((OOC: Ficlet200: 171 - 180))
((The end is in sight, but there's still a long way to go. Some of the ficlets written in this batch were made for a project Ambershanks's player did for school, which is pretty neat. As usual, ficlets are posted every so often to storiesbysam.
90% of the way to 200. :)
171: Neglect
The light of the evening sun dripped into the hut. The little tent upon Spirit Rise was sparsely decorated, but with taste; tapestries and scrolls lined the walls, colors of spring vibrant against the earthen, mundane cloth. Alongside clay pots and bundles of incense and wood were stacks of books were organized around the teepee's exterior, dozens upon dozens of them. The sunset washed over the sleeping form of a tauren child, curled up into himself, eyebrows furrowed with the focus of a deep dream. Near him sat a larger male, poring quietly over a stack of tomes. Shadowblack hair tumbled over his eyes, which occasionally flickered over to the child, but never to the second adult. A tall female knelt, washing pots in a barrel of water. The tent was nearly silent, save only for the flipping of pages and the splashing of jugs in the sink.
The female tauren, Anipale by name, glanced over her shoulder at the older male, then at her son. The creases of worry across her face deepened. She dropped the final plate into the water, took in a deep breath, and stood, turning to him.
"Do you still love me, Samhuinn?"
Samhuinn Blackhorn looked up from the parchment before he could mask his surprise. His wide green eyes met her stoic brown ones. His hesitation was a moment too long; her shoulders fell before his first word was spoken.
"Yes... I... do."
She watched him as he set the books aside. His hands trembled as he moved slowly, his growing anxiety unveiled on his face. He rose to his hooves, looking to the child sleeping in the corner before he glanced up at his mate.
"You have not said it to me in moons, Samhuinn. I was beginning to wonder if you ever meant it."
Samhuinn stepped forward and spread his arms, but she stepped past him, crossing the tent to her son. Palemane shifted in his sleep. He was a small child, taking strongly after his mother. Soft beige hair coated his body, sprouting into an icy silver-blue mane that flooded down his back. Only his sharp black horns and his sad green eyes told of his father's contribution. The mother sat down beside her child, tussling his hair.
"Anipale..." Samhuinn started, but could not find the words to follow. A frown traced across his face, an echo to her own.
"Do you know, Samhuinn," she asked, raising her eyes to watch his face. She so closely resembled their son, yet her eyes were so still, nearly dead. Samhuinn did not remember if she had always looked that way; perhaps he did not look into her eyes enough to know. "... Why it was that I chose you? There were a dozen other bulls vying for my hand, bulls stronger, swifter, wiser, more... More..."
"... Confident," Samhuinn whispered, and her sigh spoke for her. The male tauren inclined his head forward slightly and closed his eyes. After a moment, he settled down not far from her, leaning forward onto his knees. He was silent for nearly a minute. The mates watched each other in tense silence, before Samhuinn spoke. "... N... n-no. ... No, Anipale, I do not know. I... I have never known."
Her hand traced along her son's ear. He stirred, but did not rouse. Samhuinn had to smile, but it was gone before she spoke.
"I thought that I saw something in you, Samhuinn. I was almost positive. You were so quiet and so unassuming, but, gods, some of the things you said, some of those times when you brightened up, when you... when you spoke to me, I just..." Anipale inhaled deeply, her shoulders raising with the effort. "I just... I knew, that if you could just... just... get past being afraid of me, being afraid of the world, I just knew that I could... depend upon you, upon your strength and your character, your, your, your compassion..."
"I... I-I do not understand."
"Of course you don't understand. You were a mystery that puzzled me once." She patted her child one last time before she rose. Samhuinn did so as well, automatically, a beat after her. "You were so... intriguing, so... different, like this... this... this weakness mixed with this strength, that I just... I just... I don't... gods, I don't know," she finished at last, shaking her head briskly. He stepped forward to embrace her once again, but she backed out of his range. His hands fell to his sides. "It all makes sense, in my head... When I think of the five years since our union, when I think of the two years before that, it just... you didn't..."
"An... A-anipale," Samhuinn murmured, his voice level despite his obvious unease. His voice was soft, but even in his own ears, it did not sound soothing or warm. "It has been a-a long day... You are... simply tired. C-come, lie down beside me, I-I will put out the fires i-in just a few minutes, and-"
"Don't try to comfort me because you're too afraid of what we'll admit to one another, Samhuinn," she snapped, her snout twitching. "I've poured my heart out to you, if not once then a thousand times, I've told you every one of my... my fears and my dreams, but you never, ever concede anything to me, not once. You think you know exactly what to say to comfort me, and it just so happens to require absolutely no emotional investment out of yourself! You're too damn kind to be so cold, Samhuinn, I just don't understand it. I thought once you would grow to care about everything. Now, now, now it's like you care about... nothing!"
Samhuinn crossed his arms over his chest, turning away from his mate. She could not read his expressions through the growing darkness, but she did not need to see him to know that he was tense. "You... do me a-an injustice, Anipale," he replied. His eyes cast upon the sleeping form of his son. "I care... about our child."
"You care about our child's health," she responded at once. "But what about his happiness? You could care less if he is smiling or if he is frowning, so long as he is growing. You drag him through... through training regiments intended for calves twice his age. You keep him fed, yes, and warm, and you shield him from sickness, but you see how tired he is after every day. He is too busy for friends or for time for himself, and every time I try to protest, you say-"
"I tell you... to trust me." Samhuinn stamped forward, closer to Anipale; she took a step back, surprised by the suddenness of his movements. "I tell you that I know what I am doing, t-that I am... competent enough to raise a-a child. If you a-are not able to, to... t-to trust me on this, perhaps it is you who are uncertain a-about your investment into this relationship."
The female snarled at that, snapping her head away to mask the ugliness of her expression. "I just don't know what you're doing, Sam. Part of the reason I ever bonded with you was because you weren't some... macho, pig-headed animal. I thought you would raise Palemane with compassion and love, not trying to make him out to be some... ferocious... monstrous warrior - oh!"
Samhuinn took in a sharp breath as she gasped, then the tent fell completely silent. He was tense in a way she had never seen him before. Her eyes widened with the shock of an unforeseen conclusion snapping in her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Samhuinn's words that hit the air first.
"Anipale..." His voice was low, warning. "Y-you must speak... very cautiously, with these next few words..."
"Sam," she whispered, her voice carrying a sense of inevitable dread. "... You want him t-to end up... better than you... stronger than you..!"
"Anipale..."
"Sam, you've never once told me about your parents. ... Not... ... Not the Greytails, Sam, I am not a fool, even if you thought I've believed you all this time. You resemble them in no way shape or form. You never told me why you insisted upon the tribal name... Blackhorn..."
"Anipale!"
"And you never told me why our child's namesake had to end in 'mane'. All these... damned questions! Sam, you've never once spoken to me about your childhood! I have asked a thousand times, and you shy away, you change the subject, you hide from it, and I-"
"Anipale, by the light of the gods, if you say one more word-"
"I demand to know if this was the way you were treated when you-"
He moved in an instant. He was upon her before she she could cry out, slamming her up against the wall of the tent, his fingers tight around her throat. He was furious, more furious than she had ever seen him before, those quiet green eyes of his alight with anger, gripping her with manic insistence. Her hands tugged at his own, but he did not budge as she choked, her throat croaking with the effort of breath. Droplets of his spit scattered across her face as he snarled into her, his words quiet, raspy, and dangerous.
"When I tell you to pry no further, I expect that you will pry no further. I would sooner throttle you where you stand than speak another word about this. You are here because our child is healthier under your vigilance, but do not believe for a second that I could not send you away the moment your existence tires me. Do you understand?"
His grip around her throat weakened, but still he pinned her to the cloth of the tent. Tears began to form in her eyes, but they were of anger and indignation; there was no sorrow and no fear in her eyes. She bared her teeth at him, her voice hoarse. Her mouth was either a grimace or a grin, and the bull could not tell which.
"Finally... Sam... you... monster. ... I knew... you couldn't hold out... much longer. Finally... some..."
He raised his arm to silence her, but it was another voice, not hers, that stayed his hand.
"... Father?"
The eyes of the adults flickered at once to the voice. Little Palemane stood, rubbing his sleepy eyes, peering up at his father pinning his mate to the wall, not fully comprehending. "... Mother? ... Father? Why are you making so much noise?"
Samhuinn looked back at Anipale, and she at him. All the heat, the zeal, the aggression faded into nothing as the male tauren's face went helpless, unsure of what to say. Anipale gave him a look, silently telling him 'This isn't over'. She raised both of her hands to the wrist near her chest, grasping his arm and lifting it, kissing his fingers softly. Her eyes never left his. She finally pushed him away gently, then turned to her child, dropping to a kneel before him.
"Nothing, my child, your father and I were just... doing what mates do. Everything's all right."
"You were very loud," Palemane mumbled, stretching his neck. "I thought you two were fighting."
She smiled faintly. He was too young to see the sadness and the exhaustion in her eyes. "Have your father and I ever fought, my child?"
"No," he admitted quietly.
Anipale smiled and rubbed his shoulder. Her movements were jerky and wooden, autonomous; her mind was a mile away. "Go back to sleep, baby. You have a big day tomorrow, and you need your sleep. Your father will do something nice to make up for waking you. Isn't that right... Samhuinn?"
She glanced over her shoulders to punctuate the ice of her words, but he was not there.
172: Driver
The tower loomed over them. There were no trees for many yards, so the zeppelin spire stood like a mountain aside great walls of granite and stone. It was a spiraling obelisk of wood and thick crafted tusks, caked with thick layers of dust and grime from the Durotan summer. Wide nets of wood stretched outward from the flat roof of the fort, overshadowing the dry and barren land. Two approaching travelers watched with muted wonder as an enormous blimp, tan yet patched with colors of violet and beige and aquamarine, fluttered into view. Graceful as a bird, it settled itself neatly between the racks of wood. Even from this distance and upon the ground, Samhuinn and Ambershanks could see the little green shipmen ushering passengers off of the zeppelin while greedily accepting payment from new riders.
"When you..." The younger bull spotted a glance for his partner, but Ambershanks was watching the spire's tip. "When you look... up a-at the zeppelin, what... do you feel?"
"Contempt," Ambershanks replied, snorting for effect. Dry weeds cracked underhoof, breaking the crunching and grinding of sand. "It represents a blight upon our Kalimdor. It is a cost of the air we breathe, of the trees the Earthmother gave us, that we keep these blimps afloat to fuel the goblin greed." He raised a hand to scratch at his cheek, brushing back a long black hairbraid. "How far do we dig into the mountains and take the Earthmother's bounty to keep these blimps flying? The need for rapid transport has put windriders in forests and jungles. In my jungle, in our jungle. They spoil the natural beauty."
Samhuinn nodded slowly. His eyes were low, watching the ground. He stepped over the smallest patches of grass. He had no response of his own, so Ambershanks had to provoke him. "Do you not agree?"
"... I... see the bad... a-along with the good," the healer murmured. He spotted his partner with a sidelong glance, but Ambershanks was looking at him too closely, so with cheeks flushing red, he reverted his gaze to the arid ground. "A-aye, it is... it is a shame, that it should take so much for transport, but... in what other manner w-would we travel to the Eastern continent? W-we are... so far apart. If we could... only transverse the Maelstrom... v-via boat, h-how could we retain druidic presence i-in the Vale, o-or Duskwood, o-or any of the natural regions still untouched b-by human contact? Gods, I..." He wet his lips, shaking his head. His chinbraid dangled below him. "I-I could not imagine... riding Asha to Felwood a-and back twice a week, w-without windrider assistance. Your uncle himself c-could not collect the Un'Goro soil s-so easily w-without sufficient transportation. I-it is a necessity... love."
"Spoil an apple to save the barrel, you say," Ambershanks replied, his voice muted. Samhuinn wriggled his snout, glancing up at the tan bull without comprehension. They had stepped into the spiraling tower, making their way up the stairs to the rooftop. Torches lined the wall, guiding the way forever upward. "I still don't like it. There has to be some other way."
