The deer was quietly grazing under the trees. Occasionally it would move and send the sharp sound of a twig snapping through the air like a knife, cutting through the birdsong. It was a young animal, but still large and strong, it would make for a great kill to bring back to the village.

Quietly, Blaine pulled an arrow from the animal skin pouch tied onto his back. He placed it carefully in the bow and raised it, taking aim on the spot that would kill the dear quickly and with the least amount of pain. Mother Nature had gifted him with this beast, the least he could do in return was to ensure its death was not prolonged. He had a knife in his pouch should his hit be a little off, though Blaine doubted he would need it.  He checked his target again, and seeing it hadn’t moved, slid silently around the trunk of the tree he had been hiding behind, pulled the arrow back until-

“How’s the hunting going?!”

Blaine jumped back with a yell as a body swung down from the branch above him suddenly. He lost his hold on the bow and arrow and both he and the weapon fell in a heap on the ground. His eyes darted to where the deer had been but it had disappeared, bushes shaking from where the animal had run through them. There was a giggle from above and Blaine looked up.

A girl hung upside down from the branch, hands and feet hooked around the wood, her tanned face grinning and her dark hair like a water fall, just barely grazing the ground below here. Blaine let out an exasperated sigh and pushed himself off the ground.

“It was going a lot better until you came along, Santana,” Blaine said bitterly. He picked up his bow and placed the arrow back in its holder. “Do you know how long I had been tracking that deer? It would have been great food for the village! But now the whole forest has been disturbed. It will take forever for Mother Nature to calm herself and the woods.”

Santana rolled her eyes, looking up at him. From where he stood, Blaine could see the expanse of tan skin under her chin and down her neck. “I just though you could do with a little company out here,” said in a too innocent voice. “The forest can be lonely when you hunt alone.”

“I prefer to hunt alone,” Blaine told her, turning away as she lowered herself down and stood upright. He made to leave, to walk away to a part of the forest that was still and would be easier to find something to hunt, but Santana’s voice stopped him.

“I just thought that maybe you’d be interested to know,” she mused, turning her back to Blaine as he turned back to her, “that your father is back.” Blaine stared at her as she began to walk slowly away. She wouldn’t lie to him about this, about his father, not after him having being away so long.

Blaine felt something bubble inside him and he suddenly shot off like the startled deer, sprinting past Santana and in the direction of the village. He heard her shout behind him, calling him back, but he ignored her, running until he reached the village.

Blaine went straight to the centre of village, where the tribe stood listening to the Chief. Families hung onto the returned warriors, their husbands and brothers and sons. One man stood by the chief, one of the returned warriors, and Blaine recognised him as Santana’s father. But despite the praise this man was receiving, Blaine had only eyes for the Chief. He watched in awe at this man covered in animal skins, of the pride in his voice as he talked of his warriors and how they fought. Blaine wished he had been able to go and fight with these men, but it had been his job to look after the village, a noble position, given to him by the Chief who Blaine proudly calls his father.

“My son!”  the chief said, holding out an arm to Blaine and pulling him into a tight hug when he was close enough. “Seeing you gives me great joy. Come, we have much to talk about.”

“Wingapo, father,” Blaine smiled, holding tight to his father, before letting his father lead him away from the villagers celebrating over the announced feast in honour of the bravery of the warriors. They went into one of the larger tents in the village, away from the noise.

“What is it you want to talk to me about, father?” Blaine asked once they were inside. The chieftain turned to look at his son and smiled.

“Kocoum and I have spoken long and we believe it is the wish of the spirit’s that you should marry Kocoum’s daughter, Santana,” his father told him.

“Marry… Santana?” Blaine echoed.

“I told Kocoum it would make my heart soar.”

“But… she’s so…” Blaine trailed off, unable to voice exactly what he meant to his father.

“My son, Santana will make a good wife. She is loyal and skilled and will bear you many children. And you will keep her safe from harm, as a good husband,” his father told him. Blaine turned away, peering out of the tent to where Santana stood proudly with her father.

“Father, I think spirits are pointing be down another path,” Blaine began.

“But this is the right path,” his father insisted. He sighed and smiled kindly at his son.

“Blaine, come with me. You are the son of the chief. It is time to take your place among our people.” His father led him out of the tent, away from the feast preparations and to the river. “Even the wild mountain stream must someday join the big river. As the river cuts his path, though the river’s proud and strong, he will choose the smoothest course. That’s why rivers live so long, they’re steady as the steady beating drum.”

He turned to look at his son, a fond look on his face, and Blaine wished he couldn’t disappoint him. The chief produced clay beads, tied together with string. “Your mother wore this for our wedding,” he explained, reaching for his son’s hand. He tied it around his wrist, though Blaine knew it had originally decorated his mother’s neck. “I hope you wear this with pride at yours. I see so much of your mother’s spirit in you.”

