In the long, long ago, before the New Age dawned, when we had newly been chased under the Earth there lived a stag named Lleuad.
Lleuad’s pelt was as white as Gealach’s feathers. Some fawnlings believed that Lleuad’s coat was made of moonlight and that he had been blessed when he was born, for it shone shone so brightly that even in the dark of the Underplaces he wore no glowing paint.
Lleuad was a shaman and his magic was strong, and all who saw him knew in their hearts that he would become the Oracle. Fawnlings would come to Lleuad and beseech him to find them favour with the god who had so clearly blessed him - and if t
Since she had found the golden disc at Westhaven, Illy had felt a strange sort of purpose. The young doe had never felt quite like this before; she had wanted to be a Stormbringer like Mama and Father when she was small, but her strange magic had put a stop to that. Unlike Neyel, becoming a member of the guard was not something she could even imagine, and Nannying would not have come naturally to her in the slightest. She loved to listen to stories, but was too shy to be a storyteller; she found flowers and herbs interesting but she could not hold onto the names and uses for more than a few minutes, so what else was there for her?
She had fe
Illy had long ago stopped wishing the wind would speak to her.
Yes, she wished she was like the others, that her magic made more sense… but she had no desire to hear the Voice of the North. She shied away from the meditations held by the Windspeakers and avoided any question about her faith, or Molach, or, worst of all, her father.
He was a distant memory now to much of the herd; it was strange to think but he had been gone now for five full years. Colts were growing their first racks having never heard his voice; there were hinds who would carry their firstborn children and they would never be able to tell them the stories of the fir
Strange feelings stirred.
She loved him, because she was told that she did. Because Momma told her she must, because all fawns loved their brothers, because he was shiny and proud and fierce and he reminded her so much, so much it hurt, so much she wanted to cry - so much of Father.
And so she hated him too.
It was easy for him. He could feel where the wind wished to go, he laughed with delight when he saw leaves tumble in the air about his feet. He had control where she had none, he could feel the air as Father had tried to teach her to, he had no terrible, strange itches and feelings that had suddenly awoken angrily in his soft young heart.