Samhuinn smiled. "Y-you have the mind... a-and the position on the Circle. M-maybe you could find this way."
"Gods, Sam, but those stubborn elders scarcely listen to me." They stepped back out into the summer sun. There were people of all sorts flooding out of the blimp - tall, short, young, old. Some were fair and pink of skin, others burly men with skin deep green, still others light blue with sharp tusks. There were humanoid folk, their bodies pale and maimed and given to decay, yet carrying themselves of perfect health. And there were the brethren of Samhuinn and Ambershanks, tall bestial men and women thick with fur of black and red and white and brown. They were as different as could be, yet upon each of them, they bore that same blood-red insignia that tied each and every one of their bloodlines together. "You know it is only my uncle who cares even slightly what I believe. The elders wield their wisdom as a weapon. They do not change their minds easily, if at all."
"Is that so," Samhuinn mused, and it was not a question. He spotted Ambershanks with a wry knowing glance. "I wonder w-what it must be like... to have to put up w-with that."
Ambershanks slowed to a stop, watching the younger tauren curiously as he laughed softly, handing his boarding pass to the goblin woman and being ushered onto the blimp.
173: Rid You
He remembered the sun. It pounded down like a physical force, weighing on his shoulders in a way that no weapon or tool had. His fingers twitched, begging to wipe free the sweat dribbling down his brow, but he knew too well the consequences any relief would cost him. He was nearly trembling with the effort of his steadfast posture, but he could not afford a moment's carelessness.
He remembered the exhaustion. Every last muscle seemed to ache in areas he did not know he had. The sweat slipping down between the cracks of his body's hair felt like boiling water, like acid, like searing, blinding, liquid pain. His arms shook with the weight of his axe; his legs shook under the weight of his body. His hooves crunched into the dirt as he dug in, forcing his body to brace itself. He could not otherwise allow a movement.
He remembered the fear. His face could not surrender a hint. Fear lost battles; intimidation won them. The ability to cow a foe with body language was as mighty a weapon as the sharpest blade. He did not intend to admit his surmounting terror, nor his young mind's growing sense of its own morality. But he was afraid. He was completely and utterly afraid, and was spared no mercy to betray it.
He remembered the bull most of all, like a black shadow against an endless blue sky. He could make out no details of face or form through the sweat in the eyes and the sun overhead; he only recalled the great looming figure of a monster thrice his height, a monster desperate for his blood, a monster who would beat him and starve him and belittle him and call it a sire's favor. A monster who would kill him if a moment's distraction dropped his guard.
First he was still. Then he struck.
Then he screamed.
It was a lifetime later that he sat, blinking back the tears that stung at his eyes. He tilted his head back against his dresser and squeezed them shut, surrendering a few small drops. He was alone; he could afford himself this weakness, if only this once. He brought the back of his hand up to wipe them free. Snout twitching in self-loathing, he smeared the water against the soil, digging his hand deep beneath the dirt of his tent. His journal sat upon his lap, almost untouched, the page to which he had opened completely blank.
Maybe, he thought to himself. With a swift motion, he snapped the book shut and let his head fall forward.
Maybe there are some things better left unwritten.
174: Fortunes
He had wealth. He had beauty. He had reputation.
He had just about everything he could have wished for. Bulls and does flocked to his presence; he was never alone for long. Since the battle for Hyjal, he had been doted on while treated with the utmost respect, praised for bringing such honor to an already prestigious clan. The blood of his ancestors inexorably tied him to the countless family members who called themselves Runetotem. That very blood pulsed in every step that cut through grass, through every swipe that drew red from prey, through every beat of his hunter's heart.
Through every drop scattered on the mountainside.
He had experience. He had scars. He had memories.
He had taken so many lives, guiltlessly, love by his side, love in his claws. Demons demanded little remorse, and he gave them none as he shred dozens upon dozens beneath him. Comrades spoke of his bravery to bolster their own. They remembered it as he had, the waves of killing, the split-seconds between the death of one foe and the charge of another. The whole time, his mind buzzed with exhilaration, fueled by dreams of veneration and glory and exaltation and victory, a palpable, desperate victory, an achievable goal in spite of all odds.
That was before the scars. That was before Nomoon fell. That was before they pounced the one thing of greater importance than himself. That was before they split into his lifemate's skin and rent his limbs from his torso and scattered his blood and his organs and his life and they chewed and they spit and they howled with glee over the thrill of their victory. That was before they dug their claws into his chest and his stomach and his thigh and sliced away the fur just as he had done a thousand times before. That was before they burned the memories into his skin to haunt him every time he stared into the water, every time he looked upon his body, every time he closed his eyes and prayed desperately that maybe tonight would bring him some rest.
He had nightmares. He had sacrifice. He had heartache.
They had thanked him, a hundred or a thousand or a million times. They had told him they could not express how sorry they were for his loss and how valuable his mate's service was to the Horde, how his valiant efforts had saved hundreds or thousands or millions of lives, how grateful he should be to have survived, how the battle was a necessity, how it was tragic that the dark to his light had been scattered but his sacrifice was a necessity, it was a necessity, it was necessity. It was necessary for him to die.
They had gathered what they found of him and buried him in their favorite spot in the Barrens, just outside of the Forgotten Pools. He had sat there at the grave for hours, sat through the sun and the rain, through the daybreak and onward through the following night. He cried until there was nothing left, then he dug deeper and cried some more until he thought it would kill him.
They had given him fortunes and taken from him one lone being. They had thrust medals upon his person and had thrown him into a world where he was a hero and a warrior and a scoundrel and, most of all, a growing druid, a potential candidate to take his uncle's position, an elder with charisma and spirit and strength. They had expected him to go on living life as he had before, to move on, to pick up the pieces and start again.
He had wealth. He had beauty. He had reputation.
He had nothing.
175: Mercy
Kaltag spit out another wad of tauren hair, pulling his head back from Samhuinn's tail. The tauren yelped in pain, grabbing the base of his tail and yanking it free of the wolvar's clutches. The little beast giggled wildly through sharp, clenched teeth. Little strands of burgundy fur stuck out from his teeth.
"That funny! You funny, cow-man! Tasty, too!"
Before Samhuinn could reprimand the little creature, Kaltag was off. The hill down from the Frenzyheart Hill broke into a sharp slope. The wolvar's sprint broke into a roll as he tumbled down the mound, leaping at the hill's end to dive into a bush. Samhuinn's annoyance quickly turned to panic as he scrambled down the hill, scared for the little beast's safety. Just as the druid set foot on the grass did Kaltag come bursting out of the bush, wielding a chicken in each hand.
"Cow-man funny and tasty, but slow. Kaltag catch six chickens! Cow-man only catch two!" The wolvar's hands fell after a moment. The chickens writhed, their talons scuffing the dirt, but he would not let them go. "Kaltag be greatest warrior of jungle someday. Not chicken catcher. Chicken catching for puppies. Want teach big-tongues a lesson!"
Samhuinn sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at his right temple. "K-kaltag, this is... precisely t-the attitude I have been sent here for. T-the Oracles do not seek bloodshed. T-there is no reason f-for this senseless violence with them."
"Big tongue no want fight with Kaltag?" Kaltag inquired. He looked up from stuffing the chickens into a sack, peering at Samhuinn with his big brown eyes. Just as a flash of hope burned in Samhuinn's chest, the wolverine boy added, "Well, maybe next time he think about that before he born big tongue - Ooh, chicken!"
The wolvar sprinted off across the grass, leaving Samhuinn to trudge far behind him. Social tasks were never among the shy druid's strengths, but Hamuul Runetotem had a hope that his temperance would rub off on the ferocious and violent creatures of the Sholazar Basin. Not quite a civilized people and not quite animals, the Arch Druid felt that of all the races of the Horde that the nature-loving tauren would be most able to get through to them, a druid even moreso, and a seeker of peace most of all. Runetotem had managed to instill Samhuinn with some modicum of courage, giving the younger bull a little optimism about this task.
This was before the wolvars tackled him and chewed every part of his body they could sink their teeth into. They would yelp and squeal "Cow-man! Cow-man!" as they chomped, playing the most painful game Samhuinn could have imagined. They did this as greeting and as farewell every day for the week he had been with them. Even after the wolvars lost interest in biting him and sent him off to recapture lost chickens, his tail was still smarting something fierce.
Orgrimmar was not built in a week, no, Samhuinn told himself, gloomily lumbering along far behind Kaltag, who had long since disappeared from view. But I do not know if I can survive that long.
"Cow-man! Come quick! Kaltag find something!"
Samhuinn had heard this many times over the last few days. He stepped over branches and through the underbrush, narrowing avoiding a hornet's nest by chance. His druidic sense told him of the seeds and plants crushed underhoof. Sholazar was perhaps the most ecologically stable region of all Northrend, luscious and green in a way that surpassed even the Un'Goro Crater. At the beginning of the week, Samhuinn had resolved to teach the Frenzyhearts in the way of commune with nature; now, Samhuinn just wanted to escape the week intact.
Samhuinn expected that Kaltag had found something of no consequence, probably a bug or a strangely shaped rock. He followed the sounds of Kaltag babbling something incoherent. He stepped around a sprawl of trees and came into a dusty clearing. The wolvar was there; his spear was held against a green and red form on the ground. Its identity became apparent quickly enough as Samhuinn approached. He gasped in surprise as he realized it was a gorloc, badly injured, its leg twisting backwards at the ankle. Blood soaked into the soil. It mewled quietly, painfully, as Kaltag kept his javelin pressed against its throat.
"Kaltag!" Samhuinn yelled, horrified as he jogged up to the two. "Kaltag, by... b-by the grace of the Earthmother, what... why... D-did you do this?"
"Kaltag no do this," the wolvar responded, seeming disappointed by that fact. "Big tongue fighting gorilla. Kaltag come out and chase ape off with spear! Ape now have scar on chest. Kaltag very brave." He puffed his chest out.
Samhuinn glanced down at the Oracle's form to gauge the truth in the wolvar's words. It was true; the little creature had no spear-wounds anywhere, only the marks of claws and teeth. It writhed beneath the tip of Kaltag's weapon, squeaking for what sounded to Samhuinn like mercy.
"You... saved t-this gorloc's life?"
"Told you Kaltag be great warrior," the wolvar replied, seeming quite proud. "Now Kaltag have life of big tongue! Very happy. Kaltag beat ape and kill big tongue today. Good day!"
The wolvar withdrew his spear with the intention of striking. Samhuinn barely moved forward fast enough. The tauren lashed out and grabbed the weapon as it came down, only just keeping it from entering the gorloc's exposed throat.
"Wait!"
"What?" Kaltag grunted as he tried to yank the spear out of Samhuinn's grasp. "Grf! Cow-man funny, but cow-man stupid too! Don't cow-man know it not right to touch weapon of other warrior?"
"Yes... yes, Kaltag, yes, I know, I-I am sorry, but listen. Listen!" Once he felt the wolvar grudgingly stop struggling, Samhuinn sighed, collecting his nerve-wracked mind. "... Listen. D-do you know the mark of a true warrior?"
"Killing?"
"No! It is in protecting! A-a true warrior would challenge a-a foe to... to... to honorable combat. O-only a healthy foe. T-there is no glory in killing somebody who cannot f-fight back. T-there is no challenge. Do you not see?"
"No... Kaltag no understand. It big tongue. Big tongue must die. Kaltag save big tongue life, so Kaltag take big tongue life too!"
"Kaltag, l-listen to me. Listen... t-to me. This is a brave gorloc to have survived even a moment against t-that gorilla, yes?"
"Kaltag braver," the wolvar replied stubbornly.
"Maybe so, but to kill t-this gorl... this... big tongue now, when h-he too could be a great warrior... Do you not think that is the coward's way out, to slay him when he cannot fight back?"
"Coward?!" Kaltag spat. "Kaltag no coward! Kaltag bravest warrior in all of Frenzyheart!" With one mighty yank, the wolvar snatched the spear right out of the tauren's grip. Samhuinn took in a loud gasp through clenched teeth, but the little fighter did not follow through with the intent to kill. He stepped back. "Kaltag be great warrior. Kaltag chase off gorilla. Kaltag too brave to be coward. Maybe cow-man not so stupid after all. Kaltag kill only strongest big tongues. Prove Kaltag strongest warrior. Make sense!"
