Today things were different; Mooneye had been allowed to join her father and uncle on their travels for the first time and she had relished every moment living in the wilderness between towns and cities. It was not without danger and the caravan had been attacked several times but her Father’s experienced guards had managed to fight the creatures off. After those original moments of terror she had experienced on the first attack she had grown to understand the nature of life on the road and placed her faith in the guards doing what they were employed to do. She also understood the nature of the trade roads, that the creatures that inhabited the wilds had been worn down along those tracks like the blades of grass trodden underfoot; only the desperate and weak attempted to attack the many caravans that passed by (except perhaps occasions when the outlaws tried their luck).
Dressed and ready for the new day’s travel Mooneye emerged from her tent, the guards and porters were already preparing their wares and her father and uncle were busy supervising. She walked up to them as they chatted with one of the senior guards of the caravan, seeing the amiable expressions on all of their faces she knew that no troubles had befallen them over the course of the night. Greeting them a good morning they began to talk about the days itinerary.
It appeared that they were a good half-day ahead on their journey and as a reward Mooneye’s father and uncle decided to organise a small hunting party to venture into the woods for some game for the evening’s camp. It may be a little frivolous to waste time so but Mooneye’s father thought of it a good way to raise morale among the members of the caravan. Imploring to be let in on the hunt Mooneye begged until eventually her father gave in. Charging a guard with her protection he let her go ordering her to remain at the middle of the party. He felt that she had long enough spent her life trussed in comfort and safety; perhaps it would do her good to experience a little danger for once.
Just over an hour had passed since the hunting party left the trade road and already it had been reasonably successful. They had managed to procure several game birds for the day’s end and looked set to procure a few more before the hunt was out. Mooneye had enjoyed the exhilaration of the hunt and looked forward to experience it many times more. She was now looking down the sight of a bow ready to net her first game. Behind her stood her guard, the one who had allowed her to use his bow for this prize. She took aim at the deer many yards in front of her and with a silent breath let it loose. The arrow struck the animal but it was not a killer, instead the deer, that had been silently foraging in her sights, turned enraged and started for the nearest target, a guard some way to the left of her. Charging at him with a vicious snort the guard did not have time to react and was cast aside by the antlers of the beast. Grabbing the bow from Mooneye her guard drew an arrow, knocked it and let it loose at the powerful beast. It squealed for but a brief second and dropped to the ground, dead.
In both concern and guilt Mooneye ran to the guard to see what she could do. Already a group of the other hunters were attending him, trying to give him what aid they could. Ordering them aside she saw that the beast had gored the guard, his left side was bleeding profusely as the guards had set about bandaging it. Mooneye gathered her wits together and approached the man. Holding her hands out she touched the wound and immediately colour returned to the man’s face. The wound itself began to stop bleeding, the blood trickled ever slower and slower until it ceased entirely. Amazed by this Mooneye continued to hold the wound, she had always known that she had certain abilities with magic but never this intense. She had been able to aid people with minor sicknesses with time and a little dedication but this was unprecedented. The guards stood in awe of the immediate manifestation of Mooneye’s powers. They were aware of magic much more powerful than this but it took many years of study and dedication to be even close; Mooneye herself had received no tuition at all.
As they stood there watching her, a strange noise began to emerge in their consciousness, it sounded almost alien, like nothing they had heard before. Although there was no tune or melody in it they somehow knew it was a song, old and intelligent and meaningful. They stood, frozen to the spot, unable to move from its strange beauty, only Mooneye stirred in its song. She arose from the injured guard and walked softly away from the group. No guard could follow her, they could not move a muscle under this strange enchantment. A few tried to shout at her, to call her back, but they could not even manage that. Slowly and gracefully she disappeared amongst the trees.
Kite had lived a difficult life with her grandfather. She had spent her time living between many people, her grandfather, his associates (who plied their trade receiving bounty in exchange for the return of outlaws be they dead or alive) and a noble clan closely related to him among many others. As a result of this constant detachment from her grandfather she had gained many insights into the different skills of Fortitude. She had gained proficiency in many forms of weaponry and field craft and was particularly adept with the sword. She knew how to hunt and cook food, she knew how to craft, repair and maintain weapons and armour, she knew how to track and find prey, be it human or otherwise. She was also a good fighter, perhaps too good.
