Tales of The Primordial Dawn

The world had been painted in shades of white overnight, an icy sheet laid carefully over everything in sight. It was as if the gods themselves had dipped their brushes in frost and chosen the tribe's surroundings as their canvas. The first touch of snow underfoot, crisp and pure, sent a shiver up my spine. The chill of the season seeped through my furs, and my breath fogged up in the air, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. The once familiar landscape now lay hidden under the winter's guise, an unbroken expanse of frozen white.

As I surveyed the snow-covered grounds, the crunch of footsteps sounded behind me. Turning, I was met with the sight of Garan, the elder's son. His tall form trudged through the snow, a grimace on his face as he attempted to ward off the chill. Despite the weather, his body, lean and toughened by countless seasons, bore the cold with stoic determination.

"Garan," I called out, my voice carrying over the quiet hush of the snow. He halted, turning to meet my gaze. "How fare you on this cold morning?"

A weak smile flickered across his face as he neared. "Tak," he acknowledged with a curt nod. His eyes held a seriousness that matched his voice's timber. "It is cold, but it's the winter. We've braved it before."

His attempt at nonchalance didn't fully mask the concern lingering beneath his words. I stepped closer, noting the slight furrow of his brows, the hint of worry in his normally steady eyes. "You've something on your mind, Garan. What troubles you?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle, inviting him to share his burden.

Garan hesitated, his gaze dropping to the pristine snow under our feet before he sighed, his breath creating a small cloud in the frigid air. "It's Father... the elder," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "He has fallen ill, Tak. His body... it doesn't handle the cold as well as it used to."

The news hung heavily in the icy air, a weighty reality against the backdrop of the serene winter. The elder had been our guiding light, a beacon of wisdom that had seen us through countless seasons. His illness would shake the tribe, reminding us all of the relentless cycle of life and death.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Garan," I said, my heart heavy for the elders' plight. "Is there anything we can do? How can we help?"

Garan shook his head, a helpless shrug lifting his shoulders momentarily before they sagged again. "We're doing all we can, Tak. Mother is preparing herbs, and we've made sure he's warm. But it's the winter... it's always harder during the cold season."

There was a hardened resignation in his voice, the kind that came from witnessing a battle that could not be won by sheer will alone. But we were a tribe, a community built on mutual aid. The elder's fight would not be fought alone.

"Let us know if you need anything, Garan," I offered, clapping a supportive hand on his forearm. "The elder is our guide, our wisdom. We'll brave this winter together, as we have all the others."

Garan nodded, the ghost of a grateful smile flickering across his face before it was replaced by his stoic mask. "Thank you, Tak," he said, his voice holding a note of reassurance. "We will."

As Garan disappeared into the white expanse, returning to his father's side, I was left with the reality of winter– a silent test of survival, a reminder of the fragile balance between life and death.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I turned my attention back to the tribe, a ragtag collection of makeshift huts and fire pits that had become our home. My feet crunched through the untouched snow as I walked, the familiar sights now rendered strange and silent under the winter's grip. The chatter of children, the bustle of daily activities, the warmth of shared stories and laughter – all seemed subdued, muffled under the snow's quiet symphony.

I passed by the communal fire pit, now dormant and covered with a soft white quilt, its life-giving heat a cherished memory. I could almost see the tribe huddled around it, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on their faces. Yet now, it stood as a stark reminder of the desolation that winter brought along.

A few days ago, this had been a place bustling with life. The heart of our tribe, where we would gather to share our day, our stories, our dreams. Now, it was eerily quiet. The snow, while breathtaking in its beauty, had an uncanny ability to smother the vibrancy of life.

I could see how the tribe had retreated – withdrawing into their huts, clustering closer together for warmth and companionship. The usual bustle of hunting, foraging, and play had given way to the struggle of surviving the cold. The laughter of children was replaced by the whispering winds, and the stomping feet had turned into soft, slow crunches on the snow.

It was a jarring shift, a reminder of how swiftly our circumstances could change. One day we were thriving, relishing the rich bounty of the forest, and the next, we were in the grip of a merciless winter, scrambling to ensure our survival.

