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Hey guys and gals and assorted other genders out there, I'm back again with another chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

As always comments are appreciated and requested.

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Continued from 'The Spirit's Dreams..."

Toran rode down the slope of the ridge, the tawny colored form of his friend riding at his side and he smiled confidently, even though his stomach was still flip-flopping around inside him. He couldn’t quite explain it, but all through the journey, ever since that first night, he felt almost like a different person, nothing like the hesitant teen he had been when they had begun their ride west. It had begun in the morning after that peculiar dream, when he had woken to the call of a hunting prairie falcon, the piercing cry echoing through the silent plain. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and Toran had sat up, out of the pleasantly warm nest of blankets, looking east, out into the plains. The rolling prairie had been deep purple, the horizon only beginning to blaze with the sun. Off in the distance, a few feathery clouds had lit brilliant red and orange as if they were the last coals of a fire, and he had sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, watching the waves of the dawn breeze as it swept the grass before his feet. It had been extraordinarily quiet and peaceful to sit there, so quiet, he could hear the breathing of his wolf friend as he slept on beside him, oblivious. And then, the sun had come up above the rim of the world and he had shivered as the sunlight had shone on their camping place. It felt almost as if the rays of the sun were pure warmth, almost a liquid sensation running through him as the bright rays wrapped themselves around him, warming him better than a cup of coffee on a frigid morning.

He had spent a silent few minutes sitting there, not even thinking really, just sitting and watching, before Senyr had finally woken up, neither making any comment at how close they had been nestled. In the golden light of the early morning, the two friends had eaten a cold breakfast from their supplies, then ridden off once more. Toran couldn’t even put his finger on when he had noticed the odd change in himself, but he supposed it was sometime during that second day on the trail. They had spent that day riding as they always had, talking and laughing, enjoying the glorious sunshine and the freedom they shared on the ride. As a matter of fact, if not for Senyr’s tribe wanting to meet him, they would have probably have spent the entire trip like that, not even turning for the camp. But somewhere along the way, he had started to feel…different. It wasn’t all that noticeable of a change to be honest, nothing spectacular. It was just a feeling, barely there, not quite of comfort, but more of assurance, as if no matter what came, he was sure it would turn out well.

And last night, they had set up their blankets the same way they had the first night, but this time, they had lain flat, stargazing together, shoulder to shoulder, and nodded off to sleep. And as he had expected, no spiritwalking dream troubled him, at least, he didn’t think so. This time, his dream had been clearly a dream, the images not really making sense, much like any other dream on any other normal night. The closest he could come to explaining the images was that he had stood on an endless plain, utterly featureless, but off in the un-guessable distance, he seemed to see a storm, so far away he couldn’t hear the thunder, and the lightning was only the barest bright flash among the clouds. But, strangely, it seemed almost as if he could feel the storm in the earth beneath his feet, the thunder shaking the stone, the earth trembling beneath him, waking to the distant rain.

That morning, it had been Senyr that had woken first, the wolf shaking his friend awake, long after dawn. Now, in the early afternoon, they were riding down the last slope. Down below, at the base of the hill, the river bent in a ‘U’, and across the crystal clear water, the hide tents of the wolf tribe sat in a pattern that at first seemed almost random, the tents scattered singly or in clusters, but the more Toran looked at it, the more he noticed the order to it, the symbols dyed into the skins marking out the boundaries between groups of dwellings. But far more interesting to look at than the camp itself were the people.

