Welcome to Gaia! ::

As the snows came to pass so did a sense of belonging for the young Ursataur. She’d always seen winter as a time of merriment and fun, ever since Gwyneira had been a young cub. It was the season for hibernation and sleep, for fattening and cuddling; for a rebirth of life.

One of her earliest memories was of her elder brother speaking with the Spirit Guide the morning of his quest. He had never looked so handsome. Pale blue fur trimmed in darker flecs, flawless skin that all of the ladies cooed over, and a steadfast determination that would have made him a foe to be reckoned with. While he was far from the largest, it was always his quick wit and easy smile that kept him in the higher ranks of the little grouping. Gwyneira had been sad to see him go, had clung to his leg and wept even, but it had to be done. She remembered the words he told her clear as if spoken through the wind around her;

“Snow will guide you, snow will show you, but if you stop, snow will keep you.”

It was an older proverb in their family that meant life must continue forward to gain any sort of progress. As a child she hadn’t been able to grasp that concept. It had seemed odd to her that he had gone off so young into his spirit journey, but now she could see the light of it. Food was scarce in the Elderach Mountains during the Winter season and family of their people starved. She herself had felt the gnawing ache inside of her stomach, and had laid awake many a night weeping into her mother’s chest. An elder sister had already been taken by it, consumed by the hunger that had plagued her dying days.

By the time she was a teenager Gwyneira realized her older brother was never coming home. Daven was gone; to where, she didn’t know, but she hoped that whatever place he had found was better than this. Her mother had passed on not long after her sister, having given her two youngest cubs all of her own food, and not long after that her little brother, the same one that had clung to her with big tears in his green eyes, had succumbed as well. She couldn’t say why she had been the one to survive; why in a family this large, with so many, she was the only cub in that Winter season to live.

Some said she was cursed. That to look into her eyes would be to feel the claws of Winter on your throat. Even the snow rabbits ran from her when she approached, though they were the only friends she had possessed as a child. It was hard looking at the family that had cared for you with such contempt in their eyes. Though they didn’t say it outright, she knew what they thought. In their hearts she was the reason why their wives, mothers, brothers, fathers and children were dead. She was cursed; a hopeless beacon of this never ending Winter that had carried itself through the spring, summer and fall. Where there was supposed to be fields of green was only white, as if the mountain itself had descended South.

Gwyneira took ill one Summer morn, around the same time as the seasons began to change. The ice and snow that had long plagued the valley dissipated with the bright sun, heralding in a time of great joy for the people. Still, in their hearts they feared. Cubs were being born and wary of the sickened harbinger lying in her den, they meant to kill her, when the Spirit Guide intervened.

Raising her head in a feverish stupor, Gwyneira held her breath as the older Ursataur ventured inside. The scent of dried herbs and incense was strong on this one. With every step she made the scent became stronger, drowning out the overwhelming panic that filled Gwyneira’s veins. Was this it, then? Was this her time to disappear like her brother Daven?

The Spirit Guide, Baba Yaga, sat down before the confused girl and reached out to take her hand in hers. “You have been wronged, child,” she spoke in a hushed murmur. “This clan was never your own, and though you share their blood they are not your family.”

Gwyneira lowered her head, willing with every fiber of her being not to cry. Her body was stiff and rigid, like the snow that called to her so strongly until a pair of soft hands made their way to her face. Baba Yaga massaged the area under her eyes with her thumbs, a soft, heartbreakingly tender smile on her face. “Cry, girl, should you need to. Cry and let it go, for these tears will be your last.”

Without wasting a moment she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the older female, and crying into her shoulder. She wept for the mother and sister who had sacrificed themselves for her. She wept for the father she had never known. For the little brother who had died in her arms, for the children she’d played with, for the children she’d buried when her little hands could barely lift the shovel. And she wept for herself. All of her tears carried with it a sense of fear that she couldn’t shake. In that moment she had never felt closer to Daven, knowing he had probably felt the same thing.

For to see the Spirit Guide was to see death itself.

Any Ursataur to leave the valley would die at the hands of the horrors that lay outside it’s protective forests, so to have the Spirit Guide come to one’s door…Many mother’s prayed for small quests that would take no more than a night, but many prayed not to be involved in one that would lead them outside the valley.

“Am I to die, Baba? Is that my destiny?” She knew she was cursed; a wretched thing not worth the blood in her own veins. Gwyneira sat back and wiped her hands against her feverish face, feeling the tears flowing just as strong as before.

