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Immersed in the light of night and day bouncing off the Pale Goddess I awoke

Shafts of gold dyed in silvery white streams rolled in slow motion, alighting themselves

At my feet and upon our cushion, the heath, provided by our Great Mother silent in might

Awaking I gathered up my bow, skins, and a pouch made of fire-treated wendigo stomachs

As I began to push my brother down the hill, he sprung at me like a hissing bakeneko

I laughed, father had been training him in the Arts – fishing, whittling, cooking, but most

Importantly, hunting. I had taken advantage of a silly habit of tradition – the necessity of alert;

When they come of age, usually four Treks old, it is tradition for the father to stalk them like prey,

It is the only way to know if they will survive – youths are prepared for the Trek’s long hunt and my

Brother was no exception. I had thought he would stop and think, no, he came on in force,

Shoving me with what must have been twenty flints of force, I lost balance, and felt Mother’s

Slap in the face for being so naive as I descended down the hill, my bones withstanding Her

Test as I endured the jagged hornstone. Leaping upon me, as he pulled a poisoned flint dirk to my throat, I screamed! “Jokulu it’s me, Taranpsh! Your bloodbound, your kinsworn, your brother!” “Brother! He chortled, releasing the death-stone from my neck. So quick to make fun When you can’t even protect yourself, I would’ve slain you like a ratatoskr!” “Fair fortune you held Your blade, father is probably watching from the boughs even now as we speak.” “He would

Understand, I have to be on my guard this first Trek, father’s hand will not stray or hinder as did

Mine..” “And for that I thank you, farewell kinsworn, but here, before I make my leave, here is Some ratatoskr soup, not much for sustenance but there’s bound to be some speed in that there

Soup, the impish hawk-scout was back on his way up to relay a message to the gods-eagle

When I snatched him up, maybe he’ll help that stubborn dimwit that lingers still in your thick skull.” “Oh, but brother, for once I think you have proven yourself to be a little rough around the edges, am I right? Hah hah, well thank ya’ for the damned, liquid rodent, and be off with ya’!

Taranpsh sped out into the dark, forested recesses under the half-gaze of their father.

As Jokulu set up camp, a chilling thud shook the ground enough to set the poor, hungry, tired

Youth back on guard, death-stone in hand. He knew it was his father but he couldn’t sense the

Difference between the wind and his father iin the brush’s rustling. Suddenly a spear soared and embedded its jagged edge into the ground where he had been standing, nearly blind in the dark. The leap had saved his life. He quickly rose to his feet, bent his knees, and was back on guard. Feeling a slight breeze of warmth at the tip of his shoulder blade he sped around and lunged Forward, just barely nitching flesh at the end of his strike. A minute amount of blood covered his right hand as he retreated, returning to his guard. “Keen strike son!” He heard from the undisturbed blackness. “I’ll be back tomorrow, set up camp, and don’t let the blight’s chill get to You before I do, dreams!” And he was gone. Returning to his work, Jokulu had set up camp and Was asleep within twenty of our minutes and one of their ‘encampments’. Jokulu and his kin are

All proud members of the race of humankind that resides within the walls of the world known to Its inhabitants as Hitherheim. In Hitherheim, all the states of humankind can be seen throughout History. Some clans of humans are quite advanced in the sciences and other bodies of study While others remain in cultures that might be compared to those of time periods including those

Of the modern, pre-modern, post-classical, classical, and other time periods. Hitherheim is Composed of humanity’s entire experience up until our current era however shows a version of Our own world where human ideas are also reality; even those including such constructs of the Mind as mythology, fantasy, religion, and any and all other fictions and non-fictions ever devised.

End of chapter 1

“Let the firefiend purify this cursed hell-spot! The Nether hath no fury like that of Morning Morrow! Wretched curr of days, hide thy gleaming face, and let me rest yet a little while more! Damn Thee, I’ve risen, now retreat to mock this scowl!”

Two encampments past his waking, Jokulu began his day’s march east, he needed water and Knew he must reach the Wellspring by moon’s rise or fall prey to the elements; the most Dishonorable way to die…

Condemned

Untouchable, they lay

Side by side, only tinged with mistakes

Inescapable prisons

Bound with not simply regret

But uncharted discoveries

And intangible dreams

Forever wandering aimlessly

Throughout the plane of mortal follies

And yet, silently they chuckle

Their amusement unheeded

For what purpose do they laugh?

They have been reduced

To less than nothing

Simply dust

Simply ashes

Simply gone

Fragility

Hollow trees filled with

Shadows of acorns

And shells of fruit

Husks of once-proud sprouts

Bearing trunks with poise

And not slumped with grief

Their withering tendrils’

Sustainment

Crumble hatefully upon themselves

Shame beyond redemption

Loathing beyond salvation

Despair beyond mercy

Fragility