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 Posted: Fri May 27, 2011 7:30 pm
2. And even though we’d love to hear all your stories we will only allow one lore entry per person.
3. Just to reiterate: The story can be told by a war veteran, a descendant of one, or just a regular “civilian” herla who happened to here from so-and-so about such-and-such (or, you know, just a really good liar).
4. If you want to include another owner’s herla in your story for whatever reason (maybe they’re a family member interrupting them from time to time) YOU MUST CONTACT THAT OWNER FIRST. If we find out you were using another’s herla without their permission we will make lots of angry face at you >:< And your entry will be disqualified.
5. Please please read the lore for the Talon war here. It will give you the best idea of how things were at that time.
6. If you have any questions regarding whether or not something in your story fits into lore (whether it’s because you’re unsure or there’s no information on your particular detail(s)) feel free to PM Kaiven and she will answer all your lore questions!
7. This event starts at 11pm PST May 27th and lasts until 9pm PST June 5th. Entries will be judged the next couple of days and winners will be announced in this thread and the main shop thread.
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Posted: Mon May 30, 2011 5:54 pm
A Tale from the Battle of Moss Bridge Sitting beneath an old gnarled tree; is an equally old gnarled Herla, his head drooping low and his body riddled with scars. A few youngsters are seated around him; their ears perked up as they listen intently to his words. You wander over curiously and as you grow closer his voice reaches you; still deep and strong despite his age. He lifts his head as if sensing your presence and milky blind eyes stare in your direction. Memory slowly stirs and although you have not been in these lands long; you know this old male is held in great regard. He was not young during the Talon Wars and he is certainly no younger now; it hard to make a guess of his age other than very, very old. From what you have heard he was once a captain whose wisdom and tactics had often turned the tide upon the enemy. You cannot help but make your way over to settle in the grass beside the others. They welcome you with eager brightness before turning every inch of their attention upon the old warrior. He clears his throat and fusses about for a bit, though you get the distinct impression that he is doing this for his audience. A little bit of showmanship. Finally he starts telling his tale and you are immediately drawn into his words, a painting being created in your mind by his words. “I will tell you a tale from the great Talon War. I have lived through many battles and have seen far more than any Herla should have to see. So much death and bloodshed it is forever replaying in my head and my eyes can no longer see in order to replace them with goodness… but I also know that this world is one that is filled with an immense amount of hope. Hope is the sun rising in the morning and the gentle falling of the spring rains.” He stops for a time; mind apparently lost for a moment. “… yes, hope. I bring you a story from that time of bloodshed where we needed every ounce of it that we could get. For there were many times in which even the most valiant fighter felt he could go no further. I take you now back through time to the Battle of Moss Bridge. I am sure you have heard others speak of it; the telling of it is retold over and over by different voices, so my weaving of this tale will focus on only one moment that was the most poignant to me. It was a strange and still day; the sun was high in the sky and not a creature stirred other than the Herla who guarded the bridge pacing restlessly back and forth. We were all so tired; over and over again the Talons had thrown their forces at us. For a long time we had stood firm; never allowing them to gain ground. But on that still day, they finally broke though…” Once again he paused to relive the moment in his own mind. He told the tale of one who had been there and surely such a memory would be a bitter pain. “Some of the younger, newer recruits were guarding the bridge that day. Perhaps because we were so exhausted we imagined our enemies must be as well and for just a moment our resolve wavered. They are canny fighters those beasts… deadly and always watchful. The second we let our guard down they were there. They pounced; racing across the bridge in a v formation that took out the first few guards in a matter of moments. Nobody was ready. Nobody but him. Vidaar. Have you heard his name? You should have.” The old hart looks both proud and wistful at the same time. The name is spoken with such reverence that you know somehow he had been close to the hart he speaks of. “Our warriors were falling and the Talons were about to capture the bridge completely. If they had reached the other side in that moment the rest of us would have fallen and there would have been no hope at all. I could see so many of them on the other side; ready for their turn to cross. But