Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Nanaive. She stands there knowing. In this city I hate. She advised me to leave. I trusted her. Now I have no friends. Here. Or there.

I know her because she walked with me during the journey. My long walk which began when the male druid said to me, “Go”.

I was stumbling from weariness as the moon rose on my third night of walking. A short dark-haired female was standing just at the edge of the trees which lined the path. She waved. I almost shifted. I wasn’t sure what she was. Almost as wide as she was tall with a soft smile, she nodded and yelled greetings. I looked around. She was speaking at me.

“Whut are ye doin’ oot here? This time o’ tha night?”

She had a staff in one hand and a small lamp held high in the other. The flame of the clay lamp flickered as her breath brushed it. I did not speak. I stood in a slight crouch hoping she would turn and go. She did not.

Time stretched. The moonlight flickered with passing clouds and soon disappeared completely. I could smell snow. The only light was that tiny flame. I watched the flame descend and settle onto the earth. I smelled her. Wildflowers and meat. Smoke. I heard twigs snapping and watched as the tiny candleflame moved, disappeared, and then blossomed into a small

The short woman unrolled a wolfhide onto the ground and sat. I waited. Snow began to waft down caressing the skin of my bare arms. I shivered. The woman added a larger piece of wood to the flame.

“Coom over here. Ye are welcome ta sit and warm yurself”.

She indicated the fire and the warm hide. I cautiously sidled toward the fire and sat on the very edge of the hide, making sure to keep my feet off the fur. I didn’t shift into my heavy form and lumber off because I was more afraid of that than of her. I did not.

There in the wilderness, she quietly shared her food with me. Later she led as I followed with the wolf hide across my shoulders, holding it closed against the chill. For the first time I could remember, I slept in a cottage. I lay on the floor in front of her fireplace. I watched the flames and listened to her snore. So I met Nanaive.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

I hate this place.

I walked into one of those dimly lit places in the park. I stood quietly, waiting for my twolegs eyesight to adjust. A woman stomped up to me and pointed at my feet and legs. She smelled of indignation.
“Get out! You cannot come in here without shoes and you must have something on your legs as well.”

I blinked at her. She frowned and pointed at the door. I shifted to feral, clothed in fur. She screamed.

“No ANIMALS in here either!”

I stealthed, feeling an emotion I did not really recognize. It was an awful, self defeating feeling. Totally useless. I surely do not need to fight with my OWN heart or head! So I shrugged it off never to look at it again.

I went away and dug through what little I had in my packs. I had a vivid pink dress that someone had cast aside in a bush. The material was good. No sense in letting it rot on the ground. I also found a scarf of similar color. This covered my hair completely. I put my boots on. Gloves on.Bracers on.I went back to the dark room.

She was standing there near the entryway. She laughed derisively and said to a woman standing nearby,“Could you get any MORE pink?”They laughed and pointed. I turned around. No one else was there. They were laughing at me. Because I put on boots and covered my legs as requested?

Rules. Unwritten rules.

She let me in.I sat down. Others were there. The odor of sweat mingled with blood, the scent of flowers (odd, I didn’t see any flowers) and an overpowering smell of rotten fruit. I watched as a man was pouring this smelly thinned out rotten fruit juice into a woman. She let him! He saw me watching. He raised the mug over his head and winked. Then he drank. So. Not poison.

I arose from my seat. As I walked toward the counter built along the back of the room, I had to step around a person who was half on his chair and half on the floor. Thinking he was ill, I leaned in to look more closely at his face. Vacant eyes. He was short like Nanaive. He belched and I felt the wind of it on my face. Sweet and sour scent. One of his eyes found mine and he grinned.“Ach! Oolmost as good tha second time in me mouf, ‘twas!”His voice was like listening to a saw against a rock.

I flinched. HE GRABBED ME! (Later, as he was wrapping his shredded hand in bandages I heard him tell someone he slipped while playing with his blade.)I went outside where the smell and noise is diluted by, well, by other noises and other smells. I just stood there against a tree. I caressed the bark and pressed my face against it glad to be out. What would those tears accomplish? I stopped.I hate this place.Unkindness.(Eliment)
- - - - - - -I hate this place called Stormwind. It smells of too many hard things.Metal, stone, and smooth skinned men.

Men.The place called the park is a bit better if I stay out of the dimly lit gathering rooms. At least there is grass underfoot, trees for shade, and a nice well. But again, smoothskins. They argue. They whisper to one another. They stand too close to one another and yell as if the other cannot hear. Can they hear? They rattle when they walk. They stomp. I want to put my head in the water of the moonwell to muffle the noise.They leer.They laugh and point if I relieve myself at the base of a tree.

They laugh! While they stand there in the dung of their mounts. What are they laughing at? At my cat form?

The women I watch are only better in that they seem to have a plan, a goal. I smell them too. Women’s sweat. It is easier on my nose. I can smell their disdain too. Even those of my kind seem to have been hardened by this place. This uneasy place of metal, stone, and strutting males.

I had a friend, no, two I think. I do think. Now. There was a time that I did not have to do this sorting, this thinking all the time. Some days I long for the unthinking time to be upon me again. NO! I cannot allow that!I have to think to survive. To survive this place.Not so long ago a person (I know his scent) helped me regain this twolegged, speaking dimension which I now find so disconcerting. I still don't remember why I was feral without memory of speaking form. It is the hardest thing I have done, to remain cognizant of this fraction of myself.

I’m no longer sure I want to be here. Being in this form, I feel like I have to follow certain rules which are not written down. Anywhere.I was lost, naked, insane. I did not know it. He was quiet, strong and angry. Why did he show me myself? I remember a day. He pointed to the clear meadow outside the comfort of my forest and said one word. “Go.” I hesitated. He handed me a small pack, put his hands on my shoulders,frowned down at my questioning face, turned me around and pushed me toward the sunlight. I took a few stumbling steps and turned back. Gone. Only his scent lingered. It smelled like a frown.

Now I am here. Struggling to remain upright. I want to run on four paws and never look back. He’s not here, though at times in the back of my nose I think I smell that frown.There was another. A similar scent. A brother to the first. He did not leer. He did not laugh. He did not. Circumstances caused a distance, now he too is gone. He is gone because I ran away. He did not pursue. He did not hunt and hold. He’s too good. I never find his smell anywhere.