Post by Thorn on Jul 24, 2018 9:03:34 GMT -5
((Collab with Celestial ))
Kohimu touched his tail to the frightened firebird, and looked out into the rain. His carvings shimmered back-and-forth: blue, pink and green, tinged with fire along his flank from Svar’s brilliant light. The healer was dead, the Lionheart corrupted, and neither of them had been able to do anything about it. Was there even a point to all this? Maybe Te Tai had the right idea after all. Maybe Kohimu should just hide in the ocean and ride this out.
“He doesn’t sound like much of a ruler,” Kohimu said. “A true ruler can prove his mana. You can almost feel it. I can see why you wouldn’t like him, if all he had was empty claims.”
He sighed. “Sometimes it’s safer to be away from it all. If the Lionheart saw you- or me- who knows what would happen?”
Kohimu thought of Kopi, and other creatures which made their homes under the earth. Would they be okay? What about Kahu, and her little pack scurrying about the coast? Kahu was resourceful, that much was certain- and at least there were no trees to fall on her near the shore. And the scimons? Living amongst the trees? This storm was going to be terrible for everyone. Kohimu had seen storms before, but none quite like this.
Svar shifted, turning his back to the storm. He shuddered, his feathers fluffing up against the cold, or perhaps from fear. “If they killed the healer, what chance do we have against them? The whole island knows how powerful they are by now.”
He lowered his head, his crest flattening. “I hate this. I hate being so helpless, Kohimu. I should be used to it by now but I constantly hate it. Being trapped, useless, unable to do anything,” the firebird blinked as a few more tears fell onto the ground. “It’s like I’m captured all over again!”
Kohimu turned to look at the firebird. “It’s okay, Svar. You’re not trapped. I promise this storm will pass.”
He lowered his gaze. “I hate it too, though. What’s the point of being immortals with centuries of knowledge and experience, if horrible things happen and we can’t do anything about it? In my homeland, I was a kaitiaki- I had people who looked to me, relied on me for their safety. But here, I can’t keep anyone safe.”
Kohimu looked at the firebird and, to his surprise, found some resolve amongst the crushing despair in his own heart.
But I’ll do my best for you, my friend.
Svar tapped Kohimu’s head with his beak. “You’re keeping me safe. It’s not much, but it’s something, right?” he bowed his head. “I know how it feels, to one day be something and then...nothing. I went from a god’s servant to a simple pretty bauble, a novelty to be captured and shown off.”
The firebird flinched as another lightning strike lit up the sky. “Humans are awful, fickle creatures. At least the animals on the island aren’t so bad, I’ll give them that. Except for the sowers, of course.”
The wind howled between the rocks. Kohimu had to lean in closer to catch Svar’s words, his gaze flickering to the nearby trees- if any of those fell, they could have much bigger problems.
“Humans are...humans can be cruel. I wasn’t a bauble, but I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for...”
He hesitated. “Those weren’t my humans, anyway. They were strangers who’d never seen a taniwha before. This island is nicer in that the mortal creatures generally accept us as we are. But if I had the same skills I did amongst humans, I would be able to defend these islanders far better.”
Kohimu snorted. “Sometimes things don’t work out right. But enough rambling. Svar, you are so much more than just a ‘pretty bauble.’ At least the islanders understand that. You might not have your god, but hopefully you’ll still find the respect you deserve. Once these blasted sowers are dealt with.”
“Thank you,” the bird gave a soft chirrup, though still loud enough to be heard over the howl of the storm. “I think you’re doing your best to help. Naelus is not your homeland; it works differently here. The island has its own guardians, even if they…”
He trailed off. It seemed inappropriate to speak of the guardians, given the tragedy of what had occured. “This island is- in theory- a paradise for all creatures, safe from human hands. I think that’s why everyone is so accepting. However, you know I’ve never been able to feel that. I’m always too scared. Too afraid of the possibilities that experience has taught me could happen. In a way, it’s almost nice to be afraid for a real reason,” he closed his eyes. “Please tell me you understand what I mean, otherwise that sounds awful.”
“I understand,” Kohimu assured the bird. “I’ve never been in your position, Svar, but I know you. I get what you mean. I understand you’re not happy that creatures are being killed for no reason, but I know it can be a relief when there’s something frightening which everyone can understand.”