A sense of isolation crept up on me, the desolate scene before me a stark contrast to the warm camaraderie we usually enjoyed. However, I was also reminded of the strength of our tribe, the way we adapted, the resilience ingrained deep within our bones. This was not our first winter, and it would not be our last.

Despite the eeriness of the empty encampment, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of admiration for our people. Yes, the camp was quieter, the fire pit was cold, and the elder was ill. Yet, the tribe had responded in the only way we knew how – by facing the challenge head-on, supporting one another, and holding on to the hope of a warmer tomorrow.

As I trudged through the snow, lost in thought, I couldn't help but think of what Garan had said. It was winter, indeed, but we had braved it before. And we would brave it again.

The path towards the animal pen was a familiar one, trodden countless times as we tended to the needs of our small herd of goats. I ventured forth, my footprints forming a solitary trail on the untouched canvas of snow. As I approached, a faint cacophony of bleats carried through the cold air, a comforting sound in the otherwise still morning.

There, huddled together for warmth, were our goats – their coats a stark contrast against the white of their surroundings. Even in the depth of winter, their lively energy was palpable, a small testament to the circle of life that kept moving, relentless against the harsh winter.

To my surprise, Liora was already there, standing a little distance away, her eyes fixed on the herd. Her body was wrapped in thick furs, the wind tugging at loose strands of her hair. Turning at the sound of my approach, a soft smile graced her lips, though her eyes betrayed her concern.

"Tak," she greeted me, her voice a gentle murmur against the wind. Her gaze returned to the goats, watching them intently. "I was checking on them. They seem well...for now."

"The cold is hard on all of us," I conceded, joining her at the edge of the pen. I observed the goats, their huddled bodies, their breath visible in the icy air. They seemed to be coping, their natural resilience matching our own. "But they're sturdy creatures, Liora. They've seen winters before, just like us."

Liora nodded, pulling her furs tighter around her. "I know, Tak," she admitted, her gaze never leaving the animals. "But each winter brings with it more loss and pain. I pray that the ancestors look over them as they do us."

"The ancestors guide us, Liora, as they always have. They see our struggles and our victories," I reassured her, my eyes meeting hers, attempting to instill her with the same faith that had helped our people survive through the ages. "Their wisdom is the reason we're standing here today. They've passed down everything we need to endure."

She sighed, a heavy sound lost in the cold winter wind. "I fear...," she started, her voice faltering as she cast a wary eye over the herd of goats. "I fear losing them, Tak. Each winter, it seems like we lose more than the last."

Her concern was noticeable, seeping into the frigid air around us. The brutal reality of our world was never more apparent than in the harshness of winter. Loss was an unfortunate part of our lives, a lesson taught by the unforgiving wilderness around us. She also seemed to be speaking about more than just the three goats we had.

I reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We do what we can, Liora. We protect them, we feed them, we shelter them. But nature... nature has its own course. We can only influence so much."

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off more than just the cold. "It's just hard, Tak," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "Seeing them struggle... it's hard."

Her vulnerability in that moment was a stark contrast to the strength she so often exuded. It was a reminder of the toll this life took on all of us, in different ways.

"I know, Liora," I admitted, my voice soft. "It's hard for me too. But we aren't alone. We have each other."

Her face seemed to turn a deeper shade of red as I said that. The bitter cold getting to her.

"The cold is relentless today," she murmured, tugging her furs tighter around her form. Her eyes drifted towards the endless expanse of white beyond the boundaries of our tribe. "Tak, would you accompany me on a walk? I could use the company."

I didn't hesitate, nodding in agreement. "Of course, Liora. Lead the way."

We ventured away from the tribe, our footsteps echoing in the cold silence. The world around us was still, the quiet only interrupted by the occasional gust of wind rustling through the barren trees. It was a stark landscape, painted in monochrome by the winter's hand, yet there was a certain beauty to it – a calming sight that was as humbling as it was breathtaking.

"I often wonder what the ancestors thought during times like this," Liora voiced, her gaze locked on the distant horizon. "Did they view winter as a friend or foe?"

I pondered her words, glancing at the snow-covered ground beneath us. "I think they would've seen it as both. A test and a blessing. Life is about balance, after all."