The gorloc had fallen unconscious by this point. As Kaltag continued to preen about his accomplishments, Samhuinn withdrew his medical pouch, mustering the healing arts both magical and physical. The wound was bloody but fresh; Samhuinn knew he could save the gorloc's life, at least this day.
Hopefully, little Oracle, he added to himself, glancing over his shoulder at the boasting wolvar. I'll have taught him a little something about peace before your next encounter.
176: Permanence
When Samhuinn Runetotem came upon Labrae, her head was low, watching the water. A familiar gentle breeze softened the summer heat as Thunder Bluff approached midday. The tauren watched her out of the corner of his eye as he stepped by the pond's shore. He dug into his medicine pouch, pulled out a smattering of herbs. He picked out the ones he desired, crushed them between his palms, and tossed them into the water. She looked up as a bit of Peacebloom drifted by.
"Ah... hello, Sam. Poolboy duty again, hm?"
Looking at the priest out of the corner of his eye, Samhuinn smiled, sprinkling another cloud of spice into the water.
"S-so long as these bluffs are populous, t-this is one job that will never be fully complete."
"You do a good job," Labrae replied. She had looked up at him briefly, but her eyes were once more looking upon her reflection. "Beth and I washed our clothes in it just the other day. It's far cleaner than anything the Undercity gets."
Her words were complimentary, but her voice betrayed her emotions. She sounded tired, sad. Samhuinn frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched the crushed pieces of vegetation float on the water's surface before the water dragged them under. He knelt before the water and swirled a hand around in it, testing for something.
"... Thank you," the tauren replied after a long moment. "... So, um... how a-are you and... a-and that rogue? The, um, t-th-"
"That's... not something I want to talk about right now, Sam," Labrae told him. She looked up at him with muted black eyes, looking harrowed. After a look of guilt crossed the bull's face, she added, "It's... not personal, Sam. I mean, it's personal, but... personal for me. It isn't you, is what I'm-"
"I understand," Samhuinn replied after a long moment. He gave her a wan smile, apologetic in nature, before refocusing on the water. He dipped his hand beneath the surface. It flashed green, filling a small section of the pool with a dull green light. Satisfied, he drew back up to his hooves, nodding down at his work. "... It, um... ... It s-saddens me. I am sorry."
"It's complicated, Sam." The Forsaken returned her gaze to the pool. She dipped a pale smooth hand into the water, as though trying to feel what the tauren felt. "I don't want to stress you out with the details. How are you and Ambershanks? When I saw you over the winter..."
"And that... i-is something I, too, do not wish t-to speak of." There was some warmth in Samhuinn's voice, but the hesitation in his smile told Labrae not to press further. "A-ambershanks and I, we are... well. I-it was a little rocky at first, but... s-somehow, we are c-closer than ever."
"That's good! That's good. I'm happy for you both. Sometimes I feel as though..." Labrae's fingers made a spiral in the water. She peered down at the ripples she made, feigning nonchalance. She had tucked her legs under her body in a half-kneeling half-sitting position. "... I don't know, as though if you two broke apart, I wouldn't... There wouldn't... be... I don't know how to put it. It would prove something I've suspected for a long time now."
"I think I-I understand," Samhuinn responded quietly. He was watching her, but as she looked up at him, he turned his gaze down to the water, slightly embarrassed. "I just... I-I just got... lucky. Well." Reddening a little more, he scratched his mane. "I-it... has taken an awful lot o-of hard work, a-and a few risks... and E-earthmother, a-a thousand and one things I-I regret... saying o-or doing, but... f-fate's hand was not, um, was not trivial."
"... I see."
They were silent for almost a full minute. The wind blew well enough to drive the heat away. After a while, Samhuinn took a single stick of Earthroot from his pouch and tossed it into the water.
"T-that is that... for the night, a-at least." He brushed his paws off on his kilt, nodding his satisfaction. "L-let us hope s-some do not ride their kodos through the pond again, l-like the other night. I-I spent n-nearly two hours cleaning up after them."
Labrae giggled. It was a soft sound without much mirth, but it was a giggle. Samhuinn smiled down at her.
"... J-just keep trying. I-it is hard, but it is worth it."
"... I'll try, Sam. I'll try to keep trying. I know it sounds stupid, but that's all I can promise."
"I-it is a good promise," Samhuinn said, and he tipped his horns in respect. "May the Earthmother w-watch over you, Tilli... ... Labrae."
"May the light and the darkness keep you well."
He took two steps before he heard her voice.
"Samhuinn, wait, just... can I ask you something?"
The druid glanced over his should at the priest, eyebrows lifting curiously. "Yes? W-what is it?"
She had turned from the pond toward him. She fiddled with the hem of his vestments, looking up at him with a desperate sort of frown. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to phrase it in her head.
"You... you and Amber, you two... Every time I see you, you have done some... crazy... thing, and still pulled it through. It's... beautiful, and I envy it, but I really am glad for you. Are you... are you two really... that... I mean, that... I don't know how to put it. Aren't you ever... I don't know, don't you feel like there's nothing that can come between you?"
It was a strange question, to be sure. Samhuinn gave her a bit of an odd look. She smiled up at him, seeming fully aware of it; that brought the hints of a smile to his own mouth. He looked up thoughtfully, his teeth showing as he bit on his lower lip, pondering the question. After a long moment, he spoke.
"Well, there would be... o-one way... i-in which we would be a-at each other's throats."
"What's that?"
And Samhuinn smirked, appearing, for once, almost mischievous. "Lock us together i-in the same room for a few days."
He chuckled as he turned, a low, rumbling sound. He felt her look boring into his back as he strode off for the higher rises.
177: Test
He looked at himself in the stained mirror, propped at a tenuous angle against the cloth of the tent that stretched against its weight. He had asked the elven woman why she had tilted it so much. She had regarded him with a curious look, and replied that if she had not, he would not have been able to see himself in it, since he was so big and the mirror, so small.
It made sense now, of course, as he peered down at his reflection. The wilderness of his mane was slicked back, contained against the curvature of his back. She had tied the longest hairs of his scruff into a banded ponytail to keep his shadowblack hair from dribbling into his eyes. His only request was that the bands matched the green of the three stripes that held firm the tangling tendrils of his facial braids. He had been washed and rewashed and rewashed again until his burgundy fur nearly glistened in the soft sunlight that punctured the tent. The clothes on his body were fine, blue silken robes a little too tight for a body so big. His facial braids were the spitting image of his Greytail father, and his mane now looked like no tauren he had ever seen before, but at least he still recognized his eyes. A gentle smile alleviated some of the worry of his face, but it quickly fell.
He found no peace in his churning, quivering stomach. He was not one for many adornments, but he had accepted her proposal to shine his nosering, to polish his hooves, to puff up the browning tip of his tail, all in the hopes of procrastinating until the feelings of anxiety passed. They only grew stronger. He knew with every passing moment that no matter how admirable his tail looked or no matter how impressively free of wrinkles his robes were, it would be him they would watch. Only him, a humble healer, and his mate.
He swallowed. The elf looked up at him with a curiously bemused look before returning her attentions to altering his kilt. He had been getting ready all the morning long. He knew they were out there waiting, perhaps a dozen, perhaps a hundred, perhaps a million souls all looking to him to behave just so, to say what he had to say, to do what he had to do. No amount of cologne would change that. There would be so many expectant eyes, watching his every action, in their minds supporting, or rejecting, but always judging. The bull squeezed his eyes shut and bit on his tongue to keep a tremor from rippling through his body.
He tried to calm himself in a thousand ways, by thinking to the future, by thinking of the claps and cheers he would receive, by thinking just how handsome he probably looked, all dressed up for the occasion. They gave him no relief. Only one thought served as a beacon in the storm. It was that no matter how terrified he felt inside, no matter how nauseated he was, he would not be up there alone. No, he would never be alone again.
"Well then, Mister Blackhorn," the blood elven woman murmured, picking herself deftly up from the dirt and giving her client a courteous smile. "I must say, you look quite dashing for my first customer of your, ah, physique."
In the mirror, he saw only his frightened, watery green eyes. He turned to her and bit on his lip. He raised his hand to rub at his forearm, but she gently yet insistently pushed it back down to his side, lest a single wrinkle befall her newest creation.
"T-thank you. ... H-how do I look?"
"Hmmm, well," she murmured, looking him over. "Well, I did what I could with the hair, or... mane, or whatever it is you prefer to call it. Never see your kind with ponytails, though really, it looks quite nice. Formal, I think. Very dashing, very handsome. I really do think you should wear earrings or a bracelet or two. I wasn't sure if I should have gone with something rough and musky or soft and flowery for the cologne, but I think this fragrance works quite well, yes? The robes match you well, though, the bl-"
"N-no... no, um..." The tauren closed his eyes for a moment, but could come up with no alternative way to say it. He blinked them back open as he peered down at her, his mouth small, the faintest dashes of color running along his cheeks. "I... ... I-I mean. How... How do I look?"
She regarded him for another moment. A rare genuine smile crossed her face as she tilted her head the other way.
"I'd say... you look as though you're ready to be married, Mister Blackhorn."
After a moment, he returned her smile. He closed his eyes and tilted his horns forward in respect. Her smile widened a bit. She stepped over to pull back the flap as the sunlight flooded in. He took one deep breath and let it out without regard to sound, squinting into the brightness. With no further hesitation, Samhuinn Blackhorn stepped out into the noon sun and toward his ceremony.
178: Paranoia
Even before he unpacked the bread and the meat, Ambershanks Runetotem knew that Samhuinn would not be content with this spot. His body language betrayed his verbal one. He insisted that this area was fine, that it was just grassy enough and there were flowers nearby and it was atop a hill so they could be closer to the sun and there were no trees so the wind would blow and it would be a perfect picnic, but it was all too obvious that the bull was not relishing the idea of settling just yet.
"You're upset," Ambershanks noted. He set the basket down, but did not help Samhuinn as he set out the blanket. "This is the third spot we've tried all afternoon. You were the one who said we should go for a picnic, and yet you look as though, I don't know, as though the earth is going to swallow you up at any moment. What are you so nervous about?"
"Nervous? I-I am not nervous," Samhuinn replied, in the cadence he always used when he was nervous. He sat down upon the cloth blanket and patted the spot beside him, beckoning for his mate to sit. "T-this is... a-a fine spot. J-just fine, I... assure you."
"All right, but gods, I wish you would just tell me what's the matter." Ambershanks knelt down onto the blanket and rummaged through the lunch basket, seeking a snack. "I thought we were through with hiding things seasons ago."
But Samhuinn was not paying attention. Sensing this, Ambershanks cut him a sharp look, but the smaller bull's eyes were off some yards to the side, watching something uncomfortably. The feral's gaze followed his mate's over to what appeared to be a little mound of dirt. He cut Samhuinn another look, then, before the other could stop him, he pushed himself up from the blanket and approached the little hill.
"... It's... an anthill," Ambershanks remarked as he approached it. He looked back at Samhuinn, who was staring up at him with that same sort of blank terror. Understanding came swiftly, and before he could stop himself, he barked a quick, surprised laugh. "Samhuinn! You're afraid of ants, aren't you?"
"What? No! N-no, I, no. No, t-that is..."
"You are," Ambershanks mused, with growing certainty. "I never would have suspected, but it's so clear now. It's why you scold me so sharply when I eat messily while at home, isn't it? You don't want them tracked into our tent."
Samhuinn's shoulders raised as he turned away from Ambershanks, seeming uncertain of how to respond. He busied himself by pulling the bread from the basket and chopping it into neat slices, but his movements were jerky. Ambershanks watched this for a moment before padding across the grass, plopping down beside him and rubbing his shoulder.
"Do not... worry too much on it, love. You should see Gennia around spiders. She is hopeless! Ah, and even brave Turak, who seems so peerless and strong? The one we know will be a great elder someday? Gods, he nearly..." Ambershanks laughed at the memory. "He nearly wet his loincloth one afternoon, when a rat sneaked into the druid's tent. You should have heard him. The females had to calm him down while Uncle himself went about capturing the little creature. Gods, it was hysterical. He was so red afterward."
