Blackpaw
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(2/13/06 4:30 pm)
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Of Demons and Children pt. 1
A proud tauren of the blackest fur stood at the cave
enterance, gazing into the vast starlit fields of Mugore as if to memorize the lay of every blade of grass, every leaf, every weather-worn stone that he had ever walked upon. The full moon cast a milky glint on his nose ring, engraved with the slashes of his rank. Only the best fighters were to head to the
Eastern Kingdoms to push back the Alliance forces moving into Stranglethorn Vale. Anyone ranked with less than five cuts across their ring were to remain at home, training and fortifying the defences of the homeland. Blackmoon fingered his nose ring absently across it's five cuts. Unbelieveable, he thought, how much a mark on a ring could matter. One more and you go to war, to live or die with honor or cowardice. One less and you remain home with your loved ones.
In his case, that meant a wife and two sons.
Blackmoon hefted his massive battleaxe on his back, and walked back into his cave home to gather the rest of his things. His wife, Whiteheart stood before a small fire, gazing into it's depths as if the answers she sought could be found within. The firelight flickering across her eyes masked the
tears just beneath the brown surface. Feeling small hands embrace the white fur of her leg, she broke her gaze from the fire and looked down at her youngest son as he buried his face in her dress. Whitetalon is only 3, she thought as she mussed his hair. He may not even remember his father. But she knew he would survive it. It was Blackpaw she truly worried about.
Tending the small one handed axe his father gave him, Blackpaw sat in the back of the cave, honing a bur off the blade just as he was taught. Even at the age of seven he had learned much in the ways of battle. Some had said it was a natural talent, but in reality it was just hard work to the point of desperation. He needed to be strong, just like his father whome he idolized so much. It had nearly killed his spirit completely when he found out his abilites lay with the Shaman like his mother, instead of the Warrior his father was. But he was determined not to let that stop him from becoming as powerful as he could be.
He kept honing the blade, trying to get out the bur that defied his best attempts to remove it, just as his father defied his best attempts to keep him there. Duty always comes first, he had said. Honor to our people, he had said. Honor brings out the strength in others as it does yourself. Honor brings people to work together. Honor brings peace. Honor brings happiness. Honor in life; Honor in death. That was what his father had taught him to be the cornerstone of existance. But honor couldn't remove the problems, the sense of abandonment, the pain. Honor couldn't remove the bur in his life, however fine an edge it could put on everything else.
Blackmoon walked past his wife, stoping only to put an appologetic hand on her shoulder. There were no words to make up for his leaving, so he left it at that, and moved back into the cave where his eldest kept fighting the losing battle with his axe.
Reaching down, he took the honing rod from his son's hand. "Here my son, like this." Blackmoon deftly one way then the next, taking out the nick in the blade. Blackpaw now found himself wishing the bur would never come out. As long as it was there, so would be his father to help him take it out.
But as much as he had hoped, the bur still came out as had every bur his father had ever set himself against. He handed the axe back to his son, and stood him up, towering over him.
"I must go to fight for our people now, Blackpaw. The Alliance must be stoped if we are to ever live at peace. You're mother will watch over you while I am away. I don't know how long I will be gone, but until then you must watch over your brother Whitetalon. Be safe, my son."
Blackpaw stood as tall as he could, as bravly as he could, and put a fist to his chest in salute. "Strength and honor, father. Fight back the Alliance." As brave as he was trying to be, he gave a silent thanks to the darkness of the cave for hiding his tears.
Blackmoon noded at his son, never more proud of him. gathering his pack, he first embraced his son Whitetalon who only knew something bad was happening, and not what that bad thing might be or what it would mean for him. His black fur, like the fur of his father and brother mixed with Blackmoon's, making it difficult to tell where one stoped and the other started. But when Blackmoon embraced his wife, the difference was stark. Whiteheart's white fur contrasted her husbands completely, just as her gentleness opposed his
strength, yet they still seemed to belong to each other. It were those same traits that gave Whitetalon and Blackpaw their names; Whitetalon after his mother's kindness, and Blackpaw after his father's tenacity.
Blackmoon walked out the cave, giving the homeland he may never see again one last look, mounted his kodo, and rode off to war, with the eyes of his loved ones firmly on his back.
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