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MammaJamma

A Seraph's Journal

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Be gentle oh reader's but please do let me know what you think.  This is just my early morning ramblings, not meant to be lore.

 

 

It is time to return.  After centuries away, it is time to return to the world.   It has been so long I do not remember the feel of the wind against my face or dirt beneath my feet.  I remember the memory being pleasant but not the actual feeling. I have been away amongst my kind for so long I am both trepidatious and as excited as a pup.  

 

It is time.  

 

Day 1

 

The pull of the earth, the warmth of the sun against my face, the dewy cool of the morning grass against my bare feet, it is joyous.  This land is plentiful and awe-inspiring. Warm tart berries off the vine, plants for which I know the use, and ones I admire for their scent and beauty scatter across the landscape.  And life. I had forgotten how noisy a hen in the grass can be. She and her brood scatter at my approach. Stay safe little ones, for in the grass I also see a fox, rufous and majestic.  

 

There is a small lake, skirted with cattail, one of the banks sticky and blue with clay in the soil.  The grass is tall and damp and my legs itch, a sensation I had forgotten. The day was spent walking the edges, picking up stones to make a tool or two for my hands are soft and digging in the dirt has caused me discomfit.  As the sky fades, and fog creeps along the ground, I sit cross legged, knapping the stone against the flint. At first I think I will make a knife to harvest some reeds to weave into a basket but then, darker still and a wolf howls in the distance.  A spear then. I remember this, the sharp feel of the flint in my hand the tapping, the sharp crack when a big flake comes off. The razor sting of the tiny shards against my tender fingers. I will get better at this. Maybe a wolf skin will keep me warm tonight.  I stalk in the dusk.

 

Her pelt is white with a grey ruff.  I will sleep warmly tonight but as I climb to the plateau above the lake I hear her pack and a sister with the same pelage attacks. My arms are full of the bounties of the day.  The cubs are around, yipping. If some meat would tempt them I would have their company for they hold not the terror of the pack. But they run away and I see the alpha, roaming beyond the bushes.  His fur is dark, almost black. He has not spotted me. I shall, in the nature of we the Namers, call this Wolf Ridge. I am saddened that someday I will need to slay those roly poly pups, gamboling in the grass but I am remembering.  There is an edge beneath the beauty. But the sky has cleared, the stars wheel overhead and there is joy.


 

I will settle Wolf Ridge, although perhaps when I am done there shall be no wolves.  It offers a vista over the lake, a rocky cliff behind and a bounty of wild foods. A small pond nestles among the ubiquitous reeds. I have seen wild turnips and rye and the pine trees offer shade and perhaps wood for a fire.  I must cook this wolf meat, before it sours. I will see what morning brings.

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Day 2

 

I was incorrect about the alpha, it was not he who led the pack, he merely looked the part but a great grey she-wolf.  She roams the plateau indifferent to me and I have hopes that we can coexist. Her pups are plentiful, perhaps I should leave them their land and settle where I shall cause less conflict.  Their meat is dark and oily, I would much prefer to gather my pelts from the plentiful sheep with their curling horns, it is tastier and I feel less kinsip for them.

 

She came within a spear throw but did not care to attack.   I slipped away while she was occupied with her young. I shall go again to Wolf Ridge to harvest the wild plants but I shall leave the wild heights to her.

 

I shall settle near the lake.  Hopefully the bugs won’t be too egregious.  A granite spire lies to the west, a landmark to navigate by and wild berries are abundant.  I remember the bear loves these so I will keep my senses open. It would be startling to come across a great bear in the bushes.  Already I have plans for clearing the land. The incessant grass tickles my nose, scratches my legs and blocks my line of sight if the wolves come down from their perch.  The joy I find in the wild beauty I am already altering, us Namers are also builders and shapers. I shall think on what to call this place.

 

As I clear the land for my settlement I find saplings in the brush.  I clear the area around them and carefully cultivate them for I would not like to have to harvest the truly ancient oaks on the far side of the lake for firewood.  Foxes abound here but I do not fear them the way I do the wolves. They might steal from me if I do not keep my stores secure but they will not attack. I am digging up the berry bushes and transplanting them near the spire.  My lips and hands are stained with berry juice: the rewards of summer.

 

I am tired.  My hands are blistered.  My legs and arms are full of scratches but I can envision it now.  A scattering of buildings next to the lake, fields of grain, a truck garden near the house.  Maybe a smithy carved into the side of the spire for I have found traces of copper in the soil here. I have woven a basket of reeds and placed my few precious resources in it, snugged up against the spire..  Harvesting the reeds was backbreaking but hypnotic. A pattern of gather and cut and gather and cut. I will sleep well tonight.

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