The wolves of Senyr’s tribe were similar enough that even if you only caught a passing glimpse, you would have assumed they were all of the same people. Their fur were all earthy hues, yellows and browns like sand and the loam of earth, the greys of rocks and the rich reds of clay. Most of them had Senyr’s blonde hair, and all wore the same style of buckskin trousers with the deep red mountain pattern dyed into them, though as they rode nearer, Toran began to notice the differences between them. The closest ones, the few who were riding their horses on this side of the river, had about the same build as Senyr, and they all bore the same feather braided into their hair, whereas the few who stood either by the river’s edge or within the river itself, were very tall, and slight like willow trees, their hair left wild, each wearing intricately patterned arm bands of white and turquoise beads around their biceps. And further off, sitting on the edge of the slope leading up to the camp, there were two grey wolves so large and muscular that Toran almost would have mistaken them for boulders, their hair cropped short, each wearing a leather head band with what looked like fangs tied to it around their foreheads. But, as one of the riders on their side of the river noticed them, Toran knew without a doubt that they were all of the same tribe, because they all called out the same excited greeting in the odd hybrid language. Even as Senyr called out a reply, the other Sherok rode up at a canter to meet them, the two teens reining in their horses.

When Senyr’s clan mates came close, they all started talking almost at once, their voices revealing that they were all teenagers as well, and though Toran couldn’t understand a word of what was said, the language seemed to tug at his memory, like it wanted him to remember his understanding of the words, even though he had nothing to remember, as odd as that sounded. When the group finally came to a stop around them, Toran couldn’t help but smile as Senyr was nearly dragged off his horse by an exuberant group hug, confirming what he had always suspected, but never really needed to ask. Clearly, the hybrids were much more open with their affection than humans were. After a moment or two, the other Sherok took notice of Toran, almost circling him, looking him up and down curiously, while Senyr talked in their tongue. Then, the oldest of them, a wolf that was probably eighteen if Toran had to guess, offered his hand to Toran. Smiling, the human reached out without hesitation, grabbing the offered forearm and the hybrid returned his smile. Then, to Toran’s surprise, as if it had been some test that he had passed, he found himself suddenly embraced from all sides by wolvish arms, nearly pulling him out of his seat in turn.

The hug didn’t last as long as Senyr’s had, but it was long enough for Toran to blush, the feeling of embarrassment not helped by Senyr and the oldest teen’s laughter. When the human had been released, the hybrids led the newcomers down the rest of the slope and into the shallow ford, all of them now slipping easily into English, though they all seemed to interrupt each other more than half the time, making the conversation difficult to follow. Though he was introduced to all of them, the only name he managed to catch was that of the elder than had greeted him, Senek, who Toran eventually was able to work out was the eldest son of Senyr’s uncle, though they never actually used the term ‘cousin’. Unfortunately, Toran didn’t have much time to work out anything more, because they hadn’t made it much farther than the far bank before they were among the rest of the tribe and it was like being caught in a dust devil. He caught a whirlwind of names and faces, the entire tribe introducing themselves to the guest, but he wasn’t sure if he knew which name belonged to which person. But still, as the greetings went on, he picked up subtle differences in their mannerisms, differences he quickly came to associate with the different clans, though they were all very similar.

The muscular members of the Oro’shan clan, the children of the mountain, a few of which he had seen at the edge of the slope, nearly crushed his arm in their grip, their hands were so strong; it was like trying to shake hands with a boulder. The She’to, the people of the wind, were extremely gentle by comparison, barely enough to call it a grip. The most interesting of the greetings were the Oro’en, the ones wearing the beaded arm bands. They didn’t so much as clasp arms, but rather trailed their fingers along the underside of the arm, a feeling that somehow felt like water flowing down the arm towards the fingers. The Sherok, Senyr’s clan, all universally pulled Toran into a hug after clasping his arm, a gesture he figured came from him ultimately being their guest. Eventually though, the press of wolves drew back from the visitor, the crowd suddenly parting like a river. The reason why became instantly apparent. Standing towards the back of the gathering, though Toran would have sworn he had not seen her arrive, was a wolf that looked almost out of place among the subdued earth tones of the wolves.

This wolf’s fur was black with white patches, matching the colors of the beadwork on the staff she carried, her buckskins dyed a grey of many hues, subtle patterns of constellations picked out among the shifting colors. Her ebony hair was long and braided into an intricate pattern behind her head, almost mesmerizing in its complexity. She seemed middle aged, fully grown, if a little older than her prime, but at the same time, there was something about her that seemed nearly unnaturally young. It was in the eyes, something so much more than their unusual color. Her right eye was deep blue, her left bright green, but both were so deep and wise they seemed ancient, as if she was truly ageless. Without being told, Toran knew she was a Ter’drin, a shaman, and he gave into the peculiar urge that came over him before he truly comprehended what it was, bowing to the woman. Seeing him bow, the Ter’drin walked slowly towards him, until she was within a pace, reaching out with one paw to raise his head, his gaze meeting her odd eyes.