they had not counted on the spirit of one warrior. Vidaar was one of the captains on guard that day and he charged headlong onto the bridge to make a stand as the others fell; all alone he took on the enemy and he fought with every inch of power he possessed. The battle cry he gave must have sent a tremble down the spine of all who heard it, for even now it lives on in my memory. He tore at them with tooth and horn; splattering the rock with so much blood that it is now forever stained with red. His brave stand held them back long enough for us to rally our forces. Then he fell. His great and powerful body stumbled and lost its strength. He gave one final roar as he slipped on the blood that pooled at his feet. The great Vidaar fell… over the edge and down into the ravine towards the waters below. The Talons continued their charge, their spirit bolstered by Kaymal and her forces, and made it to our side of the ravine, but we were ready and waiting. They had lost their momentum. We clashed and the battle raged. Many good fighters were lost that day, but we finally pushed them back. The loss was great on all side but we were victorious, and reclaimed the bridge. Never again did that manage to set hoof upon our side.” He voice had grown loud throughout the telling but now it drops and breaks with sorrow. “… There were many other tales of bravery from that day. Many lives lost; many hearts broken. But I tell you of Vidaar because he was a beacon of hope for me. He gave his all so that we could one day sit here beneath this tree. His life was that of a proud and powerful warrior and should be constantly remembered.” He stops speaking completely and after a long time the youngsters get up and leave; however you remain in utter silence, just waiting. Eventually you get what you were waiting for, and although he must know you are still there, he speaks into the silence, and the agony he feels is so poignant it makes you shiver. “My son… I wish I had been beside you then. But each has their part to play and they needed me to survive that day…” His eyes close and his head drops down to the grass. “I will be with you soon.” Sorrow fills you and you stand; slipping silently away from his battered, tired form. The scars of war were deep and not even time could heal them.
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Posted: Wed Jun 01, 2011 1:04 pm
(( I am using my Amelia as the story teller. As a clarification, Ruthegard can not actually fly, but can (as Kai so wonderfully put it) glide or occasionally fly for short bursts like a chicken. )) The sun was setting on the herla's first memorial day; the dying light painting everything in somber colors as shadows lengthened and the stars overhead twinkled into existence, one by one. Amelia had amassed a small group of listeners throughout the day as her lyrical representations of well-told war stories intrigued even those who had heard said stories a million times. She included the tales of Brunt - the Hart of Steel, who is said to have never broken a single bone in the entire war, Leopold- the Giggler, who is rumored to have an uncontrollable fit of giggles every time he slew a Talon, and even the tale of Bartholomew the Bard, Amelia's own father, who replaced his instrument with a sword and fought to the beat of the drum that was his own heart. However, all these stories had been triumphant ones, the kind that made fawns cheer and adults nod their heads appreciatively, as though nothing else could have happened but the happy endings Amelia sang about. Their glee should not have bothered Amelia, but it did. Perhaps it was time to tell a tale of a more gruesome history, one wrought with death, anguish, and betrayal... Perhaps it was time to tell the tale of Ruthegard and Nixie and the female Talon-shaman that ruined it all, Zira. Amelia stared up at the sky as the group around her waited patiently for her to begin her next song... little were they expecting the solemn statement that slid from her mouth, "What is love?" she asked and then peered back at her audience, her green eyes glinting with indescribable emotion. "What of true love? Would you die for love? What of kill for it? What would any of you sacrifice for love?" each question dripped from her tongue like an accusation, causing her audience to flinch. "As many a hart and hind learned during the fighting, there is no room for love in war. All that you hold sacred and dear must be let go, disposed of, or the loss could drive you crazy. Warriors had no room in their hearts for love, and the ones that tried to make room paid dearly for it." "You all have heard stories of the dragon-herla, those of us who descend from the dragon-touched and bare great power, unlike any we shall ever know. Rare as they may be, few did join our ranks during the Talon wars. One in particular, Ruthegard, was a proud, devilishly handsome buck. Long furred, with clawed feet, he sported a pair of magnificent wings from his back- like those of a bat, only stronger... the wings of a dragon. He was a terror to behold when in battle, gnashing teeth and slashing claws, capable of leaping to