. I am ecstatic to see your face once again. Has you mother exiled you for your behavior this time, or is she still trying to find you an eligible young lady?”
“A bit of both,” Traggen replied with a shrug. He glanced around the room in a bored manner. “A dull crowd tonight. I haven’t found anybody interesting yet. So I’m afraid that I’ll be coming home with you, Uncle, much as I’m sure that you’d rather I didn’t.”
Lord Avhonari lifted a supercilious brow. “I’ll be delighted to have you at my home, nephew,” he replied.
Traggen laughed. “You’ve got to teach me how to lie with a straight face, Uncle,” he told Avhonari admiringly. “Mother can always tell when I’m lying, which is what gets me into trouble all the time. Although she seldom figures out what I’m lying about, which is what saves my ass in the end.”
“And what were you lying about this time?” Lord Avhonari enquired acerbically.
Traggen grinned. “The stable boy,” he said in a purring voice, “Is a very…accommodating sort of fellow.”
“I see,” he said with a sigh. “Why don’t you just tell your mother about your proclivities, Traggen? Then she’d stop trying to find you a young lady to wed.”
“Hah. She’d cut me out of her will, that’s what she’d do. She wants grandchildren, you see. If I tell her that she has more hope of her dog producing grandchildren for her than me, she’ll cut me off without a penny. You know what she’s like.”
He did. His sister was a formidable woman, who took after their father even more than he did. When she wanted something by the Gods she’d better GET it. Or the heavens help them all. “So how long do you intend to go on with this farce?” he asked aloud.
His nephew shrugged. “Until she dies,” he replied. “Then I’ll marry whomever I want to and adopt someone to take over the estates when I’m gone. I don’t care about producing children from my own seed. It’s probably just as well if I don’t anyway.” He added with a gleam in his dark eyes.
“Yes, you’re right,” his uncle agreed dryly. “That WOULD be a disaster.”
Traggen guffawed and punched him on the shoulder. “Have I ever told you what fun you are, Uncle Avhonari? That’s why I love it when Mother sends me to Court. I get to stay with you and watch you interact with all of these idiots. It’s more entertaining than watching a troop of jugglers complete with a clown or two.”
Lord Avhonari gave him a cold stare. “I’m glad that you find me entertaining, Traggen,” he said in a cutting tone of voice.
His nephew looked unfazed by his cold stare. Traggen merely sipped at the drink in his hand while glancing around yet again. “Is it my imagination, or have this lot gotten more dull and boring since I was last here?” he demanded in disgust. “Oh, for ANYTHING interesting to happen!”
Lord Avhonari felt apprehension at these words as he thought of the visitor currently staying in his house. Traggen was SURE to find Z’sharan quite interesting. The boy would be attracted to the wereleopard’s exotic looks, and would most likely attempt to seduce him. He ignored the clench of jealousy that twisted in his gut at this thought. There was every reason to keep his nephew away from the Wereman as much as he could. It had nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t want Traggen to cozy up to Z‘sharan. Of course not.
Z’sharan awoke when it got dark. He stretched in a long and lithe way, his muscles relaxed from the very nice nap that he’d gotten. He sat up with a pink-mouthed yawn, scratching at the top of his head with his claws. His golden eyes blinked lazily as he looked around the darkened room. His night vision was excellent, so he had no problem negotiating the obstacles in the room as he padded slowly toward the doors. He really liked this room; he thought that he’d return here when he wanted another nap in the sunlight.
He opened the doors and stepped out into the hall. Candles were burning in glass holders here; the servants kept all of the holders in the hallways stocked and lit even if they didn’t do so for the unused rooms. Z’sharan stood still as his eyes adjusted to the light, then turned back toward the center of the house where the living quarters were. Not that he was tired at all; but he was starting to get hungry again. He thought that he’d try to find the place where they cooked things in this house and ask for some food.
It didn’t take him long for his very sharp nose to discover the right place. He entered the kitchen, sniffing in appreciation of the scents of roasted meat and gravy. He stopped when he saw the servants working in the kitchen gaping at him, his golden eyes wary as he hesitated in the doorway. But finally one of them said: “My Lord? Ain’t you the one who is His Lordship’s guest?”
Z’sharan blinked at her, and then nodded. “I am Lord Avhonari’s guest, yes,” he replied in his oddly-accented voice.
“Oh! His Lordship said we was to give you anything you wanted,” she replied with a slight curtsey.
“Be you hungry, My Lord?” a large woman with graying hair asked him.
Z’sharan nodded again, eagerly. “Yes, I am hungry. May I have some food?”
“Anything you like,” the older woman said indulgently. “What’s your pleasure?”
It took him a moment to work this question out, then he asked: “May I have some meat? It smells very good.”
Her bosom swelled rather alarmingly. “Oh, aye, you can have some of my roast. Ain’t no one as can make a roast as succulent as mine,” she bragged. “Just you set yourself down there,” she pointed to a scrubbed wooden table, “And I’ll fetch you some. Little thing like you needs to be fed up,” she added, eyeing his lithe body disapprovingly.
