February 4, 2004
Lionheart's teasing begins to provoke the normally timid Clover, but is it just youthful games or has Lionheart pushed Clover too far? Will Clover be able to stand up to Lionheart, and if so will their relationship as friends be able to survive?
The New Flood Feast was always a special time for adults and cubs alike, with fishing, frolicking, food and fun. Every year it was a joyous occasion but in the 73rd season of Chieftess Wildstar's reign it became a very important time in one cub's young life.
Clover had always been a jovial cub. But in the past few seasons he seemed to have lost his smile and his confidence. He seemed to wear his heart on his tunic because he always felt things deeply. Everyone knew he was tenderhearted, but some of his age mates seemed to take that to mean he was weak, and they came to calling him names such as "treewee", "ravvit", "cry-baby" and "momma's boy".
This name-calling concerned all three of his parents in varying degrees. Nettle and Duskwater agreed that Clover needed to overcome this by his own power and in his own time, but Firemoss' maternal instincts wanted to interfere and teach a lesson to the other cubs, after all, Clover was only eight and two seasons old. The plant shaper was also concerned that maybe she had coddled her only cub too much.
On the third day of the festival the elderfish hunters were preparing for the hunt, while younger, less experienced hunters prepared for the bare-handed fishing contest. Lionheart, Beechnut, Clover, Echo and Boldscout all gathered at the riverbank near the shallow eddy that the contest was to take place at. Each of the cubs slowly wadded into the waste deep water to pick their perfect fishing spot. A previous contest the day before had the cubs and a few adults catching fish with a net. These same fish were then placed in a pond for safe keeping until they were to be released back into the river for this contest.
Before the fish could be released it happened. Clover was wading towards the area that he had decided to fish from when he slipped. The poor cub lost his balance on the slippery river bottom propelling him forward, scraping his bare foot on a sharp rock and slicing his leg on a nearby branch that had been embedded in the riverbed, as he plunged into the cool water. Finally able to surface, Clover's head rose out of the water to the sound of laughter and ridicule.
"I didn't know ravvits could swim," Lionheart mocked. "Maybe you should stay on dry land. Besides, treewees and ravvits have no place in the water."
Boldscout followed his big brother's lead, "Yeah silly-head, treewees don't catch fish." The black-haired cub waited for a reaction from the intended victim but all he received was the reverberation of Beechnut's laughter, while Echo just stood in the water speechless at the cruelty she was witnessing.
Clover was hurting both physically and emotionally. The others had not known he had been hurt during his fall but he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of telling them. Had he surfaced in shallower waters they all would have seen the blood dripping from his wounds, but as it was, the water concealed all sight and smell. He quietly hobbled his way back to the shore, tight lipped, his eyes burning with tears of anger. As he got closer to Lionheart, who happened to be the closest to the edge of the riverbank, the eldest cub continued his verbal assaults.
Meanwhile the mood of those that had gathered by the river's bank had suddenly turned quiet and tense. All of the adults had seen this a thousand times before, they knew that a challenge was brewing here, and had been brewing for some time. Most of the elders just hoped it would end soon without too many permanent injuries.
Firemoss held her breath, anticipating the result of this horror. As ancient of a ritual this may be, the gentle plant shaper could only watch in disbelief and sheer terror. Never interfere with a Challenge, be it wolf or elf, that was the code they had all lived by for it was part of the Way. But, why must her precious Clover have to face a challenge alone? 'Surely the others would understand,' she thought, trying to deceive herself.
As she began to move forward, in an effort to stop this madness, she was abruptly stopped by a stern but gentle arm across her body. **No, Nia,** came an equally stern but gentle lock send from her lifemate. **Do not interfere, he must do this on his own.** She felt utterly helpless and he knew it. Duskwater held her in his arms as firmly as he held onto his own desire to do exactly what he was trying to prevent Firemoss from doing.
"Look Freckles, the cry-baby is limping. What's the matter; did you hurt your paw?" Lionheart continued mocking.
Clover looked Lionheart in the eye as they came face to face, his eyebrows turned into a scowl and his lower lip threatening to pout. He thought to himself for a moment as he struggled to remember the last time Lionheart had called him Dimples or even by his given name. They had been friends once. Had they really grown that far apart?
