April 5, 2004
Clover summons his family to make an announcement.
The youth paced within his den, impatiently waiting for his family to arrive. He had summoned them here to ask them a few questions and to hopefully make a decision or even an announcement. He had wrestled with his thoughts for a moon dance already, and felt it was time to discuss it with Mother and Sire before making his final decision.
The first one to arrive was his mother. "Clover, is there something wrong? Your sending sounded urgent," Firemoss said with concern, as Nettle and Wolfstrider entered the tiny room.
Clover welcomed his family into his den, which was still attached to Firemoss and Duskwater's den; though only a hide skin separated the two rooms, it now had its own entrance (upon Clover's request). "Please sit, be comfortable," he generously offered, even though there was only one stump and a few sleep furs for the three adults to sit on.
Firemoss sat on Clover's sleepfurs, while Wolfstrider grabbed the stump. Nettle felt a little uncomfortable with the idea of sitting next to Firemoss considering they had not been with each other since shortly after Clover was conceived. So, he remained standing next to his cub.
"Uh-oh, he wants us to sit down…sounds serious," gripped Nettle with his arms folded and his eyebrow cocked. "Maybe I should just stand," he said, attempting to rationalize with himself why he shouldn't sit next to his son's mother.
With a sheepish grin Clover pleaded one more time, "No, please sit down, Sire. It's not serious but it is something very important to me." Nettled relented and sat on the small bed next to his Recognized mate, trying not to look too uncomfortable.
"Well, speak your mind cub. We haven't got all night, we're burning moonlight here; you know?" Nettle said with a wink, attempting to break the growing tension.
"Yes, Clover. Please, tell us what we were called here for; you're starting to worry me," said Firemoss, who actually hadn't stopped worrying since Duskwater left.
Taking in a deep breath to steady himself, Clover began the speech he had been practicing in his head for the past hand of days. "Mother, Sire, and you too, Wolfstrider," he began as he looked each one of them in the eyes at the mention of their names, "I've come to an age where I feel I am no longer a cub and…"
"What do you mean 'no longer a cub'? You're barely more than three hands old," Nettle interrupted. To him, Clover would always be a young pup. However, Nettle could not deny that there was something different about his son tonight. In fact, all of the adults exchanged a curious glance or two as they had all become aware of Clover's surprisingly sudden change in development. Almost as if he had aged eight-and-two years overnight, the cub was sounding and acting like an adult.
**Dyn, let him finish!** came a very stern lock send from Firemoss.
The sound of his soul name snapped Nettle to attention. He was shocked that she still remembered his name, and that she still had the power to command his attention without the possibility of any kind of resistance.
"I'm sorry cu-uh, Clover; please continue," came Nettle's humble reply.
Clover took another deep breath and cleared his throat before restarting his speech. "I've come to an age where I feel I am no longer a cub and I think it is time that I take on a tribal duty." He paused, expecting another interruption or outburst of some kind, but none came. All three of his family members were biting their tongues, some more than others, delaying their right to pass judgement in order to allow him the opportunity to explain himself.
"I know I haven't found my soul name, or bonded with a wolf, or even gone on my first hunt yet," Clover paused briefly as he began to get caught up in his own insecurities as he spoke, momentarily forgetting exactly what point he was trying to make. Once he gathered his thoughts, he continued in a manner and tone that was beyond his years. "But those things I have no control over, they have to choose me. My tribal duty is the only thing I can choose for myself.
"Some Wolfriders hear the wolfsong and become hunters like Wolfstrider and Halfkin, they are called to be members of the wolf pack. Others here the starsong, like Mother and Dreamshadow they are drawn to the magic of this world to become more elf than wolf. Then there are some that hear a combination of the two songs and live equally between wolf and elf, like you, Sire. But the song that I hear calling me is neither wolfsong nor starsong, it is something altogether different."
Firemoss was transfixed on every word her son uttered. 'This is not my little cub any more,' she thought to herself. 'Clover is maturing into a young lad, and what a fine young lad he will be. How could this have happened so suddenly?' she asked herself, not knowing whether to be happy or sad.
"It's no secret that I have no wolf bond, or that I have no magic in me like you, Mother. But, I do have skills and talents of my very own and it's time that I use them to help the tribe, especially at this time when we seem to be losing tribe members."
Clover solemnly gazed at the floor before addressing his Sire. "Nettle, Sire, you've taught me to use my wits, especially when dealing with trolls. I am not the barterer that you are. I cannot negotiate with the trolls, without fear. You already have an apprentice in Lionheart, and so I have chosen not to follow in your path."