Samhuinn gave Ambershanks a weary smile, face half-covered in wind-tossed hair. He shook his head faintly even as the tan bull wrapped an arm around him. "... I know," he murmured as he finished up a sandwich. He offered this to Ambershanks, who gladly accepted with his free hand. "I know, there are... s-some who are so afraid o-of heights that they cannot use windriders... a-and others who demand large s-sprawling huts, f-for a little teepee makes them w-worried. But..."
"But..?" Ambershanks goaded.
"... B-but for one who is... s-supposed to... to love a-and respect a-all creatures, n-no matter how small... H-how does it reflect upon me, t-that I can scarcely stand the sight of... o-of those..." Samhuinn leaned forward, peering past Ambershanks at the anthill beyond. "... Of those... ... c-creatures? I... I-I do not want to... ... to fear them, b-but I... t-they are just so... ... c-crawly, a-and they get into e-everything, a-and there are so many..."
"You do not seem to mind other crawly and numerous insects. Those damned little scarabs in Silithus are a thousand times more dangerous than even a poisonous ant, but you have no difficulty managing them."
"... I know. I-I know," Samhuinn replied. Only now did he finally warm into Ambershanks's touch, sinking into the bull. He raised a crumb-covered hand up to rub at his snout. "E-everybody is a-afraid of something... U-usually something harmless, like... l-like... ah, l-like water. O-or... thunderstorms. O-or, y-you know, T-turak and his rats. E-everybody must deal with them in some way or another."
"Everyone... hm?" Ambershanks leaned forward. He put his chin on top of his mate's head, just near the base of his left horn. He wrapped his arms around Samhuinn's neck protectively.
"... I think... everyone. E-even... you, love."
"Is that so?" Ambershanks replied. Faint tinges of amusement laced his words, but there was a slight, almost imperceptible stress to his words. "... What do you think I am afraid of?"
And Samhuinn fell silent.
179: Fearless
"Certainly you do not think me fearless."
Ambershanks pressed his weight forward into his mate, the weight of his chest supported by Samhuinn's back. His fingers dug into the younger bull's chest fur, comforting but insistent; they were a promise that Samhuinn would not be able to get out of avoiding the question.
"You said it yourself. Everyone fears something. What do you think it is I fear?"
"I really..." Samhuinn muttered. His cheeks were hot, as Ambershanks felt as he nuzzled in from behind. He shook his head, trying to lean forward to grab a piece of bread, but Ambershanks's grasp tightened, pinning him back. "I... I don't... Is this necessary?"
"You have piqued my curiosity."
Samhuinn looked down at his lap. He wriggled his snout, mind racing to phrase itself properly. "... I know... ... that you fear losing... somebody you love. ... I think... you fear that, even more t-than your own death." He felt Ambershanks's head turn to look at him. "But... I think... e-everybody feels... t-that way."
"And you know," Ambershanks murmured. His voice was low and raspy in Samhuinn's ear. "That I have lost before." The older bull shifted his weight. Samhuinn felt the bare patches of skin along Ambershanks's left arm brush across his chin.
"I could... not forget it," Samhuinn murmured. With a great heave of a sigh, he kicked into the blanket and pushed himself back into Ambershanks. The force took them down to the grass. Now pressing his mate into the ground, Samhuinn raised one hand up to cradle the feral druid's head, persuading him not to move; the other he raised to block out the sun, peering up at the clouds. "You... remind me of it... in your nightmares."
Ambershanks, resigned to being sandwiched between Samhuinn and the grass, let off a great sigh. He lapsed into an uneasy silence, unbroken by his mate. It felt like many minutes before he spoke again.
"I thought... that I was getting better about that."
"You are," Samhuinn assured him. He turned and rubbed his snout underneath his lover's chin, warm in the summer sun. "... You... are, I promise... I-I promise."
They were quiet for a few minutes longer. The breeze picked up as the noon sun drifted by overhead, overpassed by puffy white clouds. Once, Samhuinn pointed out a cloud that resembled a wild hare, but he said nothing. He only felt Ambershanks's affirming nod pressing into the side of his neck.
"Samhuinn," Ambershanks finally spoke. "I... cannot fear Hyjal anymore. It is... behind me. I cannot... fear losing... Nomoon. ... And... you have seen me, I am driven by anger... not by fear, when I confront demons. Taaneth's... little imp is obnoxious, but you know I can tolerate the thing. I don't think-"
"F-felhunters."
Samhuinn felt Ambershanks twitch beneath him. Instinctively, Samhuinn rolled over so that his nose pressed into Ambershanks's, staring down into his eyes and shielding him from the sun.
"You... h-hate them. With everything you have. I know, I know, you never - you never told me what, what, what gave you... what gave you these." Samhuinn arced his back, supporting himself with one paw; with the other, he slowly pulled back part of Ambershanks's chest, revealing the hint of a peach-toned scar. "... But I know, I've known s-since... s-since the beginning. The way you thrash in your sleep, like..."
"Like I'm being..."
"From low, from the ground, f-from-"
Ambershanks squeezed his eyes shut. His body was so tense beneath Samhuinn that a wave of fear instinctively washed over him. He felt the tan bull shuddering, shuddering at the memories, shuddering at the thoughts, shuddering at Nomoon, shuddering at himself. Samhuinn slid in and pressed up into his body, turned his head such that the height of his mane pushed into Ambershanks's throat, closed his own eyes, and waited.
It felt like an hour before either spoke.
"... Well, um..." Samhuinn started. He blinked open his green eyes and peered up. Ambershanks glanced down at him. The water had long since left his blue eyes, but the sadness remained. It struck a shock through the younger bull's heart that kept him from speaking for a moment. "... I... s-suppose... that, um, this is as good a-a time as any, to..."
"... To..?"
"... To promise... t-that i-if... you never... bring home a-an ant farm, t-that I won't... bring home a-a felhunter. Y-you know, even a-a little wounded one, l-like-"
Ambershanks cracked a tired half-smile. "Like that basilisk you brought home once? The one with the broken leg?"
Samhuinn nodded up at him emphatically. "Y-yes. Or the, uh, or that... that slime, f-from Un'Goro, the one with indigestion? E-earthmother, the hut smelled l-like the tar pits f-for days..! Or gods, remember the baby yeti wit - oomph!"
Cuffing his arm around Samhuinn's neck, Ambershanks bowled the smaller bull off of him, forcefully but without pain. Without giving the healer a second to react, he pulled himself right on top of him. His hooves knocked the picnic basket down the hill. Putting his paws down upon Samhuinn's shoulders, he arced his back and grinned deviously down at him.
"It's a promise," he decided, then went down to kiss him.
180: Lyric
The fair-skinned elf strummed his lute one last time, his even-toned voice crooning a final long note. Most of the patrons of The Sultry Sweetheart didn't see fit to look up from their glasses. A loud group of drunken elven women hooted and hollered at him from the back of the tavern, resounding loudly over the audience's faint applause. Feeling guilty over the bard's poor reception, Samhuinn Runetotem clapped his hands together loudly enough to show appreciation, but not so loudly as to draw attention to himself. His mate Ambershanks watched with muted boredom. The week was coming to an end, and though Silvermoon City had initially presented itself as an exciting locale for a honeymoon, Ambershanks found himself longing for the bluffs.
The singer did not seem to mind the general disinterested audience in the bar. He took a modest bow, smirking as one of the ladies in the back wolf-whistled at him. Cradling his lute with both hands, he stepped forward to the edge of the stage, addressing the room at large.
"Thank you, thank you all... 'The Trackside Tavern' is a great old song, thank you. You've been a fantastic audience, all of you. It was a pleasure to play for you tonight, as ever, but I'm afraid they don't pay me enough to stay much later than this." There was a low murmur of polite chuckling. "As we wind down for the night, I'd like to take one final request from anybody in the audience. Any song at all. Anyone?"
Nobody spoke up. Of the thirty customers this evening, only about half of them were paying attention. Ambershanks didn't appear to be in that half, Samhuinn noted. Guiltily, as though apologetic for being a member of such a lifeless crowd, he peered up at the bard on stage, wishing he could find an excuse, any excuse, to apologize for something.
"Anyone? Come on, everyone. You've got to hav-"
"How about a challenge, bard?"
A few heads glanced in the direction of Samhuinn's table. Like a sixth sense reacting, Samhuinn involuntarily winced. Slowly, he craned his head to his mate. Ambershanks was on his hooves, smirking up at the singer, his arms crossed over his chest.
"A challenge, you say?" the blood elf echoed. His eyebrows raised expectantly, looking the tauren over with partial respect and partial humoring. "And what would this be, tauren?"
"My mate Samhuinn and I were married six nights ago," Ambershanks responded. Samhuinn put his head in his hands and scooted up against the table. "We are spending the week in Silvermoon City. It has been a most... momentous time for us, as I am sure you suspect, but I think there is a certain... something that we are missing. I would be heartbroken, I assure you, to have all of my darling husband's only memories of this honeymoon of the sheets in our bedroom."
Muted whispers and a couple giggles washed along the audience, who were finally starting to rouse themselves from their comfortable half-dozing. Samhuinn smeared his cheeks with his palms, almost shaking with embarrassment.
The blood elf, however, was quite amused. "I think I see where you are going, tauren." Playing up on the growing interest of the crowd, he strummed his lute once, his fair voice raising. "Aye, not a ring, nor a flower, nor chocolate, nor all the luminous crystal gardens of the Magister's Terrace itself can warm my soul as can a song, a poem in motion, of one I love. And as it should so happen, the fates smile upon us all. Might you request of your husband that I may see his face?" Startled, Samhuinn looked up from his hands without provocation, and the elven man nodded, his confidence bolstered. "As it should so happen, I know this tauren. Some call him SAH-when, some call him Sam, but all call him a fine healer, the finest in all the lands. Why, he saved my dear sweet sister from the very brink of death."
Samhuinn peered up at him, memory dawning. He had not recognized the blood elf all garbed up for his performance, but he saw him now. His sister had indeed been a client about a season ago, but her cuts were shallow wounds that would have healed in scarcely two weeks if left entirely untreated. He opened his mouth to protest the undue admiration thrust upon him, but his mate spoke up first. "Well? Can you do it?" Ambershanks asked, grinning brightly.
The bard grinned back. "Is the wine here sour?"
The bull laughed. He stepped forward and put four gold coins into the blood elf's tip jar.
The lute rang out.
Samhuinn put his head back in his hands. "Oh gods-"
"Weeeeeeelllllll~~~
The wonderful thing about Samhuinn
Is Samhuinn's a tauren of note!
His top has the horns of a bison
His bottom has hooves like a goat!
He's blushy, mushy, gushy, plushy,
Shy shy shy shy shy!
But the most wonderful thing about Samhuinn
Is he's... a peachy guy!"
One final strum of the lute, and the song was over. Ambershanks clapped the loudest, drowning out even the screaming women in the back; he lead the applause of the rest of the audience, thoroughly entertained by the entire ordeal. The only two not clapping were the bard himself and poor Samhuinn, looking up at Ambershanks with cheeks more red than the older tauren had ever seen. The bard went on to thank the audience for being so wonderful, to happen to mention his tip jar a couple times, and wrap up his set.
"Gods, A-ambershanks," Samhuinn stammered, glancing up at the feral tauren shakily. "You... d-didn't h-have to do that... I-it was embarrassing."
"Ah, I know you by now, love," Ambershanks replied. He pulled up his chair beside his mate, his voice low under the drone of the crowd and the spiel of the bard. "I know when you are embarrassed because you are humiliated and flustered, and I know when you are embarrassed because you don't want to admit to yourself how much you enjoyed something. You really liked it, didn't you?"
Samhuinn was quiet for a long moment. Ambershanks's insistent look never left him. Finally, Samhuinn tilted his head forward, put his fingers up to his forehead, and replied, "... I... have never... h-had... a song a-about me b-before..." And he smiled, finally confessing his appreciation.