Toran had no idea what to expect, but what he felt was the strangest sensation he had ever experienced. When he looked in her eyes, he felt almost as if she was staring through his body into someplace deep inside, nothing hidden from her sight, and yet, the feeling didn’t feel quite intrusive. Rather, it was as if, for the first time, light was shining in on a place within him that had been dark. The oddly exhilarating sensation lasted only a brief moment, but it left him feeling like a cool breeze had suddenly found its way into his soul, waking all of him from sleep. Then, the Shaman smiled, releasing him from her gaze.

“Welcome, Toran,” She said, her voice hale and strong, “Friend of our people.”

And then, as if the greeting was a judgement they had all been waiting on, the entire tribe of wolves all moved back into the camp, pulling Toran along in their midst, groups splitting off back to what they had been doing. Finally, after another bewildering minute, Toran was left alone with Senyr and an older wolf who looked so much like his friend he knew without being told it was his father.

“So,” The older wolf began, “I can see why Senyr speaks so highly of you, Toran. I have never met another human who so naturally slipped into our way of doing things.” Then, the wolf smiled and pulled Toran into one more hug. “As long as Senyr thinks of you as a brother, then you are as welcome as family.” Releasing the human, Foryn clapped him on the shoulder and walked off in the direction of the large herd of horses that a larger group of wolves were tending. Finally, Toran and Senyr were relatively alone, the human letting out a long breath in relief.

“Well,” he began, looking at Senyr to find the young wolf grinning. “That was…”

“Overwhelming?” Senyr finished for him and Toran nodded, making the wolf laugh. “Sorry. I should have warned you.”

“No, its alright. I kinda liked it.” Toran replied, returning the grin his friend was giving him. “I have never felt this welcome before, somewhere new.”

“Come on, my friend.” Senyr said, taking his arm, “I’ll show you where we will be staying while you are here.”

***

Toran and Senyr sat side by side on a log, the evening sun sinking behind the hills as they worked together, using knives to carve the shafts of new arrows from the bundles of sticks at their feet. Despite the enthusiastic greeting the tribe had given him, Toran had still felt rather out of place most of the afternoon, though the wolves had been nothing but friendly to him. It probably hadn’t helped that the young wolf children had stared at him almost constantly for the first hour, until the novelty of having a human around had worn off, then they had run off to play. Senyr, Toran and the other young Sherok had been given the task of making more arrows, and as he had worked beside them, the uneasy feeling had started to shift. At first, he had really just listened, paying attention when they had given him advice on shaping the shafts, but, as the conversation wound on, he had found himself joining in. Now, as he finished another shaft, his handiwork almost as good as Senyr’s, he felt as comfortable as he had among the hands at the ranch, well, not quite like that. In truth, he felt more comfortable here, than there.

Among the hands, he was the boss’ son, and more than that, a teenager who was supposed to be learning ranching, or else an intruder into the province of the adults. But here…here he was just one of the group. Granted, they all seemed very curious about human life, asking questions and comparing their ways, but all of it was done in very welcoming manner. They didn’t judge him for the way humans lived, no matter how different it was from their way. In fact, he reflected, as the rest of the teens finished their tasks and got up, heading for the center of the camp, he had another very strange feeling, like the one he had gotten when listening to their language. Everything they described seemed familiar, like it was something he remembered, or should have remembered, even if he couldn’t put his finger on why he felt like that.

Slipping the knife he had been using back into its sheath, Senyr stood up at his side, sliding the sheath into the waste of his trousers. Then, the wolf offered his hand to Toran, the human grinning and sheathing his knife as well before taking it, letting his friend haul him to his feet. Toran started to slip the knife into his belt as well, but he stopped suddenly, looking at it in the palm of his hand. Seeing his expression, Senyr cocked his head at him.