greater heights than any Herla has ever known. He would dive down from the heavens like an angel of fire whose eyes blazed with the magic that burned within him. Many herla feared him almost as much as the Talons did and little is known of him or his history. One thing is certain though- no one knew him better than Nixie. A quiet, serene delta hind with eyes as gentle as his were fierce. She had no dragon blood in her, though he loved her with all his heart." "It was well known that where Ruthegard went, Nixie followed. Though she was no warrior, she charged into battle by his side, fully believing that nothing terrible could ever happen to her with Ruthegard around. Many a battle they fought and many close encounters were made, though somehow, each time they managed to escape unscathed. That is, until Nixie found out she was with fawn. Though Ruthegard begged and pleaded for her to stay out of the fighting, for the sake of their children, she would not leave him... a grave mistake indeed." "The next morning, the battle horns were sounded... the enemy was sighted! Ruthegard and Nixie shared a passionate kiss as they did before every battle... not knowing it would be their last. As Ruthegard leaped into the air with a roar, gliding towards his enemies with his teeth bared, Nixie rushed into the heaving throng of bodies before her. The Talons, however, had a different plan for her. " "Across the pass where the battle was centered, the Talon captains had their heads together, deep in discussion. That flying menace had taken too many of their soldiers and was almost untouchable with his fighting prowess. How could they get to him? They were throwing ideas back and forth when a harsh cackle rang through the air, 'You fools... are you blind?' asked the mysterious voice. Looking over, they snarled as Zira, the ill-famed Talon-shaman, stepped into the light, clinging to her skull-tipped staff. 'Tell me, what is the great lummox's one true weakness?' she inquired smoothly, only to groan and clutch her head as the captains answered with things like 'his eyes?', 'ripper currents?', 'water?'.... Shaking her head, she replied, 'Why... why I am surrounded by idiots.... His heart you morons... have you not noticed how protective he is of that one silver female? How he never leaves her out of his sight for long? Get the girl, and you will have him in your claws, wrapped as neatly as a present with a bow.'" "So this was their plan. As the battle roared on, a select group of Talons made their way towards Nixie, ropes in hand, one holding a dart drenched in strong sedative derived from the poison of a desert frog. The work was quick and clean. With a swift move, the leader sedated Nixie while the others tied her ankles and began to drag her limp body away. She only had time to let out one, pathetic whine, 'Ruuuuuuth....' before she passed out. The dragon's daring rescue had also been planned for. Before Ruthegard could reach his beloved, who also bore his fawns, the group vanished--- magically sealed from prying eyes by the magics of Zira. As the Talon forces retreated and the herla bellowed triumphantly, a voice whispered into Ruthegard's ear, ' If you ever wish to see your darling hind again, cross the bridge in the dead of night and await my orders... or she AND her precious cargo will be destroyed.' ...What else could Ruthegard do but comply?" "So, as the crescent moon reached it's zenith, Ruthegard slipped silently into enemy lines and was greeted with a gruesome sight. Blinded, broken, bleeding, and bruised... he darling Nixie lay in the dirt, still alive, but just barely. Standing over the hind with a spear in her claws stood Zira, a cracked smile on her face, 'You want her back alive? Then swear your allegiance to us... you will have her back once we win this war, with your help. Or I will make her die ever so slowly, each breath tortured as blood pools into her lungs... I'll make her watch as I tear the fawns out of her womb one-by-one and eat their little hearts. You wouldn't let that happen to her... would you? Her knight in shining armor... so then! Fight for her!' Zira ended powerfully, pointing her shaman's staff at him. Ruthegard stared as a deep, red smoke billowed from the skull at the tip of the staff and surrounded him, 'I will do anything for Nixie! I will destroy the world to have her safe!' he bellowed. Ruthegard knew he would never turn against his kind, but now that he knew Nixie was alive and where she was, he could get together a rescue party... but Zira was not done." "She simply smiled, 'Just what I wanted to hear...' and with a flash of red light the smoke flooded around Ruthegard and a blank look entered his eyes as her dark magic wheedled its way into his brain, using his own anger and determination against him. As she opened her mouth, a different voice slithered from her tongue, this one was wrought with power and ancient knowing, ' You, Ruthegard, have sworn to fight for your most beloved. You have decided to forsake your brothers, sisters, and friends for your one true love. As the sun kisses the sky tomorrow, you will lead us into battle and destroy