I stalk him, my viridian-swirled twilight grey eyes never leaving him, as I ever so gently place the outside edge of my foot upon the ground, slowly, cautiously, feeling everything beneath it before I ease the rest of my foot down and apply my full weight, insuring silent movement. I approach, downwind, from deep within Walkar's Woods, holding in place as my prey glances suspiciously about the area. Does he suspect I am close?
I freeze, not a single muscle am I moving. I do not breath, I do not blink. Haszour, my Tehir clans Master of Stealth, instructed me in this art long ago and also taught me a mantra, when I was first learning to stalk with cunning and efficiency, which I now recite in my mind.
I am one with the shade, dappled beneath the trees
I am as unmoving as the stone upon the ground
My prey only hears the wind among the leaves
Silence is my shield and I have made no sound
I am not here, it is not me that my prey sees.
Once again I have not been detected, so when the time and conditions are right, I move, one slow and deliberate step at a time, silent as a shadow among shadows on my padded footwraps. I am in my element, doing what I do best, doing what I was trained to do, what I now know I was born to do. I have done this so many times that I allow my mind to wander into the past while maintaining my stealthy approach to my target.
My one and only prized material possession, Eyesore, a marbled grey woodsman's longbow, is in my left hand. She was painstakingly crafted from richly grained ruic and has been stained in a random pattern of colors ranging from twilight grey to the deepest black. The grip, tightly wrapped with black leather that's been bound in an intricate open weave of dark grey spidersilk, fits my hand perfectly, she is part of me, an extension of my left arm and of my spirit. Her release is silent and the spring of her limbs is equal and powerful, any arrow that leaves her flies straight and true. A miss of any kind is not the fault of Eyesore, it is mine and mine alone. A Longbow of power, precision, and accuracy, she was made for this, it is her purpose, and she has been my weapon of choice for many, many years.
Eyesore made the trip with me from the Sea of Fire when I was a young man, where she was made by and belonged to my second-father, G'Aronne, a raider of the Mir'sheq and one hell of an archer, fletcher, and bowyer. He taught me everything I know of bows, and so much more. When I was forced to leave the Tehir after completing my final trial and receiving my last scar, G'Aronne insisted my second-mother, K'Miza, include that particular longbow and a good supply of arrows with the gear and supplies she left for my use. The arrows K'Miza included have long since been used, but Eyesore is still with me, and every bit as powerful and deadly as the first time I drew her, so many years ago and so very far away from here. Thank you, G'Arrone and K'Miza, for everything. I learned so much from the two of you. May you both walk with the sun.
Eclipse, the black-tipped twilight grey wolf that has been my companion for what seems like forever, is, at my silent command, holding back, covering my flanks. I know she is there, even though I cannot see her. She is always there. Eclipse knows and understands more than I do, or so I believe at times. She understands both common, even my fractured version of it, and Tehir and my hand signals to her can be quite complex and she does exactly as requested.
She and I have walked side by side and fought together for almost as long as I can remember, through the bad times and the good, and she has never failed me. I owe her many debts that I can never begin to repay, but she doesn't seem to mind. She is more than a friend and companion, much more. She is a large part of my soul, she is my spirit totem. She is second only to Phever when it comes to things I hold most dear, and I would willingly give my life for either of them, at any time, for any reason. Eclipse is also why Phever and I are together, but that is another story, for another time, perhaps.
Eclipse came to me when I was a much younger and far less experienced Ranger. I had fought in most of the campaigns west of the Dragonspine in my younger days, but one conflict in particular shaped my life more than any other. Due to events during the Griffin Sword War in Solhaven I walked the lands alone, completely and totally. Before that bloody and brutal war I was young and confident, and for my age I was considered the best at what I did, assured of my place in the scheme of things. I was even a banner-man for the side of good and right, a real flag-waver for the goody-two-shoe crowd. I wasn't always as cynical and dark as I am now.
But afterward, I was broken, I was beaten, I was bitter, I was scorned and ridiculed, and I had no one. It wasn't anyone's fault except my own. I didn't take care of myself after that, I rarely bathed, once a season, if that, and I ate pretty much whatever I foraged or killed in the wilds. My visits into town became fewer and further between, and when I did come to town I avoided others as much as I could. I withdrew into myself, nothing seemed to matter any more.
There were very few people who would speak to me, let alone befriend me. Turinrond, The Coyote, was one, Calean, a very powerful sorcerer, another, and I miss them both. Now don't get me wrong, I still consider myself pretty much a loner and to this very day I like my alone time, in moderation, but to have to endure it for weeks, months, or even years at a time is very difficult and it weighs heavily upon you, it's something you never get used to.
I was hunting around Solhaven, one of my many chosen hunting grounds back then. I had seen wolf sign about the area, the tracks were very large and deeply imprinted into the ground, and they were fresh. I had always had an affinity for wolves, I suppose it came from my birth mothers final prophesy to me. I can hear her urgent and pain-laden words to me clearly, as if it were but moments ago when I first heard them. Part of this prophesy that she whispered to me, her voice so close to death, was this, "Find the wild dog of the moon, and relish in her power and loyalty".
