A Mountain Night

The wind fell like an avalanche down the slope of the mountain, winding its way through the rustling Aspens that sounded, to the discerning ear, of the roar of a far off applause. As this tumult reached the valley it began to swirl the remnants of last year's fall in gusts and eddies, some of which found their way to, and their demise in, a small campfire burning youthfully against the force of the encroaching darkness. The fire burned in a small meadow carved by the spring in wetter times and surrounded by the slowly quieting Aspens as the fuel for their encouraging wind finally set over the mountaintops. In the plains beyond it would be light for hours yet, but here, up in the nest of the gods, night had always settled early. Up here, in the realm of the beasts of the darkness, life begins to stir from it's slumber. The noises of their awakening, hunting, dying, can be heard by anyone who will listen, but there is only one nearby. He sits by that campfire, slowly feeding it fuel, clad in the black of the night and the spidery blue tattoos that mark him for what he is. For him this is a place of rest, nothing will break his peace here. Sometimes the larger of the nights hunters will stop to consider, if only for a moment, this solitary man who seems such easy prey. But even the most deadly, with their hearts full of menace, pause at the edge of this man's vision. There is a warning there, not seen, nor heard, but felt in the marrow of their bones. This one is off limits. This one is not to be hunted.


The man sits and waits, as he has many times before, for the watcher of these mountains to come and meet him. In her own time, as always, the watcher enters the circle of light cast by the fire and seats herself across the fire. For a time they are silent, each reveling in the beauty of the night. Their spirits are kindred, if not their races, and they find it difficult to talk of the things they must, that they've always known were coming, in a place such as this. But necessity looms, as is often the case, and their pleasantries come to an end.


"Wanderer, why have you come?" she asks.


"To seek council with the Watcher." he replies.


"Your heart was conflicted in its purpose when you first arrived here. What now are your intentions?" This is not exactly a question, and they both know it, but in his answer she will find hers, and it is here he must be careful.


"My thoughts remain conflicted, though less so, but the battle in my heart has been resolved. I have accepted my task and I intend to complete it in the manner expected of me. I have chosen to start here because I have an affinity for you and for this place. I will need your help." His eyes, black as the night all around them remained fixed on the fire as he spoke. For a time there was silence as she considered his request. On the surface he did not ask for much. It was not his way. But over the many years they had known each other she had learned to hear the words he didn't speak. She could see that this quest would go further, by far, than even he suspected, and that he was afraid. She decided to grant him his request, in her own way.

"Place your hands in mine, Wanderer." As she spoke she moved her hands, palms up, into the heart of the fire. It was proof of his faith in her that he did so without question. As her hands closed on his the flames roared and the fire grew until their arms were obscured by flames up to their elbows. Out of the corner of his eye he could see shadows, great hulking shapes moving through the woods, circling the pair at the center of the circle. The roar of the flames increased and he could see droplets of sweat forming at the Watcher's brow just before a flash, bright as day, erupted between them. A moment later the fire went out, now only a mass of burning embers, and the Watcher slumped over with exhaustion. The Wanderer examined his arms and found them unharmed, not a hair was singed, and yet they were different. The blue tattoos were now a blood red and the shapes had changed. New lines intersected the spirals and swirls creating symbols that looked like glyphs or some kind of ancient scrawl. He could make no sense of them but knew there was a meaning to each one. He looked up from his arms to see that the beasts had gone, all but one, which was now seated on its haunches ten paces from the pair. He still could not make out what type of animal it was. His gaze returned to the Watcher who had seemingly recovered from her draining effort and now sat up straight to gaze at the Wanderer.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I have given you a mark that bonds us together. It emanates from you a sort of call to the beasts of the mountain to aid when help is needed. It is merely a request, not a command, and will work only in the mountainous areas." she glanced over at the beast and spoke in a language the man had never heard before. The creature seemed to understand and, through a series of growls and barks, spoke to her in turn. "This is Darkfoot. He is a mountain wolf and has separated himself from his pack to ask a boon of me, and you."

Confused, the man replied "what could he want of me?"

"His race is more intelligent and perceptive than the common wolf, and as such they seem to have a, knowing, of things that even most humans do not. I believe that he sees a need in you, or perhaps in your path, that he feels he is needed for. He has asked to join you on your quest. His kind do not normally ally themselves with humans. Quite the opposite honestly. Regardless, I believe he could be a great help to you if you will accept his offer."

"I believe at this point that I'd be a fool to turn down any offer of help. Please tell him I accept."

Instead, the Watcher leaned over and touched the man lightly on his temple. "You can tell him yourself. I think you'll find that you'll now have no problem communicating with each other."

She was correct. Whatever she had done, words spoken by man or beast seemed to translate themselves in the opposite's mind. The noises were the same, but the meaning was clear. Soon after his conversation with Darkfoot the Watcher took her leave and disappeared into the forest. The Wanderer curled up to sleep for a few hours with the mountain wolf standing watch. The next day would begin a long journey, the end of which was unclear. The Wanderer did not sleep well.