"Good," Ambershanks replied. "I am glad to have helped make your first."
~Sam))
90% of the way to 200. :)
171: Neglect
The light of the evening sun dripped into the hut. The little tent upon Spirit Rise was sparsely decorated, but with taste; tapestries and scrolls lined the walls, colors of spring vibrant against the earthen, mundane cloth. Alongside clay pots and bundles of incense and wood were stacks of books were organized around the teepee's exterior, dozens upon dozens of them. The sunset washed over the sleeping form of a tauren child, curled up into himself, eyebrows furrowed with the focus of a deep dream. Near him sat a larger male, poring quietly over a stack of tomes. Shadowblack hair tumbled over his eyes, which occasionally flickered over to the child, but never to the second adult. A tall female knelt, washing pots in a barrel of water. The tent was nearly silent, save only for the flipping of pages and the splashing of jugs in the sink.
The female tauren, Anipale by name, glanced over her shoulder at the older male, then at her son. The creases of worry across her face deepened. She dropped the final plate into the water, took in a deep breath, and stood, turning to him.
"Do you still love me, Samhuinn?"
Samhuinn Blackhorn looked up from the parchment before he could mask his surprise. His wide green eyes met her stoic brown ones. His hesitation was a moment too long; her shoulders fell before his first word was spoken.
"Yes... I... do."
She watched him as he set the books aside. His hands trembled as he moved slowly, his growing anxiety unveiled on his face. He rose to his hooves, looking to the child sleeping in the corner before he glanced up at his mate.
"You have not said it to me in moons, Samhuinn. I was beginning to wonder if you ever meant it."
Samhuinn stepped forward and spread his arms, but she stepped past him, crossing the tent to her son. Palemane shifted in his sleep. He was a small child, taking strongly after his mother. Soft beige hair coated his body, sprouting into an icy silver-blue mane that flooded down his back. Only his sharp black horns and his sad green eyes told of his father's contribution. The mother sat down beside her child, tussling his hair.
"Anipale..." Samhuinn started, but could not find the words to follow. A frown traced across his face, an echo to her own.
"Do you know, Samhuinn," she asked, raising her eyes to watch his face. She so closely resembled their son, yet her eyes were so still, nearly dead. Samhuinn did not remember if she had always looked that way; perhaps he did not look into her eyes enough to know. "... Why it was that I chose you? There were a dozen other bulls vying for my hand, bulls stronger, swifter, wiser, more... More..."
"... Confident," Samhuinn whispered, and her sigh spoke for her. The male tauren inclined his head forward slightly and closed his eyes. After a moment, he settled down not far from her, leaning forward onto his knees. He was silent for nearly a minute. The mates watched each other in tense silence, before Samhuinn spoke. "... N... n-no. ... No, Anipale, I do not know. I... I have never known."
Her hand traced along her son's ear. He stirred, but did not rouse. Samhuinn had to smile, but it was gone before she spoke.
"I thought that I saw something in you, Samhuinn. I was almost positive. You were so quiet and so unassuming, but, gods, some of the things you said, some of those times when you brightened up, when you... when you spoke to me, I just..." Anipale inhaled deeply, her shoulders raising with the effort. "I just... I knew, that if you could just... just... get past being afraid of me, being afraid of the world, I just knew that I could... depend upon you, upon your strength and your character, your, your, your compassion..."
"I... I-I do not understand."
"Of course you don't understand. You were a mystery that puzzled me once." She patted her child one last time before she rose. Samhuinn did so as well, automatically, a beat after her. "You were so... intriguing, so... different, like this... this... this weakness mixed with this strength, that I just... I just... I don't... gods, I don't know," she finished at last, shaking her head briskly. He stepped forward to embrace her once again, but she backed out of his range. His hands fell to his sides. "It all makes sense, in my head... When I think of the five years since our union, when I think of the two years before that, it just... you didn't..."
"An... A-anipale," Samhuinn murmured, his voice level despite his obvious unease. His voice was soft, but even in his own ears, it did not sound soothing or warm. "It has been a-a long day... You are... simply tired. C-come, lie down beside me, I-I will put out the fires i-in just a few minutes, and-"
"Don't try to comfort me because you're too afraid of what we'll admit to one another, Samhuinn," she snapped, her snout twitching. "I've poured my heart out to you, if not once then a thousand times, I've told you every one of my... my fears and my dreams, but you never, ever concede anything to me, not once. You think you know exactly what to say to comfort me, and it just so happens to require absolutely no emotional investment out of yourself! You're too damn kind to be so cold, Samhuinn, I just don't understand it. I thought once you would grow to care about everything. Now, now, now it's like you care about... nothing!"
Samhuinn crossed his arms over his chest, turning away from his mate. She could not read his expressions through the growing darkness, but she did not need to see him to know that he was tense. "You... do me a-an injustice, Anipale," he replied. His eyes cast upon the sleeping form of his son. "I care... about our child."
"You care about our child's health," she responded at once. "But what about his happiness? You could care less if he is smiling or if he is frowning, so long as he is growing. You drag him through... through training regiments intended for calves twice his age. You keep him fed, yes, and warm, and you shield him from sickness, but you see how tired he is after every day. He is too busy for friends or for time for himself, and every time I try to protest, you say-"
"I tell you... to trust me." Samhuinn stamped forward, closer to Anipale; she took a step back, surprised by the suddenness of his movements. "I tell you that I know what I am doing, t-that I am... competent enough to raise a-a child. If you a-are not able to, to... t-to trust me on this, perhaps it is you who are uncertain a-about your investment into this relationship."
The female snarled at that, snapping her head away to mask the ugliness of her expression. "I just don't know what you're doing, Sam. Part of the reason I ever bonded with you was because you weren't some... macho, pig-headed animal. I thought you would raise Palemane with compassion and love, not trying to make him out to be some... ferocious... monstrous warrior - oh!"
Samhuinn took in a sharp breath as she gasped, then the tent fell completely silent. He was tense in a way she had never seen him before. Her eyes widened with the shock of an unforeseen conclusion snapping in her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Samhuinn's words that hit the air first.
"Anipale..." His voice was low, warning. "Y-you must speak... very cautiously, with these next few words..."
"Sam," she whispered, her voice carrying a sense of inevitable dread. "... You want him t-to end up... better than you... stronger than you..!"
"Anipale..."
"Sam, you've never once told me about your parents. ... Not... ... Not the Greytails, Sam, I am not a fool, even if you thought I've believed you all this time. You resemble them in no way shape or form. You never told me why you insisted upon the tribal name... Blackhorn..."
"Anipale!"
"And you never told me why our child's namesake had to end in 'mane'. All these... damned questions! Sam, you've never once spoken to me about your childhood! I have asked a thousand times, and you shy away, you change the subject, you hide from it, and I-"
"Anipale, by the light of the gods, if you say one more word-"
"I demand to know if this was the way you were treated when you-"
He moved in an instant. He was upon her before she she could cry out, slamming her up against the wall of the tent, his fingers tight around her throat. He was furious, more furious than she had ever seen him before, those quiet green eyes of his alight with anger, gripping her with manic insistence. Her hands tugged at his own, but he did not budge as she choked, her throat croaking with the effort of breath. Droplets of his spit scattered across her face as he snarled into her, his words quiet, raspy, and dangerous.
"When I tell you to pry no further, I expect that you will pry no further. I would sooner throttle you where you stand than speak another word about this. You are here because our child is healthier under your vigilance, but do not believe for a second that I could not send you away the moment your existence tires me. Do you understand?"
His grip around her throat weakened, but still he pinned her to the cloth of the tent. Tears began to form in her eyes, but they were of anger and indignation; there was no sorrow and no fear in her eyes. She bared her teeth at him, her voice hoarse. Her mouth was either a grimace or a grin, and the bull could not tell which.
"Finally... Sam... you... monster. ... I knew... you couldn't hold out... much longer. Finally... some..."
He raised his arm to silence her, but it was another voice, not hers, that stayed his hand.
"... Father?"
The eyes of the adults flickered at once to the voice. Little Palemane stood, rubbing his sleepy eyes, peering up at his father pinning his mate to the wall, not fully comprehending. "... Mother? ... Father? Why are you making so much noise?"
Samhuinn looked back at Anipale, and she at him. All the heat, the zeal, the aggression faded into nothing as the male tauren's face went helpless, unsure of what to say. Anipale gave him a look, silently telling him 'This isn't over'. She raised both of her hands to the wrist near her chest, grasping his arm and lifting it, kissing his fingers softly. Her eyes never left his. She finally pushed him away gently, then turned to her child, dropping to a kneel before him.
"Nothing, my child, your father and I were just... doing what mates do. Everything's all right."
"You were very loud," Palemane mumbled, stretching his neck. "I thought you two were fighting."
She smiled faintly. He was too young to see the sadness and the exhaustion in her eyes. "Have your father and I ever fought, my child?"
"No," he admitted quietly.
Anipale smiled and rubbed his shoulder. Her movements were jerky and wooden, autonomous; her mind was a mile away. "Go back to sleep, baby. You have a big day tomorrow, and you need your sleep. Your father will do something nice to make up for waking you. Isn't that right... Samhuinn?"
She glanced over her shoulders to punctuate the ice of her words, but he was not there.
172: Driver
The tower loomed over them. There were no trees for many yards, so the zeppelin spire stood like a mountain aside great walls of granite and stone. It was a spiraling obelisk of wood and thick crafted tusks, caked with thick layers of dust and grime from the Durotan summer. Wide nets of wood stretched outward from the flat roof of the fort, overshadowing the dry and barren land. Two approaching travelers watched with muted wonder as an enormous blimp, tan yet patched with colors of violet and beige and aquamarine, fluttered into view. Graceful as a bird, it settled itself neatly between the racks of wood. Even from this distance and upon the ground, Samhuinn and Ambershanks could see the little green shipmen ushering passengers off of the zeppelin while greedily accepting payment from new riders.
"When you..." The younger bull spotted a glance for his partner, but Ambershanks was watching the spire's tip. "When you look... up a-at the zeppelin, what... do you feel?"
"Contempt," Ambershanks replied, snorting for effect. Dry weeds cracked underhoof, breaking the crunching and grinding of sand. "It represents a blight upon our Kalimdor. It is a cost of the air we breathe, of the trees the Earthmother gave us, that we keep these blimps afloat to fuel the goblin greed." He raised a hand to scratch at his cheek, brushing back a long black hairbraid. "How far do we dig into the mountains and take the Earthmother's bounty to keep these blimps flying? The need for rapid transport has put windriders in forests and jungles. In my jungle, in our jungle. They spoil the natural beauty."
Samhuinn nodded slowly. His eyes were low, watching the ground. He stepped over the smallest patches of grass. He had no response of his own, so Ambershanks had to provoke him. "Do you not agree?"
"... I... see the bad... a-along with the good," the healer murmured. He spotted his partner with a sidelong glance, but Ambershanks was looking at him too closely, so with cheeks flushing red, he reverted his gaze to the arid ground. "A-aye, it is... it is a shame, that it should take so much for transport, but... in what other manner w-would we travel to the Eastern continent? W-we are... so far apart. If we could... only transverse the Maelstrom... v-via boat, h-how could we retain druidic presence i-in the Vale, o-or Duskwood, o-or any of the natural regions still untouched b-by human contact? Gods, I..." He wet his lips, shaking his head. His chinbraid dangled below him. "I-I could not imagine... riding Asha to Felwood a-and back twice a week, w-without windrider assistance. Your uncle himself c-could not collect the Un'Goro soil s-so easily w-without sufficient transportation. I-it is a necessity... love."
"Spoil an apple to save the barrel, you say," Ambershanks replied, his voice muted. Samhuinn wriggled his snout, glancing up at the tan bull without comprehension. They had stepped into the spiraling tower, making their way up the stairs to the rooftop. Torches lined the wall, guiding the way forever upward. "I still don't like it. There has to be some other way."
Samhuinn smiled. "Y-you have the mind... a-and the position on the Circle. M-maybe you could find this way."