“The spirits have not told this to me, but I have seen a brighter future for you. Whether that is in death or elsewhere is not for us to know.” Raising her hand into the air, she sprinkled a mixture of different powders down upon Gwyneira’s head, murmuring a foreign chant as she did so. “You must leave this place tonight, under the waning moon, and go North.”

“Tonight? I’ll need to pack, gather provisions, I-I’m not well enough to-“

“Tonight! The spirits do not bend to our will, girl, it is theirs!” Baba snapped, causing the frightened girl to flinch. “Go north to the Draiocht Mountains and you shall find your true path. Otherwise, you will spend your days in misery before seeing to the Eternal Forest.”

So that night with nothing other than the shirt on her chest, the young teenager left behind her clan life for one of a Lone Walker. Her fever had broken during the night, along with much of her spirit and resolve. There was nothing more that she wanted in this world than to return, no matter how horrible it had been, to keep her paws safe at home. She had never been an adventurous girl; Gwyneira was timid, soft, and weak. The only reason she had grown to be stable was out of pure necessity, and now she didn’t know if it would carry her on in life or not.

The descent from the Elderach Mountains into the lower areas had been difficult. As the area had been her home for as long as she could remember, Gwyneira had been reluctant to leave it behind. However, she knew better than to anger the Spirits. Inhaling deeply, she passed onto what she thought was a main path, since there was little grass left, and moved into what she thought was called a town. Or was it a village? Eyes wide and worn, she passed several taur before noticing how they were looking at her. They were staring! Some even openly commented, pointing out her bulky body and thick fur. She held her arms tight about her chest, staring at the strange creatures with a sense of growing wonder. Some were smaller than others, with tails that moved and tails that looked like hair. Hooves! How odd, the sounds they made, and look at the antlers. It was as if the deer in the forest itself had been born into these creatures.

So naïve was she that she didn’t notice the hands reaching for her until they had her in an iron grip.

Two centaurs held her arms at her sides, smiling wide with menace. Gwyneira looked between the two hurriedly. “Let me go!” She screamed, rearing back with more power than they had expected, but it wasn’t the girl that had them worried. It was the staff smacking them across the rumps and skulls, knocking them flat on the ground.

“Come on!” In a whirl she was being tugged again, chasing a cattaur through the busy streets until he ducked into a small hut and brought her in with him.

The male was something she’d never seen before. His coat was mauve with spots of a lighter shade, and there was a bit of green in his hair that looked like moss on the trees back home. It didn’t make her trust him anymore. “Why did you kidnap me?! And who were those-those males back there?” The ones who had grabbed her so suddenly, without any warning!

“Slavers, I’d wager,” He sat back against a corner, content to watch the crowd disperse just outside their door. “They had the same look about them, and honestly, they’d been trailing you for a while. Didn’t you notice them?”

“No, no, I-“ What was she going to say? That she’d let her Clan’s teachings fall to the wayside due to personal problems, and awe at seeing hooves for the first time? Gwyneira sighed, her soft ears falling into thick hair. “This is hopeless.”

“What’s so hopeless, lovey?”

“I’m on a quest to get to the Draiocht Mountains, but if I’m just going to get caught by bad people this soon-“ She couldn’t help it; the poor girl was crying once again. Gwyneira wiped at her eyes furiously, curling in on her large paws as reason gave way to a hyperventilated panic attack.

The cattaur moved closer, and after some time he managed to not only calm her, but to get the girl to begin to breathe. It was obvious to him that she was going through some stressful times, though he couldn’t exactly say why.

“I just want to go home.” She hiccupped, holding her face in the palms of her hands, his arms around her shoulders. It was the first time since Baba that anyone had tried to hold her, and it made her feel ten times worse. Why was it that kindness was only being shown to her in the darkest of times? “I wasn’t mad at them, not a bit, I just wanted someone to notice me….to call MY name when the darkness came and the wolves were out. “ Though they treated her worse than the dirt imbedded in the pads of her paws, Gwyneira missed her Clan dearly. They were her family, her everything, and now without them she was just a Lone Walker; an outcast, an exile. It burned her heart out of her chest.
“You said you were on a quest,” He started, moving his paw to cover hers in the din of the small fire he’d started. She was surprised to have felt the warmth of the flames, having not seen him start it up. Was she that upset? “This must be pretty important to you, huh? You said you were alone, that they didn’t want you, but you know what I think? SOMEONE wants you, else you wouldn’t have been called by the spirits to go there, don’tcha think?”

