My clan's designation was stalker hellblaise, bat-winged felines. We could go from humanoid form to cat form with a thought. An innate magic I suppose, we never gave it much thought. It made hunting small game much easier. Most of the time we remained in our human forms, in which we could communicate more accurately and interact with other beings. We lived on a grass-covered hill between a young forest and a main highway often traveled by human merchants, some ten or twenty miles from the ocean. I believe at one point we were nomadic, for the structures we created for our homes, though sturdy, looked ready to be moved on short notice, and I knew from the clan's stories that we didn't always reside on this hill. However they only appeared this way, I had never seen one moved or dismantled; to us they were quite permanent.
There were no more than two score of us, a small number for a clan of our type. We once numbered twice that, but it had been a long time before I was born. Each member of the clan had a function, hunters and gatherers, musicians, artisans...my mentor and I were the storytellers. Our leaders were a small council, appointed and long-standing. This also had been different long ago. The stories told of a ruling family, but it was not a monarchy. They gave direction, not orders...there were never subordinates in the clan, we followed but we were also equal to those we followed. Moonchildren have since told me of some kind of war they fought, against the forces of banality I believe. It was most likely a result of this conflict that changed our leadership, but at the time we knew nothing of it. No one of us, not even the oldest, could remember a time before the council.
I do not remember my parents. I don't remember what they looked like, or how old I was when they died, or that they died at all. All I remember is my mentor, the old storyteller with the white hair and gray wings who raised me and loved me as a daughter. He told me I looked like my mother, and that she had given me the pendant I wore always, a tear-shaped glass bead coated in silver on a black leather chord. He trained me in the art of stories, how to remember details and relay them in a way such as to captivate any audience. He taught me that it would be my job to keep accounts of the clan's activities, and collect and create stories. More than that, I learned the philosophy of the storyteller. I saw how life itself was a story, with moral lessons for us to learn that we need only to listen to carefully. He said I was a fast learner with a natural gift.
He wanted me to learn all that I could. He enlisted the aide of the clan, the musicians taught me to sing, the chefs to build a fire and prepare food. He arranged to have one of the hunters teach me to survive on my own, to track and catch my meals, to read the stories of nature as it were. My instructor in this was the dark one, a stray from another clan who had joined ours as a child, before I was born. He didn't remember what happened to his clan, my mentor said he wandered out of the forest one morning, alone. He took to hunting as I had to storytelling. There were these large dog-like creatures that were often hunted, and I once watched as he and the other hunters raced after it across the grass. He ran incredibly fast, he was almost skimming the ground as he opened his wings and the wind lifted him off the ground. He caught an updraft with great momentum, and swooped down and landed on the creature's back. He held on with his legs, drew his favorite knife, long and curved and double-edged, and with one swift motion slit the creatures throat. He jumped off as it began to stumble, and landed lightly beside the dying thing.
My mentor said I would learn much from this dark hunter.
I do remember being in the high branches of the trees in the forest, a dagger in hand, silently watching small mammals scurry across the floor, the dark one next to me with his bow. I also remember being in cat form, darting from branch to branch after birds and squirrels. But mostly I remember the ocean. I have always loved the shoreline; it is no wonder that is where I ended up. We sat on a small outcropping overlooking the water, watching for the schools of fish to swim past, watching for crustaceans to find the shellfish for us. I think I preferred hunting the sea because I needed no weapons, all I needed were my claws and good timing. I circled high above the water, watching for the right moment. A school came into view, and I dived, hands leading. He had said that as soon as I feel my nails catch the flesh I needed to pull up from the dive. Of course theory is always different from application. My first attempt plunged me head first into the frigid waters. I bobbed in the water, my jet-black hair clung to my face, my teeth chattered. I remember his laughter, kind and not mocking, but urging me to try again. I pulled myself from the ocean, shook myself off and ascended again. This time I succeeded, and we sat on the rocks picking at my catch. We returned the next day, and the days after, and I practiced, gained technique, in both human and cat forms.
And this dark hunter and I became good friends. I never saw him smile as much as there at the ocean. He laughed and joked with the other hunters, but he was a bit outcasted from the rest of the clan. The council didn't trust him completely. Had it been solely up to them they wouldn't have allowed him to stay, but the clan couldn't turn him away, especially after he proved his skill. He was intelligent, but very much a solitary. His vastly different coloring only enhanced these attitudes. The clan was light colored, I myself resembled a Siamese in cat form, and in human form my skin, covered in a thin layer of fur, was tan. Only our wings were black. He was solid black all over. He blended with the shadows in the forest, and at night when there was no moon he could fly above you and you would never know it. He was a shadow, resembling us but not, with us but still separate. But he was far from sinister as his manner and coloring would let you believe. I remember the sound of his voice as he encouraged me, and the gentle look in his dark eyes whenever we spoke.
continue