Wanting to respond, Nettle turned to search Firemoss' eyes, looking for permission to speak. Permission was not granted, and so Nettle continued to chew on his lip in an effort to control his tongue.
After a brief pause, the youth turned to his elder brother. "Wolfstrider, brother, teacher, you have taught me to use my senses, to be a better hunter, to be alert. You have even taught me how to craft my very own drum. I am not of the Hunt, but I appreciate your teaching efforts. For me to even attempt to become a hunter would be a waste of everyone's time. Although I do enjoy crafting drums, it is not a skill that is essential to the tribe. I am sorry, brother, but I have chosen not to follow in your path."
Wolfstrider studied his young brother and took note of how surprisingly mature that this Clover was, standing before him. He too, wanted to respond to the youth's comments, but thought it best just to hear him out, for now.
Clover now turned to face Firemoss. "Mother, protector, worrier!" Clover smiled trying to lighten the mood a bit. "You have taught me the ways of plants, how they heal and how they hurt. This is a very useful skill to the tribe. But I have no plant magic and there are plenty of plant shapers and herbalists in the tribe. I am sorry, I have chosen not to follow in your path, either."
Again Nettle searched Firemoss' eyes for permission to speak up. Again, permission was not granted. Instead she patiently replied to Nettle, **Let him finish. Let's just see where he is going with this.**
"I have heard a different song. I have heard the call of the river, and it sings to me. I feel at home by the river's edge. I am fed by the bounty the river provides. I am strengthened by its power. I hear the call of the riversong, and although I am not the blood heir of Duskwater, I do feel a kinship with the river in a way that I know he does. Therefore, I have chosen to follow in his path. I have decided to become a fisher in his absence."
Not having been privileged to the previous exchange between Nettle and Firemoss, Wolfstider quickly eyed the parents and lock sent to both of them, **Does the boy think he's become a water shaper?**
Nettle fidgeted out of frustration, not knowing whether to speak or not. He simply starred at Firemoss, begging for a sign from her that it was permissible to talk.
Firemoss replied, **I do not believe he thinks this is magic, but simply a calling to him. If he had any type of shaping ability I'm sure I would have sensed it by now. But none of us can deny the fact that he does have a bond to the river. I'm sure it's the same type of bond we have with the forest, and Nettle has with the trolls,** giving Nettle a sarcastic smile.
Finally she examined her son with the critical eye of an elder. Having come to an obvious conclusion, she outstretched her arms towards him, and calmly said, "Congratulations; my fisher's apprentice son."
Relieved, Clover let out the breath of air he had been holding and collapsed into his mother's embrace. "Thank you, Mother. I'm sorry, I thought you would be disappointed. I thought you would all be disappointed."
Nettle glared at Firemoss with impatience. **NOW?!**
She simply replied with a nod as she held their son.
"Clover, why in two moons would we be disappointed?" Nettle finally blurted out.
In a sheepish cower, reminiscent of the cub they all new before tonight, he responded, "I don't know. Fishing isn't as important as hunting, but I know that I'm good at fishing. I figured you wanted me to be like you."
Crossing his arms in a defiant but proud pose Nettle questioned, "Fishing isn't important, huh? When game is scarce, what do we do for meat?"
"Fish?" replied a timid Clover.
"During the New Flood Feast, what does the tribe hunt for?" Nettled continued his questioning.
"Fish?"
"Come to think of it, how many in this room are quite skilled at deep water spear fishing?"
Looking around the room at all three of their faces, Clover thought for a few moments. He had never realized that half of the elderfish hunters were in his family, and that all of the elves in this very room were accomplished elderfish hunters. He smiled at this seemingly sudden revelation and responded bashfully, "Oh yeah, I didn't think about that."
"Did you know that my mother Quiet Trill was an excellent fisher?" asked Nettle.
"Really?" the cub cried with glee.
"Yes, she was; in fact, she could catch a fish with her bare hands. Don't you see, Clover? Even though your mother and I have other duties, we both fish. So in a way you are following our path, as well as following the path of your ancestors. Fishing is in your blood. Don't worry cub, you have not disappointed us. I think it's safe to say that we are all very happy with your choice, wouldn't you say, Wolfstrider?" Nettle peeked over his shoulder at the old hunter with a questioning glance.
The old hunter gave a sideways glance and said, "I think you are right." He then looked deeply into the cub's jade-green eyes searching for some small spark of family resemblance. All he found was Clover's exuberance for the water - no, not just the water, but more specifically, the river. "Clover, Father will be proud, he will be very proud," the hunter said while he tussled the youth's thick brown locks. "Now, let's go tell the Chieftess the news."
"AAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHH!"