Slowly as the hours ticked by his words began to resonate with her. Coddled up next to the cat in the shanty she didn’t feel worried or ill at ease anymore; somehow he’d managed to comfort her like no one else had by giving her a purpose. The spirits DID want her. They had a grand idea in mind for her to follow, and like it or not, she had to go with them.

When morning came, he offered her what meager coppers he had to buy supplies for her trip, and once her provisions had been provided for, he led her to the edge of Haventree. “Just keep going straight and you’ll make it there eventually.” He said with an easy smile.

“Your name. What is it?”

“My name? Oh, yeah, it’s Eckhardt.”

As she moved out from the hub Gwyneira was able to keep her back a little straighter. This land was still as foreign to her as it ever was. Grasses as long as her knees were tall licked her as she passed into fields as wide as the sky. Her fingers reached out to touch the tips with childlike innocence, smiling as they coiled around to meet her. It was then that she realized she’d walked into Nivae’s Forest. The sheer magnitude of lush flora astounded her. With not, but a bow and some trail rations, she knew this was the place to hunt, if she was going to do it. Her clan had taught her as a small cub how to work a bow, and other weapons as well, though she had never had much need for them. Now it was life or death.

Knocking an arrow on the bow, she held it aloft, walking with an easy gate through the wood. Her pelts coloring didn’t allow for much camouflage as she quickly found out. Many a wolf and hawk snarled and cawed, all with no avail. The Ursataur continued on. She met many Cervitaur within the wood; some of which were wary, but a few that helped to aid her. They showed her the way of the woods, and she in turn taught them of the spirits, of Father Sun and Mother Moon, all while keeping civic neutrality to the squabbles within their ranks.

It was there she stayed for many summers. While she knew her quest was ever at hand the nurturing that was showed to her was paid in kind. She provided their clans with meat, furs, and aided in caring for their young. Gwyneira grew during her time with the bucks and does, but not just mentally. Her body aged into a mature Ursa that commanded respect wherever her paws were to land. She guarded those whom she cared for with a vicious ferocity, all the while proving herself as a gentle Shaman for the Cervitaur in their time of great need.

As the seasons changed once more she knew she must take her leave. Baba Yaga’s words were still ever so present in her mind, and as each year passed she knew the life of a Lone Walker was not meant to be spent with familial love. She was on her quest, her spiritual journey; and as much as she wanted to stay she bid those sweet babes adieu.

She followed their roads to the edge of the Forest and stood with great trepidation as she looked out across the seat. Though on a map it had seemed to look like nothing more than a river, she knew it to be the straight away that had claimed so many lives in the past. Gwyneira took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. With her were bountiful supplies, all gifts, and in her heart was a steadier sense of purpose. Taking a deep breath, she set about down the shoreline, kicking at stones as she went, looking for a vessel or SOMETHING to get her where she needed to go.

And it was then that she stumbled across a most frightening scene. What she thought was a simple ferry boat was harbored by evil wolftaurs, who were laughing as they through two small taur onto the hard packed sand. The children cried out, a small centaur falling atop a foxtaur, and each began to cry in turn.

“Please, please! Just let us go, we can help, honest!”

The head captain, a wolf of some odd years, with a greying beard and portly gait sneered at the two. “If I catch ya stowin’ away on me boat again, it’ll be your heads!”

Gwyneira’s heart clenched within her chest. Striding up to the scene as fast as she could, she barely allowed the wolf to give her pause before she tossed a sack of coin at his chest. “Here, passage for all three of us to Draiocht. I think that should cover it.”

Eyes wide and skeptical, he opened the bag, and choked on his own spit. There was enough in here for ten trips, plus one! “W-Welcome aboard, mi’lady. Make yerself comfortable; it’ll be a long ride.”

Snorting, she settled her effects and approached the two girls. The little fox was smaller than the centaur, frail even, as she clung to the bolder gal. Her face was flush with fever. When she reached out to touch her both girls pulled away as if her hand were made of flames.

“Don’t touch ‘er!” The Centaur snapped, holding the smaller child’s head against her chest. The girl’s front two teeth were missing, giving her a sort of lisp. “I don’t care what’cha did and I ain’t gonna ‘pologize, neither!” She stuck out her tongue, took up the fox’s hand and ran for the ferry. Within moments the two had disappeared below deck.

Shaking her head, Gwyneira boarded, ready to get the ride over. Having to share space with other taur was one thing, but having a child who wanted nothing to do with her? Still, it wasn’t her fight. The spirits had gave that gold to her to use for the benefit of others, and she had. So why did it bother her so much? It was extremely bothersome when she discovered that there were no rooms on board, she was forced to stay in the cargo hold with not only the two girls but a myriad of other taur as well. The close quarters made her anxious. She longed to feel the sun on her face and have the wind in her hair, but for now, this was for the best.