The solemn cub finally answered his elder playmate with an embittered tone, "Yes, I hurt myself." Clover had hoped to receive some sympathy at the very least, but all he received were more insults and laughter. Clover's blood began to boil within him. His adorably pouty lip had now distorted into a tight lipped snarl.
From out of nowhere the cubs laughter was systematically silenced by an odd sounding, high pitched growl that no one had ever heard before. As the growl grew in intensity, one by one the elves gathered by the riverbank that day slowly realized that this high-pitched growl was emanating out of Clover. A collective but unspoken thought manifested itself to the elves, "By all the souls in the Palace, Clover was growling!"
When Lionheart too, came to this conclusion, his facetious smile transformed into a devilish grin reminiscent of one a troll might wear. Lionheart had always pushed and teased the younger cubs, but this time, he hoped, he had gone too far.
"What are you gonna do treewee? Go cry to your momma?" Lionheart said completely full of himself.
"WELL AT LEAST I HAVE A MOMMA!" Clover fired back without thinking. Before the words had even left his mouth, he regretted them. But like an arrow shot too soon, he could not take them back.
An audible gasp resounded as every elfin eye was transfixed upon the motherless Lionheart. He stood motionless in disbelief, his face ashen. Now it was Lionheart whose lip began to curl into a snarl. He was rendered speechless, devoid of the wit he had previously been armed with. His only retort was a defiant glare as he said, "Momma's boy" under his breath, splashing water in Clover's direction as he slapped at the water in which they stood.
Unbridled tension, thick and dark, descended over the crowd like an early morning fog in the season of Storm Rage. One mother barely restrained by her lifemate, two children locked in an ancient battle of wills, and two fathers contemplated interference with their sons as the crowd of on-lookers waited for the inevitable; a fight or a submission.
Consumed by humiliation, and anger, as well as emotional and physical anguish the wolf within gentle Clover was born that day. His blood raged like the mighty waters of the Rushwater River, his body shook with a sudden surge of raw energy like he had never felt before. The high-pitched growl returned and as swift as a stalking fisher cat, he pounced. Clover leaped out of the water, his hands outstretched, contacting Lionheart in the chest with a blow strong enough to shove the elder cub all the way under the water. Clover stood there, at the point of contact, waiting for his adversary to surface.
Agonizing moments passed as the churning water settled back to its normal flow. It wasn't long before Lionheart finally emerged a few wolf lengths away from the raging Clover. He cautiously raised out of the water just enough to reveal his eyes, ears and nose.
"That's enough!" growled Clover, his hands clenched into tight, white knuckled fists at his side. "I may be a 'Momma's boy' but at least I respect my Momma enough to remember what she taught me about respecting others. Maybe if Clearheart were still around you wouldn't be acting like such a troll. You need to mind your manners, Lionheart!" Even though he was still breathing heavy, like a wolf chasing down prey, the anger that had surged through his body was finally spent. His chest heaved in and out as he tried to stave off the fear that was currently starting to rise up in place of the subsiding anger.
Blue-green eyes squinted near the water's surface. With his mouth still underwater, and given the circumstances, everyone assumed Lionheart was baring his teeth in a snarl. They were wrong. He finally stood all the way out of the water baring a very satisfied grin.
"I was right! Ravvits don't belong in the water," chided Lionheart. Before the stunned Clover could react, he continued, "But you do. I'm happy to see that you do have a backbone, you are no longer a ravvit, Clover." Lionheart offered his hand in friendship before adding, "But it may take the returning of the Palace before you ever outgrow 'Dimples'."
Clover stood speechless, dumbfounded and confused. His chest no longer heaved with passion, but contracted and expanded with steady rhythmic breathing. Lionheart's words echoed in his head a handful of times before he finally understood their intended meaning.
In an attempt to insure his sincerity, Lionheart touched Clover's mind, in an open send infused with sentiments of pride, love and even respect. **I always knew you had it in you, friend. You finally stood up for yourself. I am not proud of the way I may have gone about doing it, but I would have done it again, just to get you to stand your ground.**
Clover once again lunged at Lionheart, this time out of compassion and friendship, to give his elder a hug. As the two youths embraced, the dark cloud of tension was immediately dispersed with the hoots and howls of their fellow tribemates. A mother no longer restrained rushed to aid her injured son, two youths gained a new found respect for each other, and two fathers exchanged a knowing glance of understanding.