Learning to fly.

October 28th, 2011 · No Comments · The Tribe

The tribe’s stay in Stonetalon has had me uneasy. A thorn in my side begins to ache once more. I push aside my fears and struggle along, but the pain can be crippling if you do not address the problem…

I’m a coward. I don’t even dare to write about it. So I will not.

Yesterday morning, I rose early. After an uneasy exchange, I fled. I went in search of something to soothe me. The crags and rocky mountain passages are home to many birds, and in particular, the Eagles of Kalimdor. Such majestic and beautiful creatures. I longed to take one for myself, to feast of its blood and thereby imbibe some of its freedom, its courage, its glory.
But, try as I might, I failed each and every time. When I looked up, and felt that I was poised to strike from below, the Eagle dashed away, effortlessly, even making improbable midair maneuvers to avoid being scorched.

When I returned an hour later, I found my mate awake and bothered by my disappearance. He should know by now.
He asked “What is the matter?” And sure enough I must have looked a flustered mess. My arm bindings, carefully wrapped so as to avoid my flame, were now singed and useless. One dangled precariously from my wrist. “Drek’tal, I am hungry. I tried to catch an Eagle, but I failed.”
He regarded me with curiosity, then with laughter. As mirthful and soft as his chuckling was, it burnt me deeper than anything I’d ever inflicted upon myself. My mate laughed at me for my failure. I slapped him, but left very little a dent. “You wound me.”

I suppose I must have looked very threatening and angry at that point, for his face quickly turned serious, almost dark. “If you want to catch the Eagle, I will show you. Come.” Dropping my wasted bindings in the dirt, I nod at him. I followed. High up into the crags this time. I wrinkled my face curiously at him, but said nothing. We are above the Eagles now. For what purpose?

As if reading my cynical expression, he spoke up. “The Eagle does not look up, Dzivah. Watch.” Effortlessly he shot an arrow at one flying many feet below us, one that was no doubt returning to roost on a lower crag. SHOONK! I heard the arrow pierce the noble creature and it fell as gracefully as it flew by. We can scoot down to the lower crag to collect the prize now. But he turned to me. “Your turn.”

I scowled. “I have no skill with a bow and arrow, Primal.”

“Use your Arcane trickery, Magi!”

It takes all of my emotional wherewithal not to screech at him for the remark approaching an insult, until it actually dawns upon me. Trickery. Yes! I reach into my pocket. BLAST! No feathers. I look around. I see one, laying in the dirt. The Eagle has left me the gift with which to end its life. How ironic.

Drek’tal regarded me curiously as I began to limber up, but was silent. I then spied my own hapless target; an Eagle had begun to circle the space above a lower crag. With the feather tucked neatly between my fingers, I finally give him the words he seemed to be waiting for. “If I die, tell ‘Laikah I am sorry.” And with that, I jumped.


I snatched the Eagle mid-air, its surprised croak reverberating through the lonely crag. The trickery has worked; the Primal’s knowledge combined with my own flair has netted a result. As the feather reagent reacted to my commands, I began to float effortlessly down to the encampment below. My tribe mates are bemused. The Tribal Mother shakes her head. I suppose I am rather ridiculous.

Plucking the carcass hastily and savoring the scent of my kill, Dek’tal swooped into camp, beaming with pride. He congratulates me. “You are crazy, Dzivah. But smart.” The greatest compliment I’ll ever hear in my lifetime. I shiver with the anticipation of the feast. As we hungrily devour the Eagle, I feel renewed. Invigorated. I feel divine.

But I cannot be distracted from what truly ails me, and the tactic that the Primal employed haunts me.

The Eagle does not look up.

And neither have I before now.


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