I was having a particularly bad day and my loneliness had become extremely hard to bear, I longed to share my thoughts. I could stand it no longer, I was so tired of being alone. I broke down and I prayed to Phoen to make this loneliness pass, or to let me die. By Phoen's grace I had been granted a new spell not long before, so not knowing what else to do, and in desperation, I cast it. Now, I have never been a very good follower of Phoen, back then I wasn't quite as bad as I am now, but still I didn't expect any sort of divine help, but desperation does funny things to a man.
A few moments after I cast my spell there was a rustle in the underbrush, and out stepped the biggest damned wolf I had ever seen. She had golden eyes, eyes that shone with intelligence and cunning, and she was using them to look right through me. I was both terrified and elated. Immediately, I went to my knees and I spoke to the wolf, nothing much really, just nervous words spoken from a broken and battered ranger to a grand and perfect animal that I knew, deep down in my heart, I didn't deserve.
She cocked her head to one side as if she were taking my measure, judging me, deeming me either worthy or unworthy. Then she walked over and sat at my side, turning her head to look into my eyes as if to say "Now what, Ranger?". Now what, indeed. I swear I could feel the spirit of this great beast, and my own spirit felt so pitifully small and insignificant beside hers, and sometimes it still does.
I had witnessed wolves in the environment and I knew some of their habits, but how does one go about befriending one? It occurred to me that wolves, especially lone wolves, weren't really that different from me, back then I always appreciated a good meal, when I could afford one, and it didn't matter much where it came from. I happened to have quite a bit of rolton jerky on me so I gave her some, which she ate with great enthusiasm.
Tentatively, I reached out and stroked her fur. So soft and thick, with a muscular frame beneath. This was a truly magnificent creature beside me. She licked my hand as I stroked her under her massive chin and that's when I saw it. Her nearly black muzzle had a small, pale, sunburst-shaped mark upon it, just above her right nostril. This had to be a sign, a sign that my prayer to Phoen had been answered. This was the reply to my desperate plea to the Lord of Light. But I knew it would be up to her, would she stay with me, or would she find me lacking and leave?
Evening came and darkness was descending upon us. The wolf was still with me. I looked up into the rapidly dimming sky and that's when it came to me. The wolf, or as my birth-mother Q'atild, First Among the Mir'Sheq Seers, had labeled her in her vision, "the wild dog of the Moon", needed a name. There was the answer, the Moon. I would name her, not after a moon, but for an event caused by a moon. Eclipse.
Eclipse. That was her name, it was almost as if the wolf had told me herself, and maybe she had. It felt right the first time I said it aloud to her and her ears perked up and I swear she smiled. You know that look canines get, the one that you just know equates to laughter or happiness. Well, she had it, and that in turn made me smile, the first smile to cross my features since I couldn't remember when. I was no longer alone, it wasn't just "me" anymore, it was "We", it was "Us", her and I. It seems I had found one of the pieces that was missing from my shattered life. All was now just a little more right with my world.
The years came and went and many battles were fought, both personal and physical, large and small. Some won, others lost. Eclipse has remained by my side the entire time and is better known to some people than I am. Due to my habit of walking in silence she is sometimes the first indication to others that I am even in the area. People see Eclipse and know I am about and I'm sure some of them think I belong to the wolf, rather than her to me, though in truth it is neither, and it is also both. We are companions who each chose to walk with the other, together, along our chosen paths. We are friends, we are inseparable, but most importantly, we are family. We are One.
I force my mind back into the present as I continue my stalk, slowly, patiently. I freeze, there is movement to my left. Too close! I got careless and missed a second foe approaching. No time to aim and fire Eyesore so I incant my Spikethorn, and it's a good one. The thorns rip into the Mage and tear it to shreds. See ya in Hell you rotting, not undead anymore, stinking Taladorian mage.
There's my original prey, advancing on me with his claidhmore raised high....an undead Taladorian Knight. I liked these guys much better when they were alive, their ears were worth keeping then. He swings the claid and I manage to dodge out of the way, barely. I punch him in the face since he's too close to make good use of Eyesore. A hard spear-hand strike. POP! I just tore his left eye right out of his head, but he's still coming and he's still got that gigantic head lopper with him.
One of the Black Trees lashes out and cuts my arm. It's harmless, but it distracted me enough so I don't move as quickly this time and he hits me in the neck with his claid. Not a mortal strike, my chainmail saves me from death, but close enough. I'm bleeding badly, and worse, I'm stunned. This might be all she wrote, I'm in trouble here, and another knight just walked in. This has now gone from bad to well beyond worse. I'm about to be beaten to death, slowly, and it won't be pleasant.
I see a dark blur streak past me. It's Eclipse! She rushes the undead knight and grabs him by the right arm...and rips it right from it's socket, claidhmore still in his hand! The knight expires and she rushes the newly arrived second knight and begins to tear into it, pieces of rotting flesh flying in all directions. By this time I have regained my wits and I fire Eyesore as rapidly as I can. I rarely kill a Knight in less than three or four shots, sometimes more, but Eclipse has so savaged this beast that two shots is all it takes, one to each eye.
The Wolf, my oldest friend, sniffs at the fallen corpses and then takes up a watchful position in front of me, her teeth bared as she guards me from further attack while I attend to my wound, her golden eyes ever vigilant. No creature in their right mind takes on Eclipse when her dander is up. Once again she has saved my life, and once again she asks for nothing but my friendship in return, and she will have it, tenfold. That is loyalty, and in the long run nothing else really matters, does it?
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