"Gods, Sam, but those stubborn elders scarcely listen to me." They stepped back out into the summer sun. There were people of all sorts flooding out of the blimp - tall, short, young, old. Some were fair and pink of skin, others burly men with skin deep green, still others light blue with sharp tusks. There were humanoid folk, their bodies pale and maimed and given to decay, yet carrying themselves of perfect health. And there were the brethren of Samhuinn and Ambershanks, tall bestial men and women thick with fur of black and red and white and brown. They were as different as could be, yet upon each of them, they bore that same blood-red insignia that tied each and every one of their bloodlines together. "You know it is only my uncle who cares even slightly what I believe. The elders wield their wisdom as a weapon. They do not change their minds easily, if at all."
"Is that so," Samhuinn mused, and it was not a question. He spotted Ambershanks with a wry knowing glance. "I wonder w-what it must be like... to have to put up w-with that."
Ambershanks slowed to a stop, watching the younger tauren curiously as he laughed softly, handing his boarding pass to the goblin woman and being ushered onto the blimp.
173: Rid You
He remembered the sun. It pounded down like a physical force, weighing on his shoulders in a way that no weapon or tool had. His fingers twitched, begging to wipe free the sweat dribbling down his brow, but he knew too well the consequences any relief would cost him. He was nearly trembling with the effort of his steadfast posture, but he could not afford a moment's carelessness.
He remembered the exhaustion. Every last muscle seemed to ache in areas he did not know he had. The sweat slipping down between the cracks of his body's hair felt like boiling water, like acid, like searing, blinding, liquid pain. His arms shook with the weight of his axe; his legs shook under the weight of his body. His hooves crunched into the dirt as he dug in, forcing his body to brace itself. He could not otherwise allow a movement.
He remembered the fear. His face could not surrender a hint. Fear lost battles; intimidation won them. The ability to cow a foe with body language was as mighty a weapon as the sharpest blade. He did not intend to admit his surmounting terror, nor his young mind's growing sense of its own morality. But he was afraid. He was completely and utterly afraid, and was spared no mercy to betray it.
He remembered the bull most of all, like a black shadow against an endless blue sky. He could make out no details of face or form through the sweat in the eyes and the sun overhead; he only recalled the great looming figure of a monster thrice his height, a monster desperate for his blood, a monster who would beat him and starve him and belittle him and call it a sire's favor. A monster who would kill him if a moment's distraction dropped his guard.
First he was still. Then he struck.
Then he screamed.
It was a lifetime later that he sat, blinking back the tears that stung at his eyes. He tilted his head back against his dresser and squeezed them shut, surrendering a few small drops. He was alone; he could afford himself this weakness, if only this once. He brought the back of his hand up to wipe them free. Snout twitching in self-loathing, he smeared the water against the soil, digging his hand deep beneath the dirt of his tent. His journal sat upon his lap, almost untouched, the page to which he had opened completely blank.
Maybe, he thought to himself. With a swift motion, he snapped the book shut and let his head fall forward.
Maybe there are some things better left unwritten.
174: Fortunes
He had wealth. He had beauty. He had reputation.
He had just about everything he could have wished for. Bulls and does flocked to his presence; he was never alone for long. Since the battle for Hyjal, he had been doted on while treated with the utmost respect, praised for bringing such honor to an already prestigious clan. The blood of his ancestors inexorably tied him to the countless family members who called themselves Runetotem. That very blood pulsed in every step that cut through grass, through every swipe that drew red from prey, through every beat of his hunter's heart.
Through every drop scattered on the mountainside.
He had experience. He had scars. He had memories.
He had taken so many lives, guiltlessly, love by his side, love in his claws. Demons demanded little remorse, and he gave them none as he shred dozens upon dozens beneath him. Comrades spoke of his bravery to bolster their own. They remembered it as he had, the waves of killing, the split-seconds between the death of one foe and the charge of another. The whole time, his mind buzzed with exhilaration, fueled by dreams of veneration and glory and exaltation and victory, a palpable, desperate victory, an achievable goal in spite of all odds.
That was before the scars. That was before Nomoon fell. That was before they pounced the one thing of greater importance than himself. That was before they split into his lifemate's skin and rent his limbs from his torso and scattered his blood and his organs and his life and they chewed and they spit and they howled with glee over the thrill of their victory. That was before they dug their claws into his chest and his stomach and his thigh and sliced away the fur just as he had done a thousand times before. That was before they burned the memories into his skin to haunt him every time he stared into the water, every time he looked upon his body, every time he closed his eyes and prayed desperately that maybe tonight would bring him some rest.
He had nightmares. He had sacrifice. He had heartache.
They had thanked him, a hundred or a thousand or a million times. They had told him they could not express how sorry they were for his loss and how valuable his mate's service was to the Horde, how his valiant efforts had saved hundreds or thousands or millions of lives, how grateful he should be to have survived, how the battle was a necessity, how it was tragic that the dark to his light had been scattered but his sacrifice was a necessity, it was a necessity, it was necessity. It was necessary for him to die.
They had gathered what they found of him and buried him in their favorite spot in the Barrens, just outside of the Forgotten Pools. He had sat there at the grave for hours, sat through the sun and the rain, through the daybreak and onward through the following night. He cried until there was nothing left, then he dug deeper and cried some more until he thought it would kill him.
They had given him fortunes and taken from him one lone being. They had thrust medals upon his person and had thrown him into a world where he was a hero and a warrior and a scoundrel and, most of all, a growing druid, a potential candidate to take his uncle's position, an elder with charisma and spirit and strength. They had expected him to go on living life as he had before, to move on, to pick up the pieces and start again.
He had wealth. He had beauty. He had reputation.
He had nothing.
175: Mercy
Kaltag spit out another wad of tauren hair, pulling his head back from Samhuinn's tail. The tauren yelped in pain, grabbing the base of his tail and yanking it free of the wolvar's clutches. The little beast giggled wildly through sharp, clenched teeth. Little strands of burgundy fur stuck out from his teeth.
"That funny! You funny, cow-man! Tasty, too!"
Before Samhuinn could reprimand the little creature, Kaltag was off. The hill down from the Frenzyheart Hill broke into a sharp slope. The wolvar's sprint broke into a roll as he tumbled down the mound, leaping at the hill's end to dive into a bush. Samhuinn's annoyance quickly turned to panic as he scrambled down the hill, scared for the little beast's safety. Just as the druid set foot on the grass did Kaltag come bursting out of the bush, wielding a chicken in each hand.
"Cow-man funny and tasty, but slow. Kaltag catch six chickens! Cow-man only catch two!" The wolvar's hands fell after a moment. The chickens writhed, their talons scuffing the dirt, but he would not let them go. "Kaltag be greatest warrior of jungle someday. Not chicken catcher. Chicken catching for puppies. Want teach big-tongues a lesson!"
Samhuinn sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at his right temple. "K-kaltag, this is... precisely t-the attitude I have been sent here for. T-the Oracles do not seek bloodshed. T-there is no reason f-for this senseless violence with them."
"Big tongue no want fight with Kaltag?" Kaltag inquired. He looked up from stuffing the chickens into a sack, peering at Samhuinn with his big brown eyes. Just as a flash of hope burned in Samhuinn's chest, the wolverine boy added, "Well, maybe next time he think about that before he born big tongue - Ooh, chicken!"
The wolvar sprinted off across the grass, leaving Samhuinn to trudge far behind him. Social tasks were never among the shy druid's strengths, but Hamuul Runetotem had a hope that his temperance would rub off on the ferocious and violent creatures of the Sholazar Basin. Not quite a civilized people and not quite animals, the Arch Druid felt that of all the races of the Horde that the nature-loving tauren would be most able to get through to them, a druid even moreso, and a seeker of peace most of all. Runetotem had managed to instill Samhuinn with some modicum of courage, giving the younger bull a little optimism about this task.
This was before the wolvars tackled him and chewed every part of his body they could sink their teeth into. They would yelp and squeal "Cow-man! Cow-man!" as they chomped, playing the most painful game Samhuinn could have imagined. They did this as greeting and as farewell every day for the week he had been with them. Even after the wolvars lost interest in biting him and sent him off to recapture lost chickens, his tail was still smarting something fierce.
Orgrimmar was not built in a week, no, Samhuinn told himself, gloomily lumbering along far behind Kaltag, who had long since disappeared from view. But I do not know if I can survive that long.
"Cow-man! Come quick! Kaltag find something!"
Samhuinn had heard this many times over the last few days. He stepped over branches and through the underbrush, narrowing avoiding a hornet's nest by chance. His druidic sense told him of the seeds and plants crushed underhoof. Sholazar was perhaps the most ecologically stable region of all Northrend, luscious and green in a way that surpassed even the Un'Goro Crater. At the beginning of the week, Samhuinn had resolved to teach the Frenzyhearts in the way of commune with nature; now, Samhuinn just wanted to escape the week intact.
Samhuinn expected that Kaltag had found something of no consequence, probably a bug or a strangely shaped rock. He followed the sounds of Kaltag babbling something incoherent. He stepped around a sprawl of trees and came into a dusty clearing. The wolvar was there; his spear was held against a green and red form on the ground. Its identity became apparent quickly enough as Samhuinn approached. He gasped in surprise as he realized it was a gorloc, badly injured, its leg twisting backwards at the ankle. Blood soaked into the soil. It mewled quietly, painfully, as Kaltag kept his javelin pressed against its throat.
"Kaltag!" Samhuinn yelled, horrified as he jogged up to the two. "Kaltag, by... b-by the grace of the Earthmother, what... why... D-did you do this?"
"Kaltag no do this," the wolvar responded, seeming disappointed by that fact. "Big tongue fighting gorilla. Kaltag come out and chase ape off with spear! Ape now have scar on chest. Kaltag very brave." He puffed his chest out.
Samhuinn glanced down at the Oracle's form to gauge the truth in the wolvar's words. It was true; the little creature had no spear-wounds anywhere, only the marks of claws and teeth. It writhed beneath the tip of Kaltag's weapon, squeaking for what sounded to Samhuinn like mercy.
"You... saved t-this gorloc's life?"
"Told you Kaltag be great warrior," the wolvar replied, seeming quite proud. "Now Kaltag have life of big tongue! Very happy. Kaltag beat ape and kill big tongue today. Good day!"
The wolvar withdrew his spear with the intention of striking. Samhuinn barely moved forward fast enough. The tauren lashed out and grabbed the weapon as it came down, only just keeping it from entering the gorloc's exposed throat.
"Wait!"
"What?" Kaltag grunted as he tried to yank the spear out of Samhuinn's grasp. "Grf! Cow-man funny, but cow-man stupid too! Don't cow-man know it not right to touch weapon of other warrior?"
"Yes... yes, Kaltag, yes, I know, I-I am sorry, but listen. Listen!" Once he felt the wolvar grudgingly stop struggling, Samhuinn sighed, collecting his nerve-wracked mind. "... Listen. D-do you know the mark of a true warrior?"
"Killing?"
"No! It is in protecting! A-a true warrior would challenge a-a foe to... to... to honorable combat. O-only a healthy foe. T-there is no glory in killing somebody who cannot f-fight back. T-there is no challenge. Do you not see?"
"No... Kaltag no understand. It big tongue. Big tongue must die. Kaltag save big tongue life, so Kaltag take big tongue life too!"
"Kaltag, l-listen to me. Listen... t-to me. This is a brave gorloc to have survived even a moment against t-that gorilla, yes?"
"Kaltag braver," the wolvar replied stubbornly.
"Maybe so, but to kill t-this gorl... this... big tongue now, when h-he too could be a great warrior... Do you not think that is the coward's way out, to slay him when he cannot fight back?"
"Coward?!" Kaltag spat. "Kaltag no coward! Kaltag bravest warrior in all of Frenzyheart!" With one mighty yank, the wolvar snatched the spear right out of the tauren's grip. Samhuinn took in a loud gasp through clenched teeth, but the little fighter did not follow through with the intent to kill. He stepped back. "Kaltag be great warrior. Kaltag chase off gorilla. Kaltag too brave to be coward. Maybe cow-man not so stupid after all. Kaltag kill only strongest big tongues. Prove Kaltag strongest warrior. Make sense!"