Hour by hour the little fox’s cough worsened, and the centaur pleas could no longer quiet her. Gwyneira took the risk of moving closer to the two of them, and when the centaur’s eyes found hers there was no more struggle there. They were the same hers had been when Baba Yaga had come to her, all of those many years ago. “May I?” She asked softly, reaching tender arms out to take the foxtaur in her grasp. The child’s olive skin was flushed a deep crimson, and her breathing was labored. Even the mere touch burned Gwyneira’s hands. “How long has she been like this?”

“Two weeks.” The centaur replied with a sniffle, reaching her hand out to take the other’s. “She’s my fwiend, my only fwiend…she’s not going to die, is she? She can’t die, she just can’t!”

“I can’t say whether she will or not.” Leaning back against the side of the boat, feeling it sway against the water’s current, she felt the little life in her arms ebbing on its last breathes. “It’s only for the spirits to decide.” Gwyneira brushed back strands of the child’s hair, frowning as she did so. She wanted to weep for them both. The girl looked as if she were in so much pain, and the little filly was no better off. “What is her name?”

“Mary.” The filly sobbed, face covered in her hands now. “M-Mary Wollstonecraft….She picked it herself. We’re orphans…she’s all I got left! Me pa’s dead, ma, they’re all gone, but not Mary. Mary’s gotta stay with me, I can’t be alone, I don’t want to be alone!”

Memories. Sharp, acute memories hit Gwyneira like a winter’s wind. They pierced her heart sharp and true, reminding her of how she had been as a girl. Was she any different from these children, who had been abandoned in some fashion, same as she? She clutched Mary close to her chest, and brought the centaur to her side. In that luxurious fur she wept, crying out to the spirits to save this poor girl. She spoke in the language of the Eternal Forest, of the realms, of the Hunt; whatever she thought the spirits would listen to. “I call in my good deeds for her,” She cried, “Why spare me, but not her? She’s got someone to live for, someone who wants her! Please, oh spirits, please save this child.”

“Who are you talking to?” The centaur looked up at her with large, shining eyes. Her hands were clenched in the Ursataur’s fur.

“The spirits, child. They’re the only ones who can save Mary now.”

She knew nothing about healing, and neither did the workers of the ferry. What few other taur remained were as ignorant to the craft as she, so the child’s fate was truly left to the spirits. For three days they traveled like that. Gwyneira forced her to drink, chewed bits of root and bread to feed to her, and carried her on the upper deck for needed sunshine. All the while the centaur, who had revealed herself as Anna, stayed at her heels. These days were tense. Mary could no more open her eyes than she could stop moaning at night. What resolve the Ursataur had built up over the years tumbled as she watched the little child fighting a never ending battle for her own precious life.

On the final night Gwyneira held Mary in her arms, and began to sing. It was the last song she’d heard from her mother, in the summer that had never been, and despite the grave situation she tried to give as much life to it as she could. Anna was laid up on her knee, eyes open, but unseeing, a little smile blooming as the song progressed. It was as if she were summoning the spirits herself with one last final push. Daven would play his lute with the tune, bringing the clan into song and dance on the nights when the spirit world was closer to their own. It was selfish of her to ask for such help, but they needed it now more than ever.

For the rest of the night she sang songs from her homeland until her throat was raw. Against her wishes she felt into a fitful sleep beside of the girls.

“Hmm?” She groaned, lolling her head about her shoulders as a little pair of hands shook her arm. First it was soft, more than likely Anna needing to pee, and when it became frantic she opened her eyes, fearing the worse. What she wasn’t ready for was seeing Mary looking up at her with tired, but lively violet eyes.

“You sing really well.” The little one smile, holding onto her hand in both of hers, and gave a little squeak when the Ursataur scooped her up in a giant hug.

Somewhere in the night her fever broke, and though she was now weak, her strength was returning with the Winter winds. When the ferry landed on Draiocht, Mary was strong enough to walk to shore, laughing and giggling as she pointed out scenery to Anna. Noticing she wasn’t behind them, Anna turned her back, and held out a hand, “C’mon, Gwyneira! Let’s go!”