any herla in your path, as you have sworn to do. For as long as your wings may hold you aloft, you will fight, to the sweet, bitter, end.'" "As suddenly as the spell started, it stopped, and Ruthegard fell to the ground in a heap, his body no longer under his control. The next morning dawned brightly and Ruthegard rose with a zombie'ish roar, rousing the warriors on both sides of the ravine--- the battle started up once again, only this time, the dragon rained his fury down upon the herla, striking them down with deathly blows. Many herla thought the heat of the battle had driven him crazy, until Brunt- the Hart of Steel, realized the Nixie was nowhere in sight. It was not the fighting that had driven Ruth crazy, but his broken heart. However, Brunt was a captain, he could not let his soldiers die for the sake of one. As Ruthegard leaped up and dived into yet another attack, Brunt jumped onto the back of one of his wings, dragging the crazed dragon to the ground... The wings! They were what made Ruth strong, and Brunt knew what he had to do. Rearing onto his back legs, Brunt came crashing down onto the wing's shoulder joint.... once... twice.... three times... while beneath him Ruth howled and screeched, pain unlike any other causing fiery tears to run hot tracks down his face... and finally... CRACK!" "The resulting scream was heard throughout the battlefield... everything stopped. With a final slash of his reinforced hooves, Brunt removed the wing completely, leaving a bloody stump of a once glorious appendage. Without the dragon, the Talons lost faith and ran back to their territory leaving Ruth bleeding profusely and calling out pathetically, 'Oh Nixie... Nixie... what have I done.'" "Brunt shook his head in disappointment, rallied up his troops, and left the dragon behind. He was a traitor, and not worth the energy it would take to drag him to the medics. Later that night, as Ruthegard lay there in his sorrow, he heard a dull thump and lifted his head from the bloody mud beneath him.... then he wished he hadn't...." "There, before him, stood Zira... a grin on her face as broad as the moon above. The thump he heard was the package she had dropped on the ground in front of him. Tutting slightly, Zira lilted, 'Oh dragon... how you have failed so magnificently,' as she unwrapped the package to reveal the bloody, blinded, head of his beloved Nixie. Ruthegard just stared at those unseeing eyes, and whimpered. Zira cackled and melted into the shadows, her voice whispering through the air, 'Good-bye dragon... may you live with your failure for the rest of your miserable life.'" Amelia snapped back to the present and looked at the glistening eyes of the audience before her. One small fawn called out somberly, "W...what happened to Ruthegard?" and the others nodded, all wanting to know. Amelia sighed and shook her head, "He lives... one-winged, scarred both inside and out. He gave up his family, his friends, and his own body for love... and yet it was not enough... so I as I leave you tonight, I ask you again. What would you sacrifice for love in a time of war?" she inquired quietly and looked into the trees just in time to see a one-winged form disappear into the gloom beyond.
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Posted: Sat Jun 04, 2011 7:25 pm
A Not So Lovely True Story
The camouflaged buck spoke slowly, Nearly half a cigarette hanging from his lips. He was being deliberately slow, that way these young kids would understand what was actually happening, These stories of hero’s were wonderful, everyone needed a hero or heroine but not everyone was capable of being a hero. He drew in a deep puff of smoke from his cigarette to let who ever was speaking finish they‘re story of love on the battle field, He was trying everything in his power not to spit out some obscenities, With the end of the love story he began his words flowing out with the puff of smoke from his cigarette, “ Not every story of war has a happy ending.” He muttered in his gruff voice as he looked over the faces of those around him. The younger hind looked shocked the older were slightly irritated. He knew that no one wanted him to expose all the faces of war. ” What they’re not telling you,” he began as forced himself off the ground his bones cracking and joints popping with age. “ Is that some Herla were cowards…” He paused for dramatic effect, closing his one remaining jade eye to listen for any breathing. “ I fought next to Price Maro, May he rest in peace. I was a sub commander of the hills, I gave personal messages to the soldiers from Maro, What he wanted them to do. Who he wanted to advance on the talon.” He paused his eye glazing over before he shook his head. “ In the field, in the heat of battle, the Talon race had moved in on us.” He was pacing now, his voice dipping lower to as a hint of suspense. “ it was just before Prince Maro fell, He told me to send Dahn. Dahn wasn’t the best, he’d barely fought the entire war, but he was our last hope at that very moment.” He sucked another long drag off the cigarette he had hanging out of his mouth before he chose to speak again.