Two years previously, Kite’s stay at the noble’s clan lodge had brought controversy to hers’ and her grandfathers’ name. She had long had a friendship with one of the clan boys whom had always confided and trusted in her. As they had grown older their friendship had changed into something more intense, more physical. When they had been discovered together in a secluded part of the clan-lodge grounds they had been forced apart and paraded in front of the clan elders. Her grandfather had been called to the lodge where he had defended his grandchild, dismissing any claims of her wickedness with a wave of his hand. The boy had been sent away to a place undisclosed, never to see Kite again. Kite had missed him bitterly but the mutual agreement that both he and the clan had come to refused them to ever meet again. Kite vowed that this would never happen; that when she was old enough she would make sure she would go and find him.
The next year an even worse event had happened, something that would forever deny her any future ties with the clan. When he had left her to their care she had nobody, no friends, no acquaintances, nothing. Kite’s reputation had preceded her and several of the clan youths had approached her, making advances and crude suggestions. When she had denied them they began to tease and insult her, constantly deriding her whenever they could. In frustration and anger she had challenged them to a fight, whatever weapon they chose. Taking her up on the challenge they arranged a time and a place.
Meeting the three youths they squared off against each other, picking one of their number to fight her in their name. It became apparent in the those first few moments that they had no intention of fighting fair as the other two began to harass her, pushing her back toward her assailant when she backed away. As their interference began to hinder her efforts to fight fairly she turned to face one of her harriers. It was in this moment that the youth she was meant to be fighting pushed her from behind onto the floor. As she lay prone and confused by her anger, the lads gathered over her laying in fists and boots. When her intended opponent ordered the others to strip her, Kite was overcome by a strange sensation, one that she had never felt before. With a fit of intense strength she threw the three from her and stood up. The boys were scattered yards away in all direction; she had never known herself to possess such strength or rage. Picking up the nearest sword she targeted one of her attackers who was shaking himself from his surprise. Grabbing the weapon nearest to him he charged. With a single step and turn Kite slashed the sword down his back, killing him instantly. The others, who were themselves recovering from their shock saw her deed and began to scrabble quickly away from her. The sensation was strange, her actions had seemed slow, her attackers movements were sluggish and easy to avoid. Something had possessed her when she saw her assailant; the fatal sword stroke she had dealt had been instinctual and reflexive.
Kite had shaken herself from the trance and it was then that she began to feel fear. She had possessed no true control over her actions and they had resulted in death. Admittedly her attackers had attempted something on her she dared not consider but her lack of thought in the motion scared her to her core.
The clan had restrained Kite and once more called her grandfather to explain Kite’s actions. Unbeknown to Kite a servant had seen the actions that led to the killing of one of the clan’s sons and had spoken of the event before any of them could restrain her from telling her story. She was allowed to leave, disgraced, never to return or associate with anyone from the clan. Her grandfather appeared untroubled by the occurrence, telling her that the event would heal over and she would forget it soon enough. She never told him of the trance that she had entered into during her attack, it troubled her too much to discuss it.
That is why she was now left alone to carry out the chores in the grounds around the cabin. Her grandfather had set off on ‘business’ a few days before, as he was usually prone to do. He had said as he left that he felt she was now old enough to care for herself, that her skills were sufficient to last alone in the wilds of Fortitude. Kite was unsure of this, she was not sure if he really intended to keep her away from such incidents that had befallen her in the previous years. She suspected he believed that in keeping her busy with the everyday motivations of work she would have no time to consider other, more pleasurable, pursuits. Kite herself intended nothing of this, she knew that she would leave soon and make her own way in the world. She had the skills and the desire to make a name for herself in whatever area she chose, she craved the company and civilisation and distractions that cities could offer. She was tired of her loneliness.
Picking up the axe lying next to the woodpile she removed the first log from the mound and began to chop. While she worked her mind wondered, she wondered why her grandfather had such a rigid way of doing things. He always liked the firewood chopped on this particular morning or it collected on that particular night be snow, rain or storm. Perhaps it was because he was getting old that he liked things done in ways just so. Her grandfather was still an enigma to her, she had not known him age a day since she was a young girl, he had always been preoccupied, pedantic and even bumbling but had always remained focussed on his tasks and his goals. There was some wisdom, some age in him that seemed akin to the mountains and the trees.
Wiping her brow from the toil she decided to go and fetch some water from the rain barrel that lay now in the shade of the house. Lifting a ladle from the surface to her mouth it was then that she noticed it. It had begun deep in her subconscious, a vibration that grew gradually into something audible. It was almost a song, something long and sad and balanced. She felt mesmerised by it, as if it was calling to her and only her. She dropped the ladle, too interested in anything but the song’s origin. She turned to capture the point where she felt it was at its most direct, where it made the most sense to come from. She found that spot and walked, she walked away from the house, she walked into the wilderness that lay beyond and made for its source.