He gave her an uncertain look, but finally slipped into a chair at the table. The servants bustled around finishing supper, talking and chattering above his head as they worked. He listened idly to their speech, hearing gossip about people he didn’t know. At last the older woman set a plate in front of him with the command to: “Eat it all, dear.”
His nostrils flared at the scent of well-cooked beef and luscious rich gravy. He fumbled with the utensils, trying to remember how Lord Avhonari had used them earlier. He would have used his nails, but he knew that they would consider that to be rude behavior. He was trying to follow the humans’ rules while he was in their lands. Finally he managed to cut a hunk off and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing with fervor as the delightful juices ran into his stomach. It was so good! Even better than the pale bird meat that he’d eaten earlier. He savored each bite, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
The head cook watched him in satisfaction for a moment before bustling off to her work supervising the kitchen. The strange little foreign man with the weird eyes seemed to really appreciate her cooking. She liked any man who knew good cooking when he came across it. She left the stranger eating his meal with gusto, clearly relishing each bite.
Because the kitchen was pretty loud, no one heard the low rumble of sound coming from Z’sharan’s chest. He couldn’t help but make it at times like these. Even in human form his people tended to purr when they were feeling pleasure of some kind. The meat he was eating was just so wonderful that he couldn’t have stopped himself from making that sound. It was just his good luck that so many people were talking in the kitchen that the humans didn’t hear the purring and wonder just what kind of odd person Lord Avhonari’s guest was.
Z’sharan finished his meal and left the kitchen with a grateful word of thanks to the nice lady who’d fed him. She smiled indulgently after the little foreigner as he padded out of her domain. Anyone who liked her cooking that much was good in her book. She turned back to overseeing her underlings, who were starting on making the dough for the morning breads.
The wereleopard moved through the house, heading for the courtyard that he and Lord Avhonari had eaten in earlier. He wanted to be outside to look at the stars. He lifted his face to the night wind as he entered the courtyard, sniffing at it to take in the mingled odors. Pacing over to a planter, he sat down on the side of it. It was peaceful here. He decided to recite some of his stories aloud, a practice he did every day if he could since it kept them fresh in his memory.
He began with one about a Spirit who’d become angry at the wereleopards because they’d made a dam over His sacred river. The Spirit had raged and sent a terrible storm that had wrecked the dam and part of one of their tree villages as well. To appease His wrath, their shamans had to go to the river and cut their skin, letting their blood fall into the water as an act of contrition. Afterward they’d rubbed colored paste into the scars so that they didn’t fade, and would remain as a symbol of their devotion to the River Spirit. Shamans for that village had ever afterward carried out this practice, and their colored scars told visitors to the village who they were.
Once he’d finished that one, he began another about a werechild who’d become lost in the jungle. She’d been scared by the sounds in the trees around her, and had run and run until she was in a part of the jungle that she’d never seen before. She’s climbed a tree in his terror of the wild beasts that roamed the place. Sobbing for her mother, the girl had clung to the limb of a tree for many hours. Then she’d heard another noise, and when she looked down through the trees she’d seen a being of wonder – what looked like a mobile tree stalking along majestically. It was a Tree Spirit, one of the wise old beings that lived at the heart of the jungle.
This Spirit had heard her cry of awe and stopped at the base of her tree. He spoke to her, coaxing the frightened child to come down. When she’d climbed out of the tree, the being had asked her who she was and where she was from. She’d told Him of her village, and he’d carried the girl in the crook of his arm back to her people. But He set her down at the edge of her village, and no one believed her when she tried to tell them about the Spirit who’d born her back to her home. She was punished for both running away and her lies, and was so saddened and disheartened that she considered running away for real this time.
She stood at the edge of the village in the dusk for many weeks and called out to the Spirit. Finally one night she got a response, and the Tree Spirit walked toward her out of the gloom. The girl cried, confiding in him about how she’d been punished by her parents for telling lies. When she was done, the Tree Spirit broke off a twig from his own body and handed it to her, telling the child to give it to her parents as proof that she’d spoken the truth.
When the girl took the twig to her parents, they were amazed. The tiny leaves had a sparkling patina on them, and the wood a brushed metallic look. Moreover, the twig never died even though it had been broken off the Tree Spirit’s body. It bloomed in the girl’s windowsill where she displayed it for the whole village to see. No one was surprised when the girl became a powerful shaman after she grew to adulthood. It was said that she could talk to even the ordinary trees, and that they would grow green again under her touch even during a drought.
The tales flowed off his tongue easily, his voice rising and falling as he chanted the words. The night listened to his words, and even the wind stilled as though it were interested too. Finally he was done, and he stretched lazily as he stood up once more. The night tempted him to Change, but he knew better. It was too early in the evening; he might be seen by one of the servants or guards. He sighed, moving back into the house for now. Later there would be time to let his beast run free. His people were partially nocturnal anyway. Once the humans were slumbering in their beds he would sneak out and let the Change take him.
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