The firebird nodded. “That, and at least I know that this is real. This isn’t just my imagination tormenting me,” he drew his neck into his chest. “But now I want it to just end.”
He turned to feel the rain on his face, eyes closed- almost able to pretend it was just another shower, or that he was back at the falls, balancing on rocks and exploring little crannies with Beech. He wanted to help her, but what could he do? The firebird was right. Kohimu was protecting Svar, at least, and that was a start! The bird was safe here physically but, mentally, Kohimu knew there were a million frightening thoughts and memories fluttering around his head. Whenever the taniwha felt bad, it helped to tell a story, whether to himself alone or aloud for the benefit of others. Perhaps this would help Svar, too?
The taniwha turned to Svar, threw him a practised smile:
“I could tell you a story, if you like? It’ll help take our minds off things.”
Svar blinked, surprised. After a few moments, however, he gave a rapid nod. “That would be nice. You’ve never told me any stories from your homeland before, at least not that I remember.”
“That’s perfect!” Kohimu said. “I know a really, really good one. It’s about two taniwha brothers, Ngake and Whataitai.”
He would have preferred to tell the story while facing Svar, but Kohimu wanted to keep an eye on the outside world for any changes, and so he made do. He settled down facing outward and flicked his tail.
“Ngake was an energetic creature. He spent all day swimming around the lake at great speeds- chasing fish and eels, leaping and twirling in the air, and asking passing seabirds for news of the ocean. For, you see, all that stood between their lake and the ocean was a wall of hard stone cliff. Ngake and his brother could smell the sea, and hear the distant crashing of the waves if they listened, but they couldn’t see the ocean for themselves.”
“This didn’t matter to Whataitai. He lacked Ngake’s enthusiasm for the great salty expanse, and preferred to lie on the shore sunning himself all day. Sure, he enjoyed hearing the seabirds’ stories too, but he had no desire to see the ocean himself. If he needed the water, it was right there beside him. Why would he need more of it?”
“But the taniwha grew, and grew- they were much larger than myself, most are. Eventually the lake was too small for Ngake, who decided the ocean was the only way. He backed himself up against the far end of the lake, coiled his tail, and propelled himself into that sheer wall of rock. He was battered and bruised, but it was all worth it- the taniwha crashed through into the ocean, where he was free to once more chase eels all day, and roam to his heart’s content.”
Kohimu paused, shaking his head with mock sorrow.
“Whataitai, however...he was underprepared! When he jumped, he landed in the gap formed by his brother. Whereas Ngake’s powerful leap sent him crashing through, Whataitai was moving too slowly, and became stuck. The tide came to dampen his scales, and provide fish for him to eat, but he was forced to remain trapped between the lake and the ocean for the rest of his days.”
Kohimu laughed. “Or at least, that’s what the humans say. But we taniwha know better! Whataitai managed to slip back into the lake when the tide rose, his ego bruised, and continued sunning himself on that sunwarmed shore, the back half of his body underwater, for that perfect combination of warmth and cool, cool water. I don’t think he wanted to live in the ocean- not really. I think he just let himself be pressured by his brother.”
Svar had sat still, listening carefully to the story Despite the raging storm outside, he found himself drawn in by the tale. Kohimu’s voice was soft but gentle and what he told was, in a way, quietly encouraging.
Eventually, when he was sure the taniwha was finished, the firebird chirped. “That was...it was a lovely story. Thank you,” he lowered his head. “I am glad Whataitai managed to get free, and that Ngake managed to find the ocean he longed for. I wonder if we should learn from them: try to break through any barriers that are in our way but also be happy where we are?”
Any further musings were cut off by a hideous crack as lightning struck a pine near them, followed by a roll of thunder. Svar screeched, pressing himself further into the bowels of their outcropping, instinctively hiding from the rain. Here, however, the ground was almost suffocating.
He turned to Kohimu. “C-could you tell me another story?” he stammered. “At least, until this storm p-passes? I’d...I’d like the distraction. Please?”