“I don’t know how to explain it.” Toran explained, bending down and setting the sheathed blade on the log. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Hmmm.” Senyr hummed, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine why that is. Oh well, you don’t need it right now anyway. Come on.” With that, he motioned towards the center of camp, his easy smile returning. “I forgot to tell you, but tonight is a blue moon, and we always celebrate on those nights.”

“Really?” Toran asked, letting the wolf pull him towards the center of camp. “You seem to celebrate a lot of things.”

“Well, life is worth celebrating.” Senyr replied, and the human laughed. When the pair had passed between the inner most row of tents, they found that a bonfire had been built in the center of the camp, the rest of the tribe already gathering. Senyr led the way over to where his family was sitting, his father, Foryn, giving the pair a grin, motioning for them to join them. Now, at last, Toran was able to make sense of a few more faces, namely that of his friend’s mother, Kor’ah, and his aunts and uncles. But, even as the two teens found their seats among the family, the rest of the tribe were all settling down, three Ter’drin and a very old wolf, who, judging by the deep set of his eyes and the length of his grey hair, Toran supposed had to be the eldest in the tribe, stood before them, around the unlit pile of wood.

The old wolf began to speak, his voice creaking with age, but steady, the tribe silent, listening respectfully to him. He spoke in the hybrid tongue, the rich, rolling sentences pleasing to Toran’s ears, even though he didn’t understand what was being said. Finally, the elder fell silent, the female Ter’drin he had met earlier opening her mouth after a respectful pause. But, rather than speaking, the shaman began to chant, the words low, almost soft, like a murmur, the Ter’drin beginning to step in time with the beat as the sun sank beneath the mountains, casting a red glow over the plain. The chant began to grow louder, other voices joining in, the oldest wolves first, then the adults and, as the murmuring chant grew in volume, Toran realized the shaman were dancing, their movements becoming smoother, more fluid as the chant picked up its pace. Suddenly, as the last sliver of sun sank beneath the mountains, the bonfire suddenly blazed high, as if it had been lit for an hour or more, silhouetting the dancing figures and now drums and flutes were playing too, the shamans’ feet pounding to the beat, the motion and the sound almost hypnotic.

The song seemed to go on for a long few minutes, and Toran began to feel warm, sitting among the wolves, suddenly feeling almost drowsy, then, he sucked in a deep breath in surprise. The drum beat was changing suddenly, deepening almost, until it seemed to be echoing in his ears, throbbing through the earth like the storm in his dream, his body feeling hotter, his heart almost pounding to the beat. The flutes seemed more and more like wind in the reeds of a river, the crackling of the flames filling his ears. The dancing silhouettes against the firelight seemed almost to blur in his sight. The rolling chant of many voices was fading, his mind going almost hazy. Suddenly, the dancing shadows of the Shaman faded and he saw images instead, vivid and clear, like reflections in a still pond, there and yet not quite present. He saw the full moon rising above the mountains, saw the tribe’s camp on the plain, and the firelight dancing on the river. He heard the music and the chant rising to through the air, felt the still evening stirring, filling with energy. And then, he saw himself, his human clothes standing out among the wolves, the experience surreal in the extreme.

But, as his sight grew nearer to the camp, he realized he didn’t look quite like himself; his eyes were distant, yet almost seemed to glow from inside, as if they were reflecting the firelight like mirrors. There was something in his face; maybe simply the shadows made by the fire, but perhaps something else, a change, a feral aspect in his expression. But more amazing, his lips were forming the words to the chant, though his voice was silent, for the moment. Then, suddenly, almost above the bonfire, clouds suddenly seemed to swirl into being, great dark thunderheads, so large that they blotted out the stars. But still the wolves sang, despite the threatening clouds and the chill wind that swept suddenly in, down from the north. Then, suddenly, the chant seemed to be gathering to a crescendo, and he returned to himself, his eyes opening wide, to find that the clouds truly were gathering high above, yet still, even though the air was becoming chill, he still felt as if he were almost burning inside.

