Two months ago, the sage's listener thought to herself. And she doesn't even know.
"Fox With Red Tail, please tell me what you are hiding, before I tell you. Remember, we do not take secrets lightly. Wolf That Rides the Dawn would know that better than anyone." The sage's voice could not be any icier. The sympathy she had so lovingly and swiftly provided became absent in a simple stroke of time. The viciousness in the old sage's black eyes gleamed like the glassy rock that the elders told stories about. The stories were of a place called Hawaii, and it sounded beautiful.
"I have but nothing to hide." Fox With Red Tail lied smoothly.
She was right, she had nothing to hide. She just would rather not tell such things to the people of her clan. They would surely make her an outcast in every sense. In the old times, the Time of America, women like Fox With Red Tail were common, innumerable, and accepted. Accepted. Fox With Red Tail had never been described with that word. Accepted. She had only a vague idea of what it truly meant.
"Then, you would surely not mind bringing me a rabbit and cooking it for me, would you?" The sage asked with thinly veiled contempt. The sage knew what she was doing. She knew what Fox With Red Tail wasn't willing to tell her. Fox With Red Tail nodded respectfully to the sage and left her dwelling.
Once outside, Fox With Red Tail took a deep, cleansing breath of the fresh and sweet air. She started off toward her own dwelling. As she wound her way along the dirt path that snaked its way through the clan-town, Alamere, she felt the hard pressed stares on her feet, a sign of grieving respect. Fox With Red Tail hated such gestures. They made her feel weak.
They did not grieve over Wolf That Rides the Dawn's death. Only Fox With Red tail knew what really happened, why no one grieved for her late love. They had not yet been joined together in Moonlight Dances, but still they had been so close.
Fox With Red Tail's hut, that she once shared with Wolf That Rides The Dawn, was so small, so rocky, so dilapidated. Her doorway was only separated from the outside by a thin quilt that Fox With Red Tail had made herself. It flapped in the soft breeze as she ducked inside.
The inside of her hovel smelled of thick lard. The oily smoke clung to the air. Fox With Red Tail made the candles she used for light by herself out of extra fat from the food she cooked. She dutifully grabbed a rabbit off the wall, where it had been strung up by its hind feet.
Again she found herself in front of the old sage's fire, skinning the rabbit. "Dear sage," Fox With Red Tail asked, "can you tell me a story of America?" Fox With Red Tail sunk the knife into the pelt, the fresh blood making her woozy. No, not now. If the sage knew, Fox With Red Tail would shame her name for all eternity.
"Which story have you not heard?" The sage asked in a wizened old voice. Her sedition was almost nonexistent, but Fox With Red Tail could feel the tension in the air. If she wished, Fox With Red Tail could see the aura of the sage. Fox With Red Tail knew it would be crimson.
Deep.
Scarlet.
Crimson.
"Tell me the one of Johnathan Greensworth. His heroics are truly inspiring." The rabbit's blood trickled down her arm. Oh, the lifeblood of the rabbit would be Fox With Red Tail's demise.
"Johnathan Greensworth. The hero of the rebellion." The sage said lethargically. Fox With Red Tail tugged the pelt off the rabbit. "The terrorists, what were they called?" The sage asked, her rocking chair creaking. Fox With Red Tail began to cut open the rabbit. The guts would putrefy while she was roasting it if she didn't. "The Fihigh Rebellion." Fox With Red Tail interjected helpfully.
"Ah, yes, the Fihigh Rebellion. The Fihigh Rebellion had just blown apart the White House, where the leader of America, the President, he was called, lived. The President and all of his advisors died. The Fihigh Rebellion said that the world was once again corrupt, and that they would use the power of America to create a new world, one bourn of hard work and humility. This world would be led by them, of course, and they would use Americas weapons of mass destruction to achieve their goal." The sage recounted. It had been many generations since the war, and the sage had heard the story from sages past. Fox With Red Tail enjoyed these stories and hoped to one day pass this story on to someone else.
The rabbit's slowly decaying guts spilled onto a grass mat made for that purpose. Fox With Red Tail became more nauseous than ever. Not now...
"The Fihigh Rebellion dropped something called a bomb on America. This bomb spewed fire everywhere. Everything was destroyed. Yet, some people survived. One group banded together. Their leader was Johnathan Greensworth. Under Johnathan Greenswoth's guidance, the people set up this village, which spread its fingers further and became our clan. Before Johnathan Greensworth died, he had a son, which he named Lion's Roar. Johnathan Greensworth died mysteriously on a hunting trip, and Lion's Roar was forever scarred. But, we must remember and respect Johnathan Greensworth because he protected us and began our way of life." The sage finished just as Fox With Red Tail began to roast the rabbit.
The juices popped and bubbled, the sizzling juices would normally make Fox With Red Tail hungry, but now, it made her sick. Fox With Red Tail ran outside, barely containing her retches until she got to the grass.
She threw up all that was in her stomach and more. She felt a hand on her shoulder during her puking. As she finished, Fox With Red Tail looked up. The sage's face held an expression of rage.