Kohimu touched his tail to the frightened firebird, and looked out into the rain. His carvings shimmered back-and-forth: blue, pink and green, tinged with fire along his flank from Svar’s brilliant light. The healer was dead, the Lionheart corrupted, and neither of them had been able to do anything about it. Was there even a point to all this? Maybe Te Tai had the right idea after all. Maybe Kohimu should just hide in the ocean and ride this out.
“He doesn’t sound like much of a ruler,” Kohimu said. “A true ruler can prove his mana. You can almost feel it. I can see why you wouldn’t like him, if all he had was empty claims.”
He sighed. “Sometimes it’s safer to be away from it all. If the Lionheart saw you- or me- who knows what would happen?”
Kohimu thought of Kopi, and other creatures which made their homes under the earth. Would they be okay? What about Kahu, and her little pack scurrying about the coast? Kahu was resourceful, that much was certain- and at least there were no trees to fall on her near the shore. And the scimons? Living amongst the trees? This storm was going to be terrible for everyone. Kohimu had seen storms before, but none quite like this.
Svar shifted, turning his back to the storm. He shuddered, his feathers fluffing up against the cold, or perhaps from fear. “If they killed the healer, what chance do we have against them? The whole island knows how powerful they are by now.”
He lowered his head, his crest flattening. “I hate this. I hate being so helpless, Kohimu. I should be used to it by now but I constantly hate it. Being trapped, useless, unable to do anything,” the firebird blinked as a few more tears fell onto the ground. “It’s like I’m captured all over again!”
Kohimu turned to look at the firebird. “It’s okay, Svar. You’re not trapped. I promise this storm will pass.”
He lowered his gaze. “I hate it too, though. What’s the point of being immortals with centuries of knowledge and experience, if horrible things happen and we can’t do anything about it? In my homeland, I was a kaitiaki- I had people who looked to me, relied on me for their safety. But here, I can’t keep anyone safe.”
Kohimu looked at the firebird and, to his surprise, found some resolve amongst the crushing despair in his own heart.
But I’ll do my best for you, my friend.
Svar tapped Kohimu’s head with his beak. “You’re keeping me safe. It’s not much, but it’s something, right?” he bowed his head. “I know how it feels, to one day be something and then...nothing. I went from a god’s servant to a simple pretty bauble, a novelty to be captured and shown off.”
The firebird flinched as another lightning strike lit up the sky. “Humans are awful, fickle creatures. At least the animals on the island aren’t so bad, I’ll give them that. Except for the sowers, of course.”
The wind howled between the rocks. Kohimu had to lean in closer to catch Svar’s words, his gaze flickering to the nearby trees- if any of those fell, they could have much bigger problems.
“Humans are...humans can be cruel. I wasn’t a bauble, but I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for...”
He hesitated. “Those weren’t my humans, anyway. They were strangers who’d never seen a taniwha before. This island is nicer in that the mortal creatures generally accept us as we are. But if I had the same skills I did amongst humans, I would be able to defend these islanders far better.”
Kohimu snorted. “Sometimes things don’t work out right. But enough rambling. Svar, you are so much more than just a ‘pretty bauble.’ At least the islanders understand that. You might not have your god, but hopefully you’ll still find the respect you deserve. Once these blasted sowers are dealt with.”
“Thank you,” the bird gave a soft chirrup, though still loud enough to be heard over the howl of the storm. “I think you’re doing your best to help. Naelus is not your homeland; it works differently here. The island has its own guardians, even if they…”
He trailed off. It seemed inappropriate to speak of the guardians, given the tragedy of what had occured. “This island is- in theory- a paradise for all creatures, safe from human hands. I think that’s why everyone is so accepting. However, you know I’ve never been able to feel that. I’m always too scared. Too afraid of the possibilities that experience has taught me could happen. In a way, it’s almost nice to be afraid for a real reason,” he closed his eyes. “Please tell me you understand what I mean, otherwise that sounds awful.”
“I understand,” Kohimu assured the bird. “I’ve never been in your position, Svar, but I know you. I get what you mean. I understand you’re not happy that creatures are being killed for no reason, but I know it can be a relief when there’s something frightening which everyone can understand.”
The firebird nodded. “That, and at least I know that this is real. This isn’t just my imagination tormenting me,” he drew his neck into his chest. “But now I want it to just end.”
