Pale blue light flowed over the village huts. Their occupants stood in a loose semi-circle around a large pit that had hosted an equally large bonfire the night before. The crisp, clean air of the early dawn had caused the forest’s diurnal denizens to come alive. Birds flew in holding patterns over and through the canopy, calling out their plans for the day, while those born to dwell on the ground were no less animated. Squirrels leaped from branch to branch as if trying to mimic the flight of their feathered neighbors while deer, hogs, foxes and a myriad of others started their daily tasks of survival with a zest for the lives they had thus far kept.
The semi-circle of Great Wolves and people shifted in agitation. Theirs was not to question the will of the Elders, but the sun would not stop its path across the sky for their benefit and every second was too precious for idleness.
The village crier, who had dutifully visited each one of them to inform them of the gathering, came out of the Elders’ long hut. To the relief of many, the Elders themselves followed close behind. The crier merged into the crowd as the Elders took their place opposite the semi-circle in view of all gathered. All eyes settled on the fur-covered bundle in the Elder Man’s arms. All had heard the hunter’s story the day before. They grew quiet, despite the jolt of nervous energy that passed through them.
Raval took a deep breath and started. “As you know by now, yesterday a newborn girl was found alone in the forest. Although she is Unmarked, it was told that the forest showed its desire for her to live.”
Mara motioned for him to let her speak. “As is necessary in such serious matters, we sought an answer from the Fokla directly. Their answer was obvious. She is to live. As such, she will require a mother to take her in.”
Raval unwrapped the baby, who squirmed at the sudden loss of heat. Murmurs arose as her pale form came into full view of the villagers. The murmurs became words that became heated arguments. While many details were lost in the din, one truth was in everyone’s mouth. None wanted to be the caretaker for an ill-formed runt. None wanted to deny the will of the Elders and the Fokla either. So all remained while the arguments grew louder.
A high-pitched wail pierced through their raucous protests, the baby awoken by their rancor. The crowd fell silent at her cries, but still none moved to claim her.
Raval grimaced. He placed her against his shoulder and patted her back as he glared at the cluster of disappointment in front of him. “Will no one take this child? Have no fear of repercussion, for it is the Fokla’s will.”
Still, no one moved as the baby continued to shriek.
Mara growled, sick of listening to it. She had not gotten enough sleep to deal with this. “What is the problem? Tell us!”
A woman, who Mara knew had a young child, stepped forward. For a moment, she let herself believe that this woman would claim the girl, but it was not meant to be.
“All of us desire to fulfill the spirits’ wishes, Elder. But, if I may be honest, we believe that such a small, weak babe will only be a great burden to those who care for it.”
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Mara nodded in understanding. After all, she had the same thoughts. Emboldened by her agreement, the woman continued. “And, I mean no disrespect, but are we not allowed to refuse that which will unfairly burden us?”
It was Mara’s turn to glare, an act that caused the woman to shrink back into the safety of numbers. The Elder Woman forced her face to relax into something more befitting of her station. She was angry, but not at the woman. She spoke the truth. Their law, built upon the natural order of things, supported her statement. No, her anger was born of frustrated realization. If no one claimed the child, as was their right, then the responsibility for fulfilling the will of the Fokla landed squarely on those closest to them. The Elders. She had never taken a mate, had never born children, and she had never regretted those decisions. Besides, she was too old to be raising kids. Or so she thought.
She glanced over at Raval, who had only minor success in quieting the infant which flailed against him. It all gave her a headache. “Raval! Please take the child back to our hut!”
The noise finally dulled behind distance and a closed door. She turned back to the semi-circle that still shifted with anxious uncertainty.
“Thank you for your honesty.” She started, pushing her tone into a neutral state. “We will fulfill the Fokla’s wish, as is our duty. However, we cannot do it alone.”
The crowd tensed in unison.
“Wika!”
The wiry scout jumped at the sound of her name.
“We will need a steady supply of milk. If Balin cannot provide enough without harming her pups, it will be your responsibility to find another to supplement the milk. Understood?”
Wika nodded as Mara’s gaze shifted to her next victim.
“Dakel! The babe requires underclothes, overclothes and blankets. It is your responsibility to supply those now and as she grows.”
Dakel bowed in respect.
And so she continued. Toys from one, milk spouts from another. If they were going to refuse to care for the infant, then they would provide all that was necessary for her and Raval to do so.
Satisfied with the turn of events, the crowd dispersed, bursting into the energetic frenzy of those trying to make up for lost time. With far less energy, Mara took a deep breath and walked back into her hut.
Fortunately for her pounding head, the baby was no longer shrieking. Its mouth was stuffed full with a milk spout. Still, the damage was done. She moved straight to the shelf that held her pain dulling mixtures, selecting a small bolus that she shoved in her mouth.
“So, what are we going to call her?” Raval piped up.
She shot him an odd look. “Call her? She’s what, a day old? She may have the Fokla on her side, but that doesn’t mean she’ll survive even with proper care. The first year’s always the worst, even for the healthiest of younglings.”
Raval’s cheery disposition darkened. “I’m well aware of that, Mara.”
Sour silence grew between them. Unlike her, Raval had taken a mate, had sired a child. Both had died shortly after his mate brought the child, a girl, Mara now remembered, into the world. The resulting wound in his essence had driven the younger Raval to do something incredibly risky, something that had killed his Wolf, leaving him truly alone. Only Mara’s expert ministrations had knit his flesh back together. Only her stark, often brutal, view of the world had kept him from giving himself back to the land.
She had lost her own Wolf too, only a few seasons ago, to a sudden illness that even she couldn’t heal. The loss had hit her harder than anything else in her life. Still, she knew what she had felt was only a shallow representation of what Raval still felt. He had always been extremely sentimental.
Mara frowned. The silence was beginning to stink. “Lilau Noka.” She offered, ceding to his emotions.
He frowned, his brow knitting together.
“Girl that is lost? A bit blunt, isn’t it?”
“So? It’s what she is and let’s be honest here, it will be the nicest name most will call her.”
“Mara!”
“It’s the truth, Raval, and you know it. But, if it displeases you so much, then you can give her a different name on the proper day, after she survives her first winter.”
“Hmph.” He looked down at the satiated newborn and smiled. It was blunt, but it had a ring to it. Lilau Noka, he mouthed. It wasn’t so bad.