“ I still remember the exact words that the Prince said to me, ‘Get Dahn!’ He sounded slightly frantic, No matter how strong he was he still sounded scared at that very moment, it was the fight of our lives, ‘Send him to the front with fifteen others!’ I couldn’t tell him no.” He blinked his slightly opaque jade eye as he looked to those sitting around him. They were all watching rather intently a few of those that had been sitting around at the beginning of the story had left now, Either sick of the tails or not wanting to listen to something that wasn’t a fairy tail, either way Zeshawn didn’t care. “ so I went to him. He was a strong buck, that was easy to see, You could just feel the strength in the air when you were around him, You guys now are spoiled.” he announced the long slender burning cylinder in his mouth bobbing around slightly. “ Moving on.” He had to keep himself on track, this story could move in a million directions, He could talk about how Dahn knew that Satarrah, his beloved mate was fighting when Zeshawn himself didn’t, He could talk about how the other buck cowered in a dense part of the forest when Prince Maro himself was slain but this wasn’t about that particular time he hid, ” He was a dark, could easily slip in and out of the shadows and attack those disgusting miscreants in the blink of an eye but he chose not to, He chose to be a coward.” Another long drag and a puff of smoke later he was speaking again. ” following Prince Maro’s instruction I went to Dahn, I knew how he was, He was shaking just looking at me knowing that I was a bit more powerful than him, That’s what he didn’t like I reckon, He didn’t like knowing someone else was superior to him. I looked him dead in those beady blue eyes and I told him. ‘Dahn, I know your not into fighting’ You see back then, It was a lot like it is now, you had some Hind that wanted to fight, who were ready to ump on anyone who crossed them wrong, but most of the hart back then wanted peace and happiness. I said to him ‘Dahn, You have got to take Bravo company and head straight for the Talon, were about to lose ground and Maro needs you to take them and attack from behind so that we can gain some ground, we’ve already lost more than a dozen soldiers in just the last few hours.’ “
His one jade eye was glazed over again as he kept speaking reliving the moment like it was a movie. He cold see it with out even thinking about it, he could feel the thundering hooves of those around him charging into battle blindly. “ I remember the look on his face, a full grown buck and he looked like he was going to cry.” Somewhere deep in his chest rattled ad he began to cough obviously from the smoke he was inhaling to make his eminent death arrive a tad bit sooner. Once he regained himself he spat out the cigarette and stomped on it, before he began to hawk something up from his lungs, spitting a wad of lord knows what next to the butt, “ He shook his head at me, Tears starting to poor down his cheeks, ‘n…n…no!’ He stuttered, of course a fool like him would stutter. Someone weak and frail, He never should have been fighting, he wouldn’t have made a good medic either, blood made him squeamish.” The look that was now painted on Zeshawns grey maw was a disgusted one. “ He started sobbing, like a pansy, ‘I can’t!’ He whined, ‘ I can’t die! I have to live to see my children born.’ His mate was pregnant, he didn’t want to go to war in the first place, the only reason he was here was because his father forced him to man up… not like it helped at all. ‘I won’t!’ And as he yelled that to me he turned off and ran, He ******** ran.” The hatred in his voice was more evident now, He was disgusted by the meer memory of the other. “ He ran to Brightscale Glade, It was just about the time that Iggepa was leading those in the glade to battle, this is where he gets more and more stupid, He kept running, Right past those that were going into battle to save the one little safe spot we had in this war, Kept running because he was scared. The fool ended up running right into the Talon who were waiting to Iggepa and her forced. They ripped him to shreds, My mate was dragging his body back to the medics when she was attacked by the Talon.” The half blind Jade eye was tinted brown as red crept into his iris with the anger he felt brewing in his chest. His lips starting to curl over his teeth. “ He’s lucky the Talon got to him first, I lead Bravo into the heart of battle and we managed to regain ground we lost, but because of Dahn we lost far more Hind than we needed to. Because he was scared of death dozens died. He got what was coming to him in the end. I’m just glad I never had to see him face to face after that moment.” Another coughing fit rattled the male’s lungs, When he was able to speak again he did. ” Remember two things for me kids.” He began as he fished another cigarette out of no where, Stomping his hoof on the closets rock he caught a spark that lit the stick in his mouth. “ Never be the coward," He added a pause for dramatic effect. “ And peace never lasts forever.” With that being said he turned and headed off.
He’d done what he came here to do, or at least he felt like he’d done enough of his job to rest for a bit. He’d reminded the Herla that war wasn’t a good thing, and more than that he reminded the young ones that war wasn’t all lollipops and gold metals. War was scary, horrible and it wasn’t something that he ever wanted to go threw again. He closed his jade eye as he walked trying to invasion Satarrah as she’d been before she died, before the war, hopefully somewhere out there in the afterlife, she was finally proud of him.
