Pip's Writing Lesson

I agreed to teach Pip how to read and write some months ago. The inaugural lesson was rather emotional for Pip, as she had been told that she would not be able to learn. But with a bit of pudding and patience, she wrote her name for the first time. After the few preliminary meetings, though, we became too busy to continue with regularity.

Last night we met in the commons of Piki’alo and continued the delayed education. Pip demonstrated that she had practiced the letters, and we utilized many pieces of broken pretzels to shape each word. This provided not only a non-traditional and malleable method of crafting, but also a quick, edible reward when a task was completed properly.

At the end, Pip wrote the word for one of her favorite things, and I think this will become one of her most-used expressions, “Apple.” Urukha watched the lesson and was pleased. Pip was quite excited as well.

I had nearly decided to not give these lessons at all. But they appear to have a positive effect. It is interesting.

Kinship

Urukha and I had a bit of a chat yesterday, where she told me of her ventures into the shattered realm of Draenor. She said that she felt compelled to return to the place of her birth, and was disappointed that not more was being done to recover it for her people. I pressed her on this compulsion. She said that it was possible her ancestors, or family, that wanted her to go. Ties of kinship.

During another walkabout with the Regent, I described a second incident with Naomi, the little Death Knight that I protected the Tribe from. The Regent asked if I felt any sort of kinship with her. Or specifically, any nurturing drive to help the wayward fledgling on her journeys in the world. I expressed that I felt no such bonds with Naomi. No matter how clearly she needed the guidance.

Upon reflection, I note that there is no other Death Knight that I have any lasting relationship with, aside from the decidedly negative one I have had for years with the Darkrider. Thus, Urukha saying that she felt directed by her departed family unto Draenor, and the Regent presuming in error that death would bind blackened knights into an unliving family, was a fascinating contradiction. 

Perhaps the difference is in that Urukha was long encouraged to love her kin, while Death Knights are designed to kill everything, including each other.

Lunar Lantern

I had not paid much mind to the Lunar Festival, until I traveled to Moonglade to procure edibles and noticed that there were lanterns for sale. Enchanted with the purple variety, I then spent the remainder of the day traveling about the world visiting Elders and collecting tokens in order to obtain one. The Elders may have imparted some wisdom, but truthfully I was only thinking of my prize.

When I approached the merchant to purchase it, he refused and offered the red lantern instead. I insisted with many strong gestures that it was the purple that I desired, but he was stubborn. Disappointed and not wishing to create more of a scene, I bought the red and departed.

To Booty Bay I went next to see if the neutral goblins there would trade with me. Apparently, only the Alliance produces purple lanterns, while the Horde takes the red. The goblins also refused the exchange, but they were willing to offer one in sale for many thousand gold. I decided to not express my displeasure with violence, though it was quite tempting.

Finally, with night falling, I made a usual round about Elwynn forest. I spotted one of the lanterns above the door of a farmhouse, and immediately I filched it and replaced it with the unwanted red one purchased from Moonglade. The dogs caught my scent soon after and I fled for home. So there is now a farmhouse with mismatched lanterns in the front, but I have my prize.

Or rather, a gift for my beloved.

Hierarchy

In every wolf pack there is an understood set of ranks that each animal abides by, if they wish to remain in the pack. They work within the hierarchy to keep their position secure, or fight to progress it. Often have I referred to the Tribe as a pack of wolves, because I see similar characteristics, the most obvious of which is protectiveness.

When a wolf enters a pack, their rank is determined by a display of strength. In the Tribe, all start at the bottom and advance as they prove their ability. The comparison is not perfect then, of course. But it is quite interesting to think on.

Beneath the leader, though, the hierarchy becomes quite complex. I realized this a few days ago when Westel continuously intruded into the space about me and playfully demanded hugs. I demurred, continuing to step away instead of protesting violently. With Whiteclaw, there is no bluster or challenge to his fighting prowess (though there has been some amiable competition involving knocking each other off of things). The two men are officially Tuskguards, and I am the undefined “Friend of the Tribe.”