She considered my words, a thoughtful expression crossing her features. "Balance," she echoed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "That's a comforting perspective, Tak. Even in hardship, we learn and grow. It makes the struggle seem...less frieghtning."

"I think that's what the ancestors wanted for us," I replied, returning her smile. "To learn from our struggles, to grow stronger with each passing season. They braved harsher winters, fought fiercer beasts, and yet, they survived. And in their survival, they left us a legacy – their wisdom, their strength. We carry it with us, in our hearts, in our actions."

A serene silence fell over us as we continued our journey, leaving behind a trail of footprints on the blank canvas of snow. The world around us might have been cold and harsh, but the warmth of our conversation offered comfort against the winter's chill.

As we walked, the hush of winter enveloped us, turning our attention to the small details—the crunch of the snow beneath our feet, the crispness of the air as we inhaled, and the faint, rhythmic sound of our heartbeats.

Suddenly, Liora halted in her tracks, her sharp eyes catching a contrast in the otherwise untouched snow. I followed her gaze and felt my breath hitch. There, marring the pristine white, was a trail of dark spots—too red against the snow. A blood trail.

"Tak," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you see that?"

I nodded, my gaze shifting from the blood to a series of prints in the snow. They were too large for any small beast. Human footprints.

"Yes," I replied, my voice as quiet as hers. The sight raised a flurry of questions. Whose blood was it? Who had walked this way? Was someone hurt? "We should follow it. Carefully."

We ventured forth, tracing the path indicated by the footprints. With each step, the tension grew. Our usual banter was replaced by a wary silence, broken only by the crunch of our steps. The starkness of winter felt even more poignant, the beauty of the snow-covered landscape forgotten in the face of the looming uncertainty.

The footprints led us further from our tribe, into the heart of the winter wilderness. Each drop of blood stood out starkly against the snow, a somber reminder of the dangers this world had to offer. As we moved deeper, following the crimson-stained path, we couldn't shake off the foreboding sense that we were stepping into a story that had already begun, and we were about to find out how it unfolded.

"What do you think happened, Tak?" Liora asked, her voice barely audible against the winter breeze. Her question hung in the cold air, as if waiting for the wind to carry it away.

"I'm not sure, Liora," I answered, my tone grave. "But whatever it is, we'll face it together."

We continued our journey in silence, the tranquility of the winter morning now tainted by the blood trail that carved a stark path through the snow. Our hearts hammered in sync, a shared rhythm that echoed our apprehension. The stillness of the surrounding woods seemed to close in around us, a silent witness to the mysterious trail we followed.

As we ventured deeper, the footprints grew more pronounced, more hurried. The space between each imprint widened, indicating the person's pace had increased, as if running from something... or to something.

"Tak," Liora murmured, her voice barely cutting through the winter wind. "The footprints... they're hurried."

"I noticed," I admitted, my gaze locked on the rapidly changing tracks. "Something has happened... something bad."

Suddenly, a chill, stronger than the biting winter cold, ran down my spine. Not a chill borne from the season, but one of premonition, a sense of impending danger. "Liora," I began, my voice cautious. "We should be prepared... for whatever lies at the end of this trail."

She nodded, her face pale against her dark furs. I could see the fear in her eyes, but there was something else. I was unsure what else her eyes held, but she was ready to move forward with me.

Steeling ourselves, we continued to follow the bloodstained trail. With every step, the tension tightened like a drawn bowstring, threatening to snap. The eerie stillness seemed to echo our heartbeats, a pulsing soundtrack to our unsettling journey.

The silence between us was heavy with unspoken worries and silent prayers to the ancestors. Our footfalls seemed intrusive, disrupting the chilling quiet that had settled around us.

As the footprints and the blood trail became more erratic, our hearts pounded louder, matching the rhythm of our anxious anticipation. The still forest echoed our shared dread, its silence a stark reminder of our solitude in this snow-swathed wilderness.

After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the end of the trail. Nestled against the foot of a massive pine tree was a woman, her body trembling with cold and pain. She was a stranger, her face unfamiliar, yet the fear and desperation etching her features were all too relatable.

"Tak," Liora gasped, her voice thick with shock. "An injured woman... we need to help her."