But then, as if he knew it ahead of time, as the chant reached its end, the last passages, he found alien words on his tongue, and suddenly, his voice was raised with the rest of the tribe, the last part of the chant coming from his lips like magic, the words a mystery. And then, at the very same moment that a bright bolt of lightning hit the distant mountains, its thunder rolling into the camp, the tribe tilted their heads back, letting loose a howl into the gathering storm. Though his heart soared with the sound, and he longed to add his voice to it, he didn’t know how, and stayed silent. But as the howl echoed, the rain swept towards them, born on the wind and the wild heat in his heart was gone, Toran shivering as the howl faded. The tribe all seemed to come out of the same trance he had fallen into, looking around at the sudden storm in surprise.

“Where did this come from?” Foryn asked as the rain came into the camp, cold drops beginning to fall, making the bonfire hiss and snap angrily.

The tribe were all getting up, heading for their tents, and Toran started to follow when another rolling peal of thunder echoed across the world. Turning back west, Toran stared up, transfixed. He felt almost like there was a voice on the wind, a presence in the storm. He almost felt thrilled to hear it, but at the same time, it seemed so powerful, too powerful to behold. His heart was racing, his spirit leaping with every bolt of lightning, every echo of thunder. The wind seemed to wrap itself around him, as if it wanted to lift him into the sky, bear him upward to the storm, but at the same moment, he felt an incredible certainty that he wasn’t ready to go, it wasn’t time yet. The pressure of both feelings was pressing him, squeezing him from both sides. It was terrifying, feeling as though he was being ripped in opposite directions and he wanted to turn away from both feelings, to hide from what he felt. When he felt a hand on his arm, he almost yanked away from it, thinking it was the wind winning out after all.

“Toran? Are you ok?” Senyr asked, turning the human to look at him. Meeting the young wolf’s eyes, he smiled dazedly, the pressures fading as if walls had formed around him, driving both back, away from him. Then, with the fading of the pressures, the world went dark and he fell…

***

Toran’s eyes snapped open wide as he came back to himself. Looking around in surprise, he found that he was lying on his side inside a rectangular room, the darkness almost complete around him. Rain drummed on the slanted roof above him, but it didn’t sound like it did at home. And then, with a peculiarly calm flash of insight, he realized he was inside one of the tents of the hybrids. And as he lay for a moment, listening, he understood two very strange things. For one thing, as harsh and powerful as the storm had seemed when it began, the rain wasn’t pounding the camp. Instead, it seemed like normal, everyday rain, almost soft. And secondly, he felt very warm, warmer than he should in such a storm. Then, he shivered, looking down and he knew why he felt so warm. A hide blanket was draped over him, but something warm and covered in fur was tucked against him.

As he listened to the falling rain, he became aware of the steady breathing of several other people, likely Senyr’s family, all tucked around the tent, sleeping. But he knew without being told that it was Senyr that was tucked up against him, one arm draped over him, holding him protectively close in his sleep. Smiling, Toran let his eyes close once more. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he could see what had happened as though he was remembering it. When he had passed out, Senyr would have caught him, and his family would have taken him inside, out of the storm. When they found that he wasn’t dead or having a seizure, they would have laid him under a blanket to keep him warm in the storm. He knew Senyr would have stayed with him, sitting beside him until the rest of his family went back out to finish prepping the camp for the storm. When his family had come back in, he would have lain down beside him, just as they had every night this trip. But, either in his sleep or not, his concern for Toran would have won out and he would have pulled him close, protecting him from whatever had stricken him.

The utter certainty he felt in how he ended up snuggled up like this made him smile, and he gently stroked the fur of his friend’s arm, idly brushing it with his fingers. Whatever had happened in the ceremony, whatever had made him feel so strange in the storm, could wait until morning to figure out. As long as his friend was there, it would never reach him; he would be safe in the storm tossed night. Comforted, Toran let himself fade, going back into his dreams, unafraid of what awaited him there...