Not being a part of the pack, officially, makes my situation ambiguous. There seems to be no clear classification for the little black cat within the wolf’s den. However, the Regent did inform me that my custom talisman would be soon completed, so there is hope.

Spiritual Matters

Gom’jun delivered my letter to Nemeiah successfully and, as I was told, very politely. Nem wrote back and expressed that I was allowed to return to Tyr’s Hand, as the threat had not manifested in some time. Yesterday I traveled there to speak with her. I was quite anxious to do so, as another dizzy spell had taken me earlier in the day, in front of the Regent, no less. I sought answers.

Nemeiah was kind and gracious as always, and I gave to her a list describing what I had seen during these spells. She questioned what might have triggered them, particularly the more recent ones that seemed to last longer, stealing time from me.

To explain, a night-time storm at home had me concerned for the horses, so I set out at D.A.’s suggestion to monitor them. As I approached the barn, I was taken by dizziness and then woke near an hour later in the mud and rain. With the Regent, I stood still for over ten minutes, not responding to her queries. It is fortunate that I did not embarrass myself further by collapsing, I suppose. But this had never happened in Orgrimmar before.

After listening to my description, Nemeiah reaffirmed her belief that these were memories attempting to break free. We attempted to trigger one, to no effect. Then, quite by chance in the conversation, as I nearly toppled a candelabrum, another took me. I saw flames, and everything about was burning. It disturbed me, and Nem expressed her concern once I returned to consciousness.

I asked her what could be done, to prevent these from coming. She replied that it was much like a cracked dam, and with only two hands I could not prevent the barrier from crumbling. She thought it best to allow it to happen. I then wondered if it was really better, remembering. She did not know. But that is not a topic I wish to pursue at present.

Initiates

There is a flock of new individuals seeking to join the Tribe. They are given temporary status after an interview and are referred to at an initiate rank. Granted access to talismans and so forth, they must prove that they belong before being considered a full ‘brother’ or ‘sister.’

Each of them is assigned to a mentor. This mentor is a current, long-standing member of the Tribe who should act as their liaison and ease them into the culture. It is a daunting task to learn and impress all of the others, so you would think that these initiates, and their mentors, would spend a great deal of energy working together to try and successfully complete this phase.

Valtirus, for example, is supposed to be mentored by Scynthe. But the only interaction between the two I witnessed was lacking in enthusiasm by Scynthe. Valtirus, however, has attended some events and has approached me with concerns. I am not entirely certain if it is due to a lack of attention from others or if he feels secure with me. He seems eager to help, but is not collected in his thoughts and poise at all times, especially in a group.

On the other hand, Mortahn and his mentor, Westel, appear at odds. Mortahn is much more forward and talkative, to the point where it seems that there is no filter between his thought and actions at all.

Onokwa and I have spoken on several occasions, and she is shy and retiring. She is engaged in assisting Pip with the Winterspring orphanage, in druidic fashion, from what she described.

There were a few others that attended last night’s Silvermoon Symposium, along with the Regent – which is how I estimate they are initiates – but we have not been introduced. That may occur tonight at the Tribal meeting. Depending of course, on if the Regent allows me there.

One Year Ago

I remember how he looked at me. How that arrogant sneer melted into fear when he realized what had happened. Mirtai wisely fled the room. He cast fire at me. My fists answered. Soon, he could only lift his arms in defense while I demolished his face. He knocked me away with a powerful spell that set rest of the bedroom ablaze in fiery chaos. I uttered my proclamation that he could never recover me.

He said then, "The most trying time for an artist is to see his work become more than intended.  It is a bittersweet and painful pleasure.  I think however, you may yet be in for some surprises which my shelter has guarded you against thus far."

One year has passed since that tumultuous farewell. Four months ago, he died. After, I forgave him for what he did to me, and I acknowledge that there have been struggles since. But without him, I would not be able to experience it.

Rest in Hell, Viere.