The gorloc had fallen unconscious by this point. As Kaltag continued to preen about his accomplishments, Samhuinn withdrew his medical pouch, mustering the healing arts both magical and physical. The wound was bloody but fresh; Samhuinn knew he could save the gorloc's life, at least this day.
Hopefully, little Oracle, he added to himself, glancing over his shoulder at the boasting wolvar. I'll have taught him a little something about peace before your next encounter.
176: Permanence
When Samhuinn Runetotem came upon Labrae, her head was low, watching the water. A familiar gentle breeze softened the summer heat as Thunder Bluff approached midday. The tauren watched her out of the corner of his eye as he stepped by the pond's shore. He dug into his medicine pouch, pulled out a smattering of herbs. He picked out the ones he desired, crushed them between his palms, and tossed them into the water. She looked up as a bit of Peacebloom drifted by.
"Ah... hello, Sam. Poolboy duty again, hm?"
Looking at the priest out of the corner of his eye, Samhuinn smiled, sprinkling another cloud of spice into the water.
"S-so long as these bluffs are populous, t-this is one job that will never be fully complete."
"You do a good job," Labrae replied. She had looked up at him briefly, but her eyes were once more looking upon her reflection. "Beth and I washed our clothes in it just the other day. It's far cleaner than anything the Undercity gets."
Her words were complimentary, but her voice betrayed her emotions. She sounded tired, sad. Samhuinn frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched the crushed pieces of vegetation float on the water's surface before the water dragged them under. He knelt before the water and swirled a hand around in it, testing for something.
"... Thank you," the tauren replied after a long moment. "... So, um... how a-are you and... a-and that rogue? The, um, t-th-"
"That's... not something I want to talk about right now, Sam," Labrae told him. She looked up at him with muted black eyes, looking harrowed. After a look of guilt crossed the bull's face, she added, "It's... not personal, Sam. I mean, it's personal, but... personal for me. It isn't you, is what I'm-"
"I understand," Samhuinn replied after a long moment. He gave her a wan smile, apologetic in nature, before refocusing on the water. He dipped his hand beneath the surface. It flashed green, filling a small section of the pool with a dull green light. Satisfied, he drew back up to his hooves, nodding down at his work. "... It, um... ... It s-saddens me. I am sorry."
"It's complicated, Sam." The Forsaken returned her gaze to the pool. She dipped a pale smooth hand into the water, as though trying to feel what the tauren felt. "I don't want to stress you out with the details. How are you and Ambershanks? When I saw you over the winter..."
"And that... i-is something I, too, do not wish t-to speak of." There was some warmth in Samhuinn's voice, but the hesitation in his smile told Labrae not to press further. "A-ambershanks and I, we are... well. I-it was a little rocky at first, but... s-somehow, we are c-closer than ever."
"That's good! That's good. I'm happy for you both. Sometimes I feel as though..." Labrae's fingers made a spiral in the water. She peered down at the ripples she made, feigning nonchalance. She had tucked her legs under her body in a half-kneeling half-sitting position. "... I don't know, as though if you two broke apart, I wouldn't... There wouldn't... be... I don't know how to put it. It would prove something I've suspected for a long time now."
"I think I-I understand," Samhuinn responded quietly. He was watching her, but as she looked up at him, he turned his gaze down to the water, slightly embarrassed. "I just... I-I just got... lucky. Well." Reddening a little more, he scratched his mane. "I-it... has taken an awful lot o-of hard work, a-and a few risks... and E-earthmother, a-a thousand and one things I-I regret... saying o-or doing, but... f-fate's hand was not, um, was not trivial."
"... I see."
They were silent for almost a full minute. The wind blew well enough to drive the heat away. After a while, Samhuinn took a single stick of Earthroot from his pouch and tossed it into the water.
"T-that is that... for the night, a-at least." He brushed his paws off on his kilt, nodding his satisfaction. "L-let us hope s-some do not ride their kodos through the pond again, l-like the other night. I-I spent n-nearly two hours cleaning up after them."
Labrae giggled. It was a soft sound without much mirth, but it was a giggle. Samhuinn smiled down at her.
"... J-just keep trying. I-it is hard, but it is worth it."
"... I'll try, Sam. I'll try to keep trying. I know it sounds stupid, but that's all I can promise."
"I-it is a good promise," Samhuinn said, and he tipped his horns in respect. "May the Earthmother w-watch over you, Tilli... ... Labrae."
"May the light and the darkness keep you well."
He took two steps before he heard her voice.
"Samhuinn, wait, just... can I ask you something?"
The druid glanced over his should at the priest, eyebrows lifting curiously. "Yes? W-what is it?"
She had turned from the pond toward him. She fiddled with the hem of his vestments, looking up at him with a desperate sort of frown. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to phrase it in her head.
"You... you and Amber, you two... Every time I see you, you have done some... crazy... thing, and still pulled it through. It's... beautiful, and I envy it, but I really am glad for you. Are you... are you two really... that... I mean, that... I don't know how to put it. Aren't you ever... I don't know, don't you feel like there's nothing that can come between you?"
It was a strange question, to be sure. Samhuinn gave her a bit of an odd look. She smiled up at him, seeming fully aware of it; that brought the hints of a smile to his own mouth. He looked up thoughtfully, his teeth showing as he bit on his lower lip, pondering the question. After a long moment, he spoke.
"Well, there would be... o-one way... i-in which we would be a-at each other's throats."
"What's that?"
And Samhuinn smirked, appearing, for once, almost mischievous. "Lock us together i-in the same room for a few days."
He chuckled as he turned, a low, rumbling sound. He felt her look boring into his back as he strode off for the higher rises.
177: Test
He looked at himself in the stained mirror, propped at a tenuous angle against the cloth of the tent that stretched against its weight. He had asked the elven woman why she had tilted it so much. She had regarded him with a curious look, and replied that if she had not, he would not have been able to see himself in it, since he was so big and the mirror, so small.
It made sense now, of course, as he peered down at his reflection. The wilderness of his mane was slicked back, contained against the curvature of his back. She had tied the longest hairs of his scruff into a banded ponytail to keep his shadowblack hair from dribbling into his eyes. His only request was that the bands matched the green of the three stripes that held firm the tangling tendrils of his facial braids. He had been washed and rewashed and rewashed again until his burgundy fur nearly glistened in the soft sunlight that punctured the tent. The clothes on his body were fine, blue silken robes a little too tight for a body so big. His facial braids were the spitting image of his Greytail father, and his mane now looked like no tauren he had ever seen before, but at least he still recognized his eyes. A gentle smile alleviated some of the worry of his face, but it quickly fell.
He found no peace in his churning, quivering stomach. He was not one for many adornments, but he had accepted her proposal to shine his nosering, to polish his hooves, to puff up the browning tip of his tail, all in the hopes of procrastinating until the feelings of anxiety passed. They only grew stronger. He knew with every passing moment that no matter how admirable his tail looked or no matter how impressively free of wrinkles his robes were, it would be him they would watch. Only him, a humble healer, and his mate.
He swallowed. The elf looked up at him with a curiously bemused look before returning her attentions to altering his kilt. He had been getting ready all the morning long. He knew they were out there waiting, perhaps a dozen, perhaps a hundred, perhaps a million souls all looking to him to behave just so, to say what he had to say, to do what he had to do. No amount of cologne would change that. There would be so many expectant eyes, watching his every action, in their minds supporting, or rejecting, but always judging. The bull squeezed his eyes shut and bit on his tongue to keep a tremor from rippling through his body.
He tried to calm himself in a thousand ways, by thinking to the future, by thinking of the claps and cheers he would receive, by thinking just how handsome he probably looked, all dressed up for the occasion. They gave him no relief. Only one thought served as a beacon in the storm. It was that no matter how terrified he felt inside, no matter how nauseated he was, he would not be up there alone. No, he would never be alone again.
"Well then, Mister Blackhorn," the blood elven woman murmured, picking herself deftly up from the dirt and giving her client a courteous smile. "I must say, you look quite dashing for my first customer of your, ah, physique."
In the mirror, he saw only his frightened, watery green eyes. He turned to her and bit on his lip. He raised his hand to rub at his forearm, but she gently yet insistently pushed it back down to his side, lest a single wrinkle befall her newest creation.
"T-thank you. ... H-how do I look?"
"Hmmm, well," she murmured, looking him over. "Well, I did what I could with the hair, or... mane, or whatever it is you prefer to call it. Never see your kind with ponytails, though really, it looks quite nice. Formal, I think. Very dashing, very handsome. I really do think you should wear earrings or a bracelet or two. I wasn't sure if I should have gone with something rough and musky or soft and flowery for the cologne, but I think this fragrance works quite well, yes? The robes match you well, though, the bl-"
"N-no... no, um..." The tauren closed his eyes for a moment, but could come up with no alternative way to say it. He blinked them back open as he peered down at her, his mouth small, the faintest dashes of color running along his cheeks. "I... ... I-I mean. How... How do I look?"
She regarded him for another moment. A rare genuine smile crossed her face as she tilted her head the other way.
"I'd say... you look as though you're ready to be married, Mister Blackhorn."
After a moment, he returned her smile. He closed his eyes and tilted his horns forward in respect. Her smile widened a bit. She stepped over to pull back the flap as the sunlight flooded in. He took one deep breath and let it out without regard to sound, squinting into the brightness. With no further hesitation, Samhuinn Blackhorn stepped out into the noon sun and toward his ceremony.
178: Paranoia
Even before he unpacked the bread and the meat, Ambershanks Runetotem knew that Samhuinn would not be content with this spot. His body language betrayed his verbal one. He insisted that this area was fine, that it was just grassy enough and there were flowers nearby and it was atop a hill so they could be closer to the sun and there were no trees so the wind would blow and it would be a perfect picnic, but it was all too obvious that the bull was not relishing the idea of settling just yet.
"You're upset," Ambershanks noted. He set the basket down, but did not help Samhuinn as he set out the blanket. "This is the third spot we've tried all afternoon. You were the one who said we should go for a picnic, and yet you look as though, I don't know, as though the earth is going to swallow you up at any moment. What are you so nervous about?"
"Nervous? I-I am not nervous," Samhuinn replied, in the cadence he always used when he was nervous. He sat down upon the cloth blanket and patted the spot beside him, beckoning for his mate to sit. "T-this is... a-a fine spot. J-just fine, I... assure you."
"All right, but gods, I wish you would just tell me what's the matter." Ambershanks knelt down onto the blanket and rummaged through the lunch basket, seeking a snack. "I thought we were through with hiding things seasons ago."
But Samhuinn was not paying attention. Sensing this, Ambershanks cut him a sharp look, but the smaller bull's eyes were off some yards to the side, watching something uncomfortably. The feral's gaze followed his mate's over to what appeared to be a little mound of dirt. He cut Samhuinn another look, then, before the other could stop him, he pushed himself up from the blanket and approached the little hill.
"... It's... an anthill," Ambershanks remarked as he approached it. He looked back at Samhuinn, who was staring up at him with that same sort of blank terror. Understanding came swiftly, and before he could stop himself, he barked a quick, surprised laugh. "Samhuinn! You're afraid of ants, aren't you?"
"What? No! N-no, I, no. No, t-that is..."
"You are," Ambershanks mused, with growing certainty. "I never would have suspected, but it's so clear now. It's why you scold me so sharply when I eat messily while at home, isn't it? You don't want them tracked into our tent."
Samhuinn's shoulders raised as he turned away from Ambershanks, seeming uncertain of how to respond. He busied himself by pulling the bread from the basket and chopping it into neat slices, but his movements were jerky. Ambershanks watched this for a moment before padding across the grass, plopping down beside him and rubbing his shoulder.
"Do not... worry too much on it, love. You should see Gennia around spiders. She is hopeless! Ah, and even brave Turak, who seems so peerless and strong? The one we know will be a great elder someday? Gods, he nearly..." Ambershanks laughed at the memory. "He nearly wet his loincloth one afternoon, when a rat sneaked into the druid's tent. You should have heard him. The females had to calm him down while Uncle himself went about capturing the little creature. Gods, it was hysterical. He was so red afterward."
