rogue_3

'That's a rockhorn,' Typhon explains. 'We'll see them in the flesh when we go further north.'

'I dreamed I was an eyeless underground creature, digging beneath the frozen soil,' another anxious researcher asks. 'Is that a bad omen?'

'Just the shadow covering your eyes. It's not an uncommon dream in Sami.'

The southerners always make such a fuss about the dreams Sami bestows them. Some want to avoid the nightmares, yet reject the food and rituals of the Sami, trusting only in their own sleeping medicine. But Typhon does not get angry at them. Who gets angry at a young foal that's just stepped into the world? She walks back to the young researcher and slings her great bow on her back.

'What about you?' he asks. 'Do you dream about things from long ago?'

'Of course.'

After some hesitation, the young researcher reaches into his bag.

'You should have this back. Maybe someone with your experience doesn't need an outsider worrying about you, but if any of us needs to be well-rested and safe from nightmares, it's you.

He is holding a dreamcatcher that Typhon gave the team. More and more nightmares are wound around its threads. A helpless foal returning to the dark icefield, seeing the bones rolling out of the nest. Ill fates of all kinds hide in dreams. There, the shadow is the only hunter, the manifestation of fear.

'I don't need it,' she answers.

The old tree had been snapped in half by the time Santalla arrived.

The last time she came, taking Magallan away with her, she knew the building underneath the old tree would be crushed by the snow, and the tree would lose its last support.

But she did not expect it to have become so fragile.

The wind and snow rage. Soon, the branches will be covered up, disappearing completely from sight.

Perhaps it has truly died, this time.

It is said that, a long time ago, when this place was still a forest, it was the most visible dead tree in the woods.

No one knows how it died.

Then the snowstorm came, and the forest retreated, but a dead clan tree cannot move.

Thus, one clan split into two. One group migrated to the forest, while the other stayed behind to watch over the old tree.

Santalla chose to stay with the old tree.

She was the tribe's shaman, born to serve the tree.

Few know the reason for her loyalty.

Her life was bestowed to her by the old tree.

It seems strange for the dead to grant life to the living.

But that was the truth.

She was a sickly infant who should have been abandoned.

But the old tree's branches kept her behind.

Coincidence though it may be, the Sami know that everything in nature has meaning. Therefore, they raised the child like any other, and the Snowpriest treated her like a daughter. And Santalla proved worthy.

She had a natural gift: dominion over wind and snow. Without Santalla, her clan would not have been able to stay behind with the tree.

She did all she could to serve her clan tree. Life in the snow was hard but bearable to one whose faith was strong.

Until Ursus slaughtered her people.

Whether by chance or by fate, she avoided death, becoming the only survivor of the massacre.

But death came again to the tree she served.

It was not a passing in the physical realm, but of the cognitive realm.

She found the group that had migrated, and told them of the tragedy.

The leader of the clan expressed his regrets, and invited Santalla to rejoin them.

But seeing the new clan tree rising from the earth, and that the clansmen had begun to forget the old tree—

She chose self-exile.

Even though her clansmen had already performed the ceremony of parting for the old tree, and the mystic instruction to replant the clan tree—

Santalla still felt like the tribe abandoned the old tree.

The new generation does not know what the old tree is. In a few decades, the tribe that once venerated it will forget it entirely.

And then, it will fade into myth, becoming a mere symbol.

Santalla refuses to accept it.

She will leave the old tree's mark behind, even if she becomes an outcast.

She is the old tree's servant.

Perhaps the tree knew, which is why it truly died in the physical sense when Santalla visited it again.

It collapsed in the snow, and snow soon pounced on its wilted branches like a pack of hungry wolves.

And along with it, the memories, the pain, and the sorrow of the past.

For some reason, Santalla feels peace when facing this moment at last.

Hatred for the Ursus.

Bewilderment at her kin.

Disappointment at their leader.

Regret towards herself.

Even her yearning for the old tree.

All buried in the snow, with the body of the dead.

If the old tree wants her to seek a new life—

Then so be it.

Santalla leaves, taking nothing with her.

Something blocks Santalla's way as she journeys from the icefields to the Rhodes Island safe house.

It is an old tree/a human/a great crow.

It is simply there, as though it always has been.

The past is the present is the future.

Therefore, they have stayed/are staying/will stay here.

The power of words penetrates time and space, waiting for Santalla to offer tribute.

Waiting for 'language.'

The snow around them sinks, while the thorns climbing up form a perfect circle around the two.

Santalla does not stop. She walks up to the old tree.

She extends her arms and embraces it.

Until now, she has never touched the old tree like this, whether out of respect, pride, or some other reason.

This old tree is not yet wilted. Its bark is hard and its branches lush.

Old but healthy, it awaits words of blessing from its junior.

'Thank you.'

This is her tribute to the old tree.

The tree gladly accepts.

Then, she walks up to the human dressed as a Snowpriest.

The human holds a staff in the left hand, and the right hand is open with its palm facing upwards, as though demanding something.

Santalla grabs the hand and shakes it.

Memories flash across Santalla's eyes as she feels the touch on her skin.

The first time she made contact with Rhodes Island.

The first time she shook hands with Amiya.

The first time she approved of the Doctor.

Her first reconciliation with an Ursus.

'Thank you.'

Santalla holds the human's hand in hers, and bows.

This is her tribute to the human.

The human gladly accepts.

Finally, she walks up to the great crow.

All three of its eyes are on her, but their gaze goes past Santalla and into the distance.

After thinking for an instant, Santalla takes out a jar from her belt, and pours out a candy onto her palm.

Once, she thought honey was the sweetest thing in the world, until she encountered this.

She extends her hand towards its beak, the candy still on it. It snaps up the candy and swallows it.

'Thank you.'

This is her tribute to the crow.

The crow gladly accepts.

When Santalla looks up again, everything has disappeared.

She stands before the Rhodes Island safe house, feeling like she has walked a long way.

What awaits her is warmth, a full