He turned to feel the rain on his face, eyes closed- almost able to pretend it was just another shower, or that he was back at the falls, balancing on rocks and exploring little crannies with Beech. He wanted to help her, but what could he do? The firebird was right. Kohimu was protecting Svar, at least, and that was a start! The bird was safe here physically but, mentally, Kohimu knew there were a million frightening thoughts and memories fluttering around his head. Whenever the taniwha felt bad, it helped to tell a story, whether to himself alone or aloud for the benefit of others. Perhaps this would help Svar, too?
The taniwha turned to Svar, threw him a practised smile:
“I could tell you a story, if you like? It’ll help take our minds off things.”
Svar blinked, surprised. After a few moments, however, he gave a rapid nod. “That would be nice. You’ve never told me any stories from your homeland before, at least not that I remember.”
“That’s perfect!” Kohimu said. “I know a really, really good one. It’s about two taniwha brothers, Ngake and Whataitai.”
He would have preferred to tell the story while facing Svar, but Kohimu wanted to keep an eye on the outside world for any changes, and so he made do. He settled down facing outward and flicked his tail.
“Ngake was an energetic creature. He spent all day swimming around the lake at great speeds- chasing fish and eels, leaping and twirling in the air, and asking passing seabirds for news of the ocean. For, you see, all that stood between their lake and the ocean was a wall of hard stone cliff. Ngake and his brother could smell the sea, and hear the distant crashing of the waves if they listened, but they couldn’t see the ocean for themselves.”
“This didn’t matter to Whataitai. He lacked Ngake’s enthusiasm for the great salty expanse, and preferred to lie on the shore sunning himself all day. Sure, he enjoyed hearing the seabirds’ stories too, but he had no desire to see the ocean himself. If he needed the water, it was right there beside him. Why would he need more of it?”
“But the taniwha grew, and grew- they were much larger than myself, most are. Eventually the lake was too small for Ngake, who decided the ocean was the only way. He backed himself up against the far end of the lake, coiled his tail, and propelled himself into that sheer wall of rock. He was battered and bruised, but it was all worth it- the taniwha crashed through into the ocean, where he was free to once more chase eels all day, and roam to his heart’s content.”
Kohimu paused, shaking his head with mock sorrow.
“Whataitai, however...he was underprepared! When he jumped, he landed in the gap formed by his brother. Whereas Ngake’s powerful leap sent him crashing through, Whataitai was moving too slowly, and became stuck. The tide came to dampen his scales, and provide fish for him to eat, but he was forced to remain trapped between the lake and the ocean for the rest of his days.”
Kohimu laughed. “Or at least, that’s what the humans say. But we taniwha know better! Whataitai managed to slip back into the lake when the tide rose, his ego bruised, and continued sunning himself on that sunwarmed shore, the back half of his body underwater, for that perfect combination of warmth and cool, cool water. I don’t think he wanted to live in the ocean- not really. I think he just let himself be pressured by his brother.”
Svar had sat still, listening carefully to the story Despite the raging storm outside, he found himself drawn in by the tale. Kohimu’s voice was soft but gentle and what he told was, in a way, quietly encouraging.
Eventually, when he was sure the taniwha was finished, the firebird chirped. “That was...it was a lovely story. Thank you,” he lowered his head. “I am glad Whataitai managed to get free, and that Ngake managed to find the ocean he longed for. I wonder if we should learn from them: try to break through any barriers that are in our way but also be happy where we are?”
Any further musings were cut off by a hideous crack as lightning struck a pine near them, followed by a roll of thunder. Svar screeched, pressing himself further into the bowels of their outcropping, instinctively hiding from the rain. Here, however, the ground was almost suffocating.
He turned to Kohimu. “C-could you tell me another story?” he stammered. “At least, until this storm p-passes? I’d...I’d like the distraction. Please?”
Kohimu and Svar find a nice rocky overhang and shelter from this nasty storm! Kohimu has Issues about not being able to protect people, and Svar admits that while he was initially relieved to finally have something to be scared of which wasn't just his imagination torturing him, now he just wants it to end. Kohimu tells Svar a story to take both their minds off things for a few moments, at least.