History, Part II
I remember the day Dearheart took me from my mother.
My mother had just woken me up, and we were going to get water and gather herbs she needed for healing. Mother went outside first and I followed like a puppy. Mother's wolf, Star, growled at us. Star never growled unless there was trouble, so I was quickly shooed back into the den. Mother guarded me with her own body, and Star's growling outside grew louder and louder as Dearheart's voice echoed through every den.
"WHERE is my DAUGHTER!? Give her to me NOW!" she roared. Dearheart had a very frightening voice, and I trembled. Mother soothed me, cooing quietly in my ear and holding me tight against her, but her eyes were always on the entrance to our den. Suddenly, Mother howled in pain, collapsing on the furs. I screamed, shaking her, "Mommy, mommy!" Mother clutched her head and looked at me with pain-filled eyes, screaming louder as Dearheart invaded our den and roughly dragged me out, kicking and pulling. My efforts became more and more futile as Dearheart easily pulled me behind her, but I never stopped struggling. I still have the marks on my wrists...three crescent-shaped scars where her nails dug into my skin. Those weren't the last scars she gave me.
From that point on, I became Dearheart's slave. I was the one to go out and find what little food I could catch, considering my size. Elk gave me a little help, but most of the time, he sat back and watched me with pitying eyes. I also became her messenger. She sent me to the humans many times. Sometimes, she would lock the door back inside and leave me at the mercy of the humans. They called me "grey demon," because my skin was grey when I was younger. Both of my biological parents had pale skin, so it always confused me why my skin was so dark.
One night, when I was about 40 turns old, I had been skirting my duties...cleaning dens, hunting, looking after the humans and sending messages. Dearheart said I was being too slow, so she grabbed me by the arm, ripped my leathers off, and proceeded to whip me with one of the hardest switches she could find outside. The marks hurt for a very long time, but Dearheart never let me keep any scars. Elk was a healer of small ability, and healed every hurt and every sickness I ever had, to eliminate any excuses I could come up with, and to make Dearheart's torture worse.
As Dearheart whipped me mercilessly, tears streaming down my cheeks, I started to notice a dark glow around my hands. Soon enough, Dearheart stopped and gasped in surprise. My whole body held an aura of darkness and shadow. I Curled up and shivered violently, and Dearheart grinned. The shadows are very cold, especially when shaped, and after Dearheart discovered my shadowshaping abilities, she used them to her advantage. From then on, she would beat me so badly that I would call every shadow around me, almost freezing myself in the process. I started using shadows as my escape, despite the torture they caused me...they hid me as well. However, everytime I took refuge in my shadows, Dearheart would beat me harder. As I worked on my abilities, I became a very talented shadowshaper, learning to control the shadow's temperature and shape. The more time I spent in shadow, and the more time I spent developing my skills, I noticed my skin turning darker and darker shades of grey, until I became the color of pitch. Dearheart always said that it was the shadow that caused it, but I believe the darkness of my biological mother's heart was reflected in my skin color.
My mother had just woken me up, and we were going to get water and gather herbs she needed for healing. Mother went outside first and I followed like a puppy. Mother's wolf, Star, growled at us. Star never growled unless there was trouble, so I was quickly shooed back into the den. Mother guarded me with her own body, and Star's growling outside grew louder and louder as Dearheart's voice echoed through every den.
"WHERE is my DAUGHTER!? Give her to me NOW!" she roared. Dearheart had a very frightening voice, and I trembled. Mother soothed me, cooing quietly in my ear and holding me tight against her, but her eyes were always on the entrance to our den. Suddenly, Mother howled in pain, collapsing on the furs. I screamed, shaking her, "Mommy, mommy!" Mother clutched her head and looked at me with pain-filled eyes, screaming louder as Dearheart invaded our den and roughly dragged me out, kicking and pulling. My efforts became more and more futile as Dearheart easily pulled me behind her, but I never stopped struggling. I still have the marks on my wrists...three crescent-shaped scars where her nails dug into my skin. Those weren't the last scars she gave me.
From that point on, I became Dearheart's slave. I was the one to go out and find what little food I could catch, considering my size. Elk gave me a little help, but most of the time, he sat back and watched me with pitying eyes. I also became her messenger. She sent me to the humans many times. Sometimes, she would lock the door back inside and leave me at the mercy of the humans. They called me "grey demon," because my skin was grey when I was younger. Both of my biological parents had pale skin, so it always confused me why my skin was so dark.
One night, when I was about 40 turns old, I had been skirting my duties...cleaning dens, hunting, looking after the humans and sending messages. Dearheart said I was being too slow, so she grabbed me by the arm, ripped my leathers off, and proceeded to whip me with one of the hardest switches she could find outside. The marks hurt for a very long time, but Dearheart never let me keep any scars. Elk was a healer of small ability, and healed every hurt and every sickness I ever had, to eliminate any excuses I could come up with, and to make Dearheart's torture worse.
As Dearheart whipped me mercilessly, tears streaming down my cheeks, I started to notice a dark glow around my hands. Soon enough, Dearheart stopped and gasped in surprise. My whole body held an aura of darkness and shadow. I Curled up and shivered violently, and Dearheart grinned. The shadows are very cold, especially when shaped, and after Dearheart discovered my shadowshaping abilities, she used them to her advantage. From then on, she would beat me so badly that I would call every shadow around me, almost freezing myself in the process. I started using shadows as my escape, despite the torture they caused me...they hid me as well. However, everytime I took refuge in my shadows, Dearheart would beat me harder. As I worked on my abilities, I became a very talented shadowshaper, learning to control the shadow's temperature and shape. The more time I spent in shadow, and the more time I spent developing my skills, I noticed my skin turning darker and darker shades of grey, until I became the color of pitch. Dearheart always said that it was the shadow that caused it, but I believe the darkness of my biological mother's heart was reflected in my skin color.