Samhuinn gave Ambershanks a weary smile, face half-covered in wind-tossed hair. He shook his head faintly even as the tan bull wrapped an arm around him. "... I know," he murmured as he finished up a sandwich. He offered this to Ambershanks, who gladly accepted with his free hand. "I know, there are... s-some who are so afraid o-of heights that they cannot use windriders... a-and others who demand large s-sprawling huts, f-for a little teepee makes them w-worried. But..."
"But..?" Ambershanks goaded.
"... B-but for one who is... s-supposed to... to love a-and respect a-all creatures, n-no matter how small... H-how does it reflect upon me, t-that I can scarcely stand the sight of... o-of those..." Samhuinn leaned forward, peering past Ambershanks at the anthill beyond. "... Of those... ... c-creatures? I... I-I do not want to... ... to fear them, b-but I... t-they are just so... ... c-crawly, a-and they get into e-everything, a-and there are so many..."
"You do not seem to mind other crawly and numerous insects. Those damned little scarabs in Silithus are a thousand times more dangerous than even a poisonous ant, but you have no difficulty managing them."
"... I know. I-I know," Samhuinn replied. Only now did he finally warm into Ambershanks's touch, sinking into the bull. He raised a crumb-covered hand up to rub at his snout. "E-everybody is a-afraid of something... U-usually something harmless, like... l-like... ah, l-like water. O-or... thunderstorms. O-or, y-you know, T-turak and his rats. E-everybody must deal with them in some way or another."
"Everyone... hm?" Ambershanks leaned forward. He put his chin on top of his mate's head, just near the base of his left horn. He wrapped his arms around Samhuinn's neck protectively.
"... I think... everyone. E-even... you, love."
"Is that so?" Ambershanks replied. Faint tinges of amusement laced his words, but there was a slight, almost imperceptible stress to his words. "... What do you think I am afraid of?"
And Samhuinn fell silent.
179: Fearless
"Certainly you do not think me fearless."
Ambershanks pressed his weight forward into his mate, the weight of his chest supported by Samhuinn's back. His fingers dug into the younger bull's chest fur, comforting but insistent; they were a promise that Samhuinn would not be able to get out of avoiding the question.
"You said it yourself. Everyone fears something. What do you think it is I fear?"
"I really..." Samhuinn muttered. His cheeks were hot, as Ambershanks felt as he nuzzled in from behind. He shook his head, trying to lean forward to grab a piece of bread, but Ambershanks's grasp tightened, pinning him back. "I... I don't... Is this necessary?"
"You have piqued my curiosity."
Samhuinn looked down at his lap. He wriggled his snout, mind racing to phrase itself properly. "... I know... ... that you fear losing... somebody you love. ... I think... you fear that, even more t-than your own death." He felt Ambershanks's head turn to look at him. "But... I think... e-everybody feels... t-that way."
"And you know," Ambershanks murmured. His voice was low and raspy in Samhuinn's ear. "That I have lost before." The older bull shifted his weight. Samhuinn felt the bare patches of skin along Ambershanks's left arm brush across his chin.
"I could... not forget it," Samhuinn murmured. With a great heave of a sigh, he kicked into the blanket and pushed himself back into Ambershanks. The force took them down to the grass. Now pressing his mate into the ground, Samhuinn raised one hand up to cradle the feral druid's head, persuading him not to move; the other he raised to block out the sun, peering up at the clouds. "You... remind me of it... in your nightmares."
Ambershanks, resigned to being sandwiched between Samhuinn and the grass, let off a great sigh. He lapsed into an uneasy silence, unbroken by his mate. It felt like many minutes before he spoke again.
"I thought... that I was getting better about that."
"You are," Samhuinn assured him. He turned and rubbed his snout underneath his lover's chin, warm in the summer sun. "... You... are, I promise... I-I promise."
They were quiet for a few minutes longer. The breeze picked up as the noon sun drifted by overhead, overpassed by puffy white clouds. Once, Samhuinn pointed out a cloud that resembled a wild hare, but he said nothing. He only felt Ambershanks's affirming nod pressing into the side of his neck.
"Samhuinn," Ambershanks finally spoke. "I... cannot fear Hyjal anymore. It is... behind me. I cannot... fear losing... Nomoon. ... And... you have seen me, I am driven by anger... not by fear, when I confront demons. Taaneth's... little imp is obnoxious, but you know I can tolerate the thing. I don't think-"
"F-felhunters."
Samhuinn felt Ambershanks twitch beneath him. Instinctively, Samhuinn rolled over so that his nose pressed into Ambershanks's, staring down into his eyes and shielding him from the sun.
"You... h-hate them. With everything you have. I know, I know, you never - you never told me what, what, what gave you... what gave you these." Samhuinn arced his back, supporting himself with one paw; with the other, he slowly pulled back part of Ambershanks's chest, revealing the hint of a peach-toned scar. "... But I know, I've known s-since... s-since the beginning. The way you thrash in your sleep, like..."
"Like I'm being..."
"From low, from the ground, f-from-"
Ambershanks squeezed his eyes shut. His body was so tense beneath Samhuinn that a wave of fear instinctively washed over him. He felt the tan bull shuddering, shuddering at the memories, shuddering at the thoughts, shuddering at Nomoon, shuddering at himself. Samhuinn slid in and pressed up into his body, turned his head such that the height of his mane pushed into Ambershanks's throat, closed his own eyes, and waited.
It felt like an hour before either spoke.
"... Well, um..." Samhuinn started. He blinked open his green eyes and peered up. Ambershanks glanced down at him. The water had long since left his blue eyes, but the sadness remained. It struck a shock through the younger bull's heart that kept him from speaking for a moment. "... I... s-suppose... that, um, this is as good a-a time as any, to..."
"... To..?"
"... To promise... t-that i-if... you never... bring home a-an ant farm, t-that I won't... bring home a-a felhunter. Y-you know, even a-a little wounded one, l-like-"
Ambershanks cracked a tired half-smile. "Like that basilisk you brought home once? The one with the broken leg?"
Samhuinn nodded up at him emphatically. "Y-yes. Or the, uh, or that... that slime, f-from Un'Goro, the one with indigestion? E-earthmother, the hut smelled l-like the tar pits f-for days..! Or gods, remember the baby yeti wit - oomph!"
Cuffing his arm around Samhuinn's neck, Ambershanks bowled the smaller bull off of him, forcefully but without pain. Without giving the healer a second to react, he pulled himself right on top of him. His hooves knocked the picnic basket down the hill. Putting his paws down upon Samhuinn's shoulders, he arced his back and grinned deviously down at him.
"It's a promise," he decided, then went down to kiss him.
180: Lyric
The fair-skinned elf strummed his lute one last time, his even-toned voice crooning a final long note. Most of the patrons of The Sultry Sweetheart didn't see fit to look up from their glasses. A loud group of drunken elven women hooted and hollered at him from the back of the tavern, resounding loudly over the audience's faint applause. Feeling guilty over the bard's poor reception, Samhuinn Runetotem clapped his hands together loudly enough to show appreciation, but not so loudly as to draw attention to himself. His mate Ambershanks watched with muted boredom. The week was coming to an end, and though Silvermoon City had initially presented itself as an exciting locale for a honeymoon, Ambershanks found himself longing for the bluffs.
The singer did not seem to mind the general disinterested audience in the bar. He took a modest bow, smirking as one of the ladies in the back wolf-whistled at him. Cradling his lute with both hands, he stepped forward to the edge of the stage, addressing the room at large.
"Thank you, thank you all... 'The Trackside Tavern' is a great old song, thank you. You've been a fantastic audience, all of you. It was a pleasure to play for you tonight, as ever, but I'm afraid they don't pay me enough to stay much later than this." There was a low murmur of polite chuckling. "As we wind down for the night, I'd like to take one final request from anybody in the audience. Any song at all. Anyone?"
Nobody spoke up. Of the thirty customers this evening, only about half of them were paying attention. Ambershanks didn't appear to be in that half, Samhuinn noted. Guiltily, as though apologetic for being a member of such a lifeless crowd, he peered up at the bard on stage, wishing he could find an excuse, any excuse, to apologize for something.
"Anyone? Come on, everyone. You've got to hav-"
"How about a challenge, bard?"
A few heads glanced in the direction of Samhuinn's table. Like a sixth sense reacting, Samhuinn involuntarily winced. Slowly, he craned his head to his mate. Ambershanks was on his hooves, smirking up at the singer, his arms crossed over his chest.
"A challenge, you say?" the blood elf echoed. His eyebrows raised expectantly, looking the tauren over with partial respect and partial humoring. "And what would this be, tauren?"
"My mate Samhuinn and I were married six nights ago," Ambershanks responded. Samhuinn put his head in his hands and scooted up against the table. "We are spending the week in Silvermoon City. It has been a most... momentous time for us, as I am sure you suspect, but I think there is a certain... something that we are missing. I would be heartbroken, I assure you, to have all of my darling husband's only memories of this honeymoon of the sheets in our bedroom."
Muted whispers and a couple giggles washed along the audience, who were finally starting to rouse themselves from their comfortable half-dozing. Samhuinn smeared his cheeks with his palms, almost shaking with embarrassment.
The blood elf, however, was quite amused. "I think I see where you are going, tauren." Playing up on the growing interest of the crowd, he strummed his lute once, his fair voice raising. "Aye, not a ring, nor a flower, nor chocolate, nor all the luminous crystal gardens of the Magister's Terrace itself can warm my soul as can a song, a poem in motion, of one I love. And as it should so happen, the fates smile upon us all. Might you request of your husband that I may see his face?" Startled, Samhuinn looked up from his hands without provocation, and the elven man nodded, his confidence bolstered. "As it should so happen, I know this tauren. Some call him SAH-when, some call him Sam, but all call him a fine healer, the finest in all the lands. Why, he saved my dear sweet sister from the very brink of death."
Samhuinn peered up at him, memory dawning. He had not recognized the blood elf all garbed up for his performance, but he saw him now. His sister had indeed been a client about a season ago, but her cuts were shallow wounds that would have healed in scarcely two weeks if left entirely untreated. He opened his mouth to protest the undue admiration thrust upon him, but his mate spoke up first. "Well? Can you do it?" Ambershanks asked, grinning brightly.
The bard grinned back. "Is the wine here sour?"
The bull laughed. He stepped forward and put four gold coins into the blood elf's tip jar.
The lute rang out.
Samhuinn put his head back in his hands. "Oh gods-"
"Weeeeeeelllllll~~~
The wonderful thing about Samhuinn
Is Samhuinn's a tauren of note!
His top has the horns of a bison
His bottom has hooves like a goat!
He's blushy, mushy, gushy, plushy,
Shy shy shy shy shy!
But the most wonderful thing about Samhuinn
Is he's... a peachy guy!"
One final strum of the lute, and the song was over. Ambershanks clapped the loudest, drowning out even the screaming women in the back; he lead the applause of the rest of the audience, thoroughly entertained by the entire ordeal. The only two not clapping were the bard himself and poor Samhuinn, looking up at Ambershanks with cheeks more red than the older tauren had ever seen. The bard went on to thank the audience for being so wonderful, to happen to mention his tip jar a couple times, and wrap up his set.
"Gods, A-ambershanks," Samhuinn stammered, glancing up at the feral tauren shakily. "You... d-didn't h-have to do that... I-it was embarrassing."
"Ah, I know you by now, love," Ambershanks replied. He pulled up his chair beside his mate, his voice low under the drone of the crowd and the spiel of the bard. "I know when you are embarrassed because you are humiliated and flustered, and I know when you are embarrassed because you don't want to admit to yourself how much you enjoyed something. You really liked it, didn't you?"
Samhuinn was quiet for a long moment. Ambershanks's insistent look never left him. Finally, Samhuinn tilted his head forward, put his fingers up to his forehead, and replied, "... I... have never... h-had... a song a-about me b-before..." And he smiled, finally confessing his appreciation.
"Good," Ambershanks replied. "I am glad to have helped make your first."
~Sam))