"Are you going to tell me, or am I going to tell you?" She growled. Although her face was weak, Fox With Red Tail glared up defiantly. The answer in her eyes spoke more than she ever could.
"You've yet to have a partner." The sage hissed. "And yet you are pregnant."
"I have but nothing to hide." Fox With Red Tail lied smoothly.
She was right, she had nothing to hide. She just would rather not tell such things to the people of her clan. They would surely make her an outcast in every sense. In the old times, the Time of America, women like Fox With Red Tail were common, innumerable, and accepted. Accepted. Fox With Red Tail had never been described with that word. Accepted. She had only a vague idea of what it truly meant.
"Then, you would surely not mind bringing me a rabbit and cooking it for me, would you?" The sage asked with thinly veiled contempt. The sage knew what she was doing. She knew what Fox With Red Tail wasn't willing to tell her. Fox With Red Tail nodded respectfully to the sage and left her dwelling.
Once outside, Fox With Red Tail took a deep, cleansing breath of the fresh and sweet air. She started off toward her own dwelling. As she wound her way along the dirt path that snaked its way through the clan-town, Alamere, she felt the hard pressed stares on her feet, a sign of grieving respect. Fox With Red Tail hated such gestures. They made her feel weak.
They did not grieve over Wolf That Rides the Dawn's death. Only Fox With Red tail knew what really happened, why no one grieved for her late love. They had not yet been joined together in Moonlight Dances, but still they had been so close.
Fox With Red Tail's hut, that she once shared with Wolf That Rides The Dawn, was so small, so rocky, so dilapidated. Her doorway was only separated from the outside by a thin quilt that Fox With Red Tail had made herself. It flapped in the soft breeze as she ducked inside.
The inside of her hovel smelled of thick lard. The oily smoke clung to the air. Fox With Red Tail made the candles she used for light by herself out of extra fat from the food she cooked. She dutifully grabbed a rabbit off the wall, where it had been strung up by its hind feet.
Again she found herself in front of the old sage's fire, skinning the rabbit. "Dear sage," Fox With Red Tail asked, "can you tell me a story of America?" Fox With Red Tail sunk the knife into the pelt, the fresh blood making her woozy. No, not now. If the sage knew, Fox With Red Tail would shame her name for all eternity.
"Which story have you not heard?" The sage asked in a wizened old voice. Her sedition was almost nonexistent, but Fox With Red Tail could feel the tension in the air. If she wished, Fox With Red Tail could see the aura of the sage. Fox With Red Tail knew it would be crimson.
Deep.
Scarlet.
Crimson.
"Tell me the one of Johnathan Greensworth. His heroics are truly inspiring." The rabbit's blood trickled down her arm. Oh, the lifeblood of the rabbit would be Fox With Red Tail's demise.
"Johnathan Greensworth. The hero of the rebellion." The sage said lethargically. Fox With Red Tail tugged the pelt off the rabbit. "The terrorists, what were they called?" The sage asked, her rocking chair creaking. Fox With Red Tail began to cut open the rabbit. The guts would putrefy while she was roasting it if she didn't. "The Fihigh Rebellion." Fox With Red Tail interjected helpfully.
"Ah, yes, the Fihigh Rebellion. The Fihigh Rebellion had just blown apart the White House, where the leader of America, the President, he was called, lived. The President and all of his advisors died. The Fihigh Rebellion said that the world was once again corrupt, and that they would use the power of America to create a new world, one bourn of hard work and humility. This world would be led by them, of course, and they would use Americas weapons of mass destruction to achieve their goal." The sage recounted. It had been many generations since the war, and the sage had heard the story from sages past. Fox With Red Tail enjoyed these stories and hoped to one day pass this story on to someone else.
The rabbit's slowly decaying guts spilled onto a grass mat made for that purpose. Fox With Red Tail became more nauseous than ever. Not now...
"The Fihigh Rebellion dropped something called a bomb on America. This bomb spewed fire everywhere. Everything was destroyed. Yet, some people survived. One group banded together. Their leader was Johnathan Greensworth. Under Johnathan Greenswoth's guidance, the people set up this village, which spread its fingers further and became our clan. Before Johnathan Greensworth died, he had a son, which he named Lion's Roar. Johnathan Greensworth died mysteriously on a hunting trip, and Lion's Roar was forever scarred. But, we must remember and respect Johnathan Greensworth because he protected us and began our way of life." The sage finished just as Fox With Red Tail began to roast the rabbit.
The juices popped and bubbled, the sizzling juices would normally make Fox With Red Tail hungry, but now, it made her sick. Fox With Red Tail ran outside, barely containing her retches until she got to the grass.
She threw up all that was in her stomach and more. She felt a hand on her shoulder during her puking. As she finished, Fox With Red Tail looked up. The sage's face held an expression of rage.
"Are you going to tell me, or am I going to tell you?" She growled. Although her face was weak, Fox With Red Tail glared up defiantly. The answer in her eyes spoke more than she ever could.
"You've yet to have a partner." The sage hissed. "And yet you are pregnant."
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