"I see her, Liora," I said, my gaze locked onto the woman. She looked terribly wounded, blood seeping into the snow around her. But despite the obvious pain, she seemed to be clinging to consciousness, her eyes flickering with a stubborn will to survive.

"We need to approach her carefully, Liora," I cautioned, turning towards her. "She may be afraid, maybe even hostile. She doesn't know us."

Liora nodded, her eyes wide but determined. "I understand, Tak. We'll do our best."

Gingerly, we stepped forward, our movements careful not to startle the injured stranger. As we neared her, the woman’s eyes, glazed over with pain, snapped open and met ours. Despite the agony she was in, a spark of defiance still lit her gaze.

"We mean no harm," I began, raising my palms to show we were unarmed. "We're here to help."

The woman didn’t respond immediately, her gaze flitting between Liora and me, calculating, assessing. After what seemed an eternity, she nodded weakly, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

In the biting cold of the wilderness, amidst the eerie stillness of the snow-laden trees, we found ourselves in an unforeseen situation. We didn't know who this woman was or where she came from, but one thing was certain – we couldn't leave her here. In our tribe, we valued life, and we were going to do everything we could to save hers.

As we moved closer to help, my eyes fell on the woman's forearm. It was bared against the cold, and on her skin was an intricate design - a labyrinth of coiling lines, intersecting geometric shapes, and spiraling whirls that culminated into a fierce-looking bird with its wings spread wide. I recognized the design instantly, an echo of a past we had left behind.

"Liora," I said quietly, pointing out the marking. "Look."

Her eyes widened as she saw it, the color draining from her face. "The Wulani Clan," she whispered, fear creeping into her voice.

"Yes," I said, swallowing hard. "

What could a member of the Wulani Clan be doing so far from their territory? And in such a state?"

A weak rasping sound from the woman drew our attention. She was trying to speak, her words emerging as a rough staccato against the silent wilderness. It was a language unknown to us, alien and perplexing.

"Ne...ge...shta...gima?" she gasped, her eyes boring into ours, a faint glimmer of defiance still burning in their depths.

"We...we don't understand," Liora admitted, her eyes filled with frustration and concern. "She's asking us something, Tak. But what?"

"We can't try to figure it out now," I replied, my gaze flitting between Liora and the injured woman. "Our priority is to get her back to the tribe, to tend to her wounds."

I was hesitant to move at first, this woman's tribe was the reason we were forced to abandon our previous home. My mind raced judging if we should truly take her back with us to our tribe. Would bringing her with us invite danger, or was this a sign from the ancestors to treat all life equally as we were not the ones to pass judgment onto others? I asked myself was this another one of their many trials?

Liora sensed my hesitation and placed her hand on my shoulder. I gazed into her eyes which seemed filled with more warmth than anything else at the moment. With a mutual nod of agreement, we carefully hoisted the woman, her unconscious form sagging against us. 

We began our trek back to the tribe, our minds awash with questions, fears, and worry, the woman's incomprehensible question echoing in our ears.

"Liora," I began after a while, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the cold winter air. "Do you think we're doing the right thing?"

She took a moment to respond, her breaths coming out in puffs of steam. "I don't know, Tak," she finally said, her voice barely audible. "But what I do know is that we can't leave her out here. That would be certain death."

I nodded in agreement, understanding the weight of her words. "And what if the Wulani Clan comes looking for her?" I voiced out the question that was gnawing at my insides.

"We can't control what they do, Tak," Liora answered, her voice steadier now. "We can only control our actions. And right now, the right thing to do is to help this woman."

The woman muttered something again in her language, her words slurred from pain and exhaustion. "Kaj...tolu...des," she whimpered, her eyes tightly shut. It was a distressing sight, adding to the swirl of emotions churning within me.

"I wish we could understand her," Liora murmured, looking down at the woman with a worried expression. "Maybe she's trying to warn us...or plead for help."

"But we can't," I replied, my tone resolute. "For now, we need to get her back to the tribe, heal her wounds. The Elders will figure out the rest later."

As the landscape around us blurred with our swift pace, I couldn't help but wonder about the mystery woman from the Wulani Clan. Her presence raised so many questions, and hinted at so many possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.