***

Blaine stayed by the river while his father returned to his people. He could feel nature and the spirits here as he watched the water flow.

“He wants me to be steady, like the river,” he said to himself and his brow furrowed. “But it’s not steady at all. You can’t step in the same river twice, the water’s always changing.”

Blaine sighed and closed his eyes, letting the wind talk to him, telling what his course was. He followed it, getting up and following Mother Nature and the spirits of the winds and the forests and letting them guide him, giving him console. Strange clouds… he heard them whisper

“Where do I go?” he whispered to the winds as the pulled him through the forest. “What is my path?”

Strange clouds…

Blaine knew his path wasn’t with Santana, she was not where the winds were leading him.

“Lead me on my path,” his whispered, following until the lead him to a tall willow tree. He knew he had to climb without having been told, it was what the spirits wanted of him. But all he could hear them say was strange clouds…

Blaine stood at the top of the willow tree, staring out at the waters not too far off. What do you see? he felt the winds ask him as they rustled through the leaves, speaking their own language.

“Clouds,” he whispered back, “Strange clouds.” They were huge and white but looked nothing like the clouds normally looked and were moving differently than they usually did.

Blaine dropped from the tree, falling stealthy to the ground, like a cat, and immediately ran towards the waters. He wanted to see these clouds closer, though he knew that seemed impossible. Meeko and Pavarotti were followed alongside him, easily matching his pace. He found what he was looking for, a long rock, jutting out over the steep bank to the river, and crept up quietly to the edge, peering out when he saw it.

It was a boat, much like his tribe’s, only it was wider, darker and differently built to their own. Four men were just leaping out as it hit the river bank, staring around them at the forests. Their skin was so pale, so different to any of Blaine’s own tribe or to any of the others he had met before and although Blaine couldn’t stop staring at any of them, his eyes kept flicking back to the one in the front. All memory of the strange clouds lost because of this man.

He was wearing some strange material, and Blaine wondered if where they came from they could capture the reflective power of the river. The surface of it seemed to let the light bounce off it in odd angles. He was tall, maybe taller than Blaine, and held himself as though he were the leader of a tribe. His hair was dark, but not as dark as Blaine’s, more like the bark of the trees when the sun shines on them, lighting each crevice, just like this man’s hair was now, even in the mist off the river. But he face held all of Blaine’s attention. His skin was paler than the other men, like the white snow that fell in the colder days. Blaine wanted to see his own skin against this stranger’s to see the differences in them. His eyes were the most unusual colour, like the sky, and they were opened wide to his surroundings. His lips were red and parted in awe and Blaine had the sudden urge to meet him, to talk with him despite his strangeness in the world.

Blaine watched them, as they pulled in an even larger boat that almost reached the tops of the trees. They worked together, like a tribe, helping and assisting except for one, the palest one. This one pulled apart from the others, climbing skilfully up the tree that grew near Blaine’s perch. Blaine rushed quietly backwards, hiding behind the leaves as the man came into view.

He couldn’t help but stare at him, though he could only see his back. His beautiful and unusual hair, strong neck and shoulders hidden beneath that strange, magical material. And then his strong legs, good for hunting, Blaine thought as he studied him, memorising him. His head turned as he looked around from his high spot and Blaine saw his face, beautiful and perfect in every way.

Blaine saw a movement out of the corner of his eye as Meeko darted forward. He reached out, trying to catch the racoon’s tail but he wasn’t quick enough and he slipped through his fingers. Pavarotti tried in vain to hold him back but the force he was using to keep in one place sent the little yellow bird flying back into the bushes and Meeko straight into the stranger’s legs. The stranger spun, pulling out a knife and Blaine was suddenly terrified of this man and what he would do to Meeko.

But when saw the creature between his feet his features softened and he put his knife into his boot, bending down to look at the racoon.

And then he spoke. And Blaine could do nothing but stare because the voice was so beautiful, melodic, and more beautiful than the voices of the spirits or the winds. Blaine didn’t understand his words, the sounds from his mouths but he pulled something out as he talked to Meeko, broke it in half and offered it to him. Meeko, of course, took it without hesitation.

Food! It was food!

The man offered another one, and Meeko took it gladly, waving back at Blaine and Pavarotti before stuffing it into his cheeks. The man looked towards them, and suddenly Blaine was scared again. He was beginning to get up and Blaine melted back against the rock behind him, heart beating louder than his tribe’s drums could hope for. He was coming closer and closer, pale hand reaching out to grasp the leaves that hid Blaine from view.

Pavarotti shot forward, buzzing and twittering around this strange man, pulling his attention away from the bush and – thankfully – Blaine too.

Someone down below, back at the boats called out, and the pale man, after a few words to the little songbird, turned and descended back down to the river. Blaine let out a small hmph sound in amusement as Pavarotti flew back to him. But still, Blaine couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his arms as he climbed down the tree.