Smiling softly, she reached out to take a hand in each of hers and walked with the girls into the surrounding woods. They ignored the main roads, choosing instead to rely on Gwyn’s knowledge of forest paths to lead them into the surrounding Mountain range. Large formations of natural grey stone bordered the land, separating them from the tribes of cattaur below. Magic ran rampant in these lands, and though she was loathe to admit it, Gwyn could feel the spirits calling to her more in these unexplored mountains than she did back home. It was as if they truly LIVED here. In each patch of shaded moss, every stony crag, oak and pine she could feel the hunters of the Eternal Forest calling out to her. This was where she was supposed to be. Surrounding by all of this quiet, sparse forests, and in the snows beyond.

The girls, however, would only suffer for it. They who clung to her so tightly, as children do a mother, whimpered in the winter wind and clutched pale arms around their torsos. These were the ones who were made for Summer, not the endless Winter.

“You must go back now,” she implored them, bending to look each in the eye. “If you don’t, there’s no telling what might happen to you out here. The Winter is not kind to children.”

“Where would we go?” Anna quipped, toothless grin chattering in the breeze. “Back to the ferry? They won’t take us, and neither will the cattaur.”

“She’s right.” Mary reached for Gwyn’s hand, turning the palm to cup her cheek. “You’ll keep us, won’t you, Mama Gwyn? We’ll be good Ursataur, even if we don’t look right…” Warm tears shined in her eyes, falling down to the quivering lip.

Gwyneira took a deep breath, and bit her bottom lip. If these had been any other children she may have been able to look away, but the mama bear in her had already claimed them as hers. “Even if we are not of blood, you are my daughters, and you will make fine Ursataur.” Taking them to her chest, she hugged them tight, protecting them with her body from the chills of the world.

“Snow will guide you, snow will show you, but if you stop, snow will keep you.”

Daven’s words were like something from a fairytale now. She wanted her brother with her less as each day passed. The mourning she’d gone through of her old clan faded with the coming of the snow. Her daughter’s donned coats made of furs and leather from the cattaur villages, then traveled North still, far into the uncharted mountains. It was there that she made a den for them, and it was there they stayed.

Years passed from that moment, and day by day her girls grew. They became fine, strapping daughters. Were it not for their appearance they would have been true Ursataur, in every way. They respected the laws of the Hunt, and the word of the spirits was law, though they had no spirit guide to show them the way to their own journey. So, when the time came, it was Gwyneira that took the place of spirit guide.
“I call to the trees, the wind and the breeze, here upon the Mountain of Draiocht. Bring forth to me great spirits three, a sign from thee, for the girls so that they may find, beyond the time, a flower beneath the rot.”

All at once the wind ripped through the sparse pine trees, careening across the open topped Mountain ridge. It stirred the ground near the legs of the females, spiraling towards the sky between them. Gwyn reached hand out to Anna, then Mary, and had them repeat after her. “Snow will guide you, snow will show you, but if you stop, snow will keep you.”

With eyes closed they felt closer to the spirits than ever before. It was clear to the girls that their journeys were back in Haventree, amidst the bustle of town and the world of taur. When the realization came the three shed happy tears, going in for a group hug.

“It was a long time coming,” Gwyn sniffled, kissing Mary’s cheek as she held Anna in a tight hug. “You two were always talking about opening a shop, remember? And you said you wanted to read again, to learn more, so this is your chance.”

“But mama, won’t you be coming with us? Oh, you will, won’t you?” Mary pleaded, looking to the older Ursataur.

Gwyn shook her head slowly, giving her daughter a softer, compassionate smile. “I’ll never leave you, but I can never leave here. I’m a Lone Walker Mary, and it was time that I resumed that role once more. I’ll visit you both as often as I can, and I won’t be far from you, only a few days travel, at most. We’ll never be far.”

With their parting words stated, all three dispersed. As the sisters went South their mother went further North. Until that point she hadn’t dreamed of going so far in fear of harming the two, but now…now the frozen bitter land called to her. There were no trees here to shield her from it, no rivers or prey to hunt; it was merely herself and the environment.

And yet up here she felt the most at home. She had a family to weep for her when she wasn’t around, children to coddle when they cried and a connection with the spirits that she had never dreamed of before. As a Lone Walker she had become a Shaman, the likes of which her clan could never have dreamed. Her curse had carried her into a new life and in way it had been a curse. Those hateful words had been the death of a weaker girl, and in her place was a strong Ursataur. A mother, a Shaman, and a survivor who could smile and laugh to the four winds as easily as she could cry. There was no shame in missing Daven, any more than there was in stomping her paws into the ground with gut wrenching sobs or screaming with anger. The only shame had been in denying her true self all those years ago; in burying it beneath fear. But now, now she was in her home, and she would defend it to the end.