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Posted: Sun Jun 05, 2011 4:57 pm
Can you hear it? Tales of love. Tales of betrayal. Of Heroism. Cowardice. Memories seemed to fade into frayed herla’s mind; his hoof clicking against a small rock. A repetitive, rhythmic pattern that seemed to cut through the silence as the last herla’s story lingered in the air. A twitch he had never seemed to be able to fight. It was comforting, and as much as he needed the reassurance during these tales of hell, the muscles of his leg clenched and flexed leaving nothing but the anxious murmurs of the herla listening to the veterans speak of the war. Ears swiveling back in discomfort and fear, his soft voice broke the practical silence as if he was afraid to anger nature’s fermata. “Can you hear it?” Timidly limping forward from the sidelines, his eyes shot around the group never really managing to land on anyone for more than a few seconds. He dug into the ground wishing he still had the sound of his rock as he started to breathe heavily. “The silence. Can’t you hear it?” The herla’s eyes finally managed to fall on ground and he swilled his ears again as if the quiet had spoken or shifted. “My tale…is not one of heroism. Nor lies…or…or maybe even the fighting. Some may…may call it cowardice but…” Snorting and shaking his head lightly, the herla raised his gaze to the crowd. “I’m not afraid to speak about my fears and terror of that time.” His voice remained soft…gentle. As if sound were a precious commodity and he may lose the ability to speak if he projected fully. “You’ve heard tales of battle’s won…battles lost. But what of after the carnage? After the brave and stupid had charged in for whatever cause we rallied inside our own souls?” Looking away from the crowd and up the sky, he started clicking his hoof again. He’d found another rock without realizing it. “What of when a soldier looked up at the stars and wished their twinkling was an audible sound?’ “During battle…there were commands. Fierce voices fighting over the clamoring of blades and hooves. Wings flapping. Soldiers heaving for breath. Screeching of birds escaping the commotion. Your own heart thrumming in your chest like the drums of war. Screams…death. A cacophony of sound.” Swallowing hard, the clicking on the rock seemed to increase and his ears swiveled as if conducting. “This commotion…you might think it was it horrible. A clamor. But all that noise? That noise was reassurance. It meant that you’re comrades were alive…the battle not lost. There was a chance…life. Hope.” “You see…not every battle is won or lost. Sometimes what you get is an utter massacre. Both sides decimated to a point where not one soldier isn’t deathly wounded or moved on to a greener hartland. When that happens…there’s nothing. Silence.” He clenched his muscles again of his leg, a final “Tok” sounding on the rock as he let the word hang in the air. “To hear nothing but silence…that is when you realize you are truly alone. Laying a pool of blood surrounded by the distant and vacant eyes of fellow herla and enemies alike. The only chest rising your own and you’re afraid to let out a rattle or cough. Each disturbance a dramatic shock to the system. Or was there even one? Did the rubble move? Have the vultures arrived? Was that the last exhale of a friend? A foe? Did that even matter anymore?” “There was no one. Nothing. Silence.” His eyes moved about the circle locking with various young herla as they stood close to loved ones. “No mate to soothe your fear and heart. No mother to tell you that everything will be okay. No medic to kneel by your side and promise that help was on the way. No brother in arms to thank; to tell that it was honor fighting beside them. Or a fellow herla to wish them luck in this war…or better yet that they never see it.” “It’s not peaceful…silence. It’s the sound of shattered peace. Of nothing. The shards so scattered and miniscule that they can’t see each other. I laid in silence for days. To pray for the sound of a scream? Or a groan? What can one say when it comes to that for the sake of your sanity? My Sanity? For hope?” “Hope seemed a fantasy in that world. But when it was brought crashing down…the voice of a herla at my side telling me that I had been moved to the base camp for healing? I knew what hope was. What peace was. Voices. Medics. Soldiers. I didn’t care if they groaned or grunted in pain. Cried. I was surrounded by herla that had been through so much and had heard what I heard. Who longed to hear the laughing of babies and yearlings once home. The sound of birds…the wind…of life. Family. You’re mates heart beating gently in their chest. Sound…” Tears streamed slowly into his fur, his voice burdened by the emotion. “Be thankful…thankful for the voices in your life. To know you are not alone. To have hope…” Even the sound of his hoof on the rock seemed to lose its rhythm. His tears filling the silence as they had when he heard those voices again for the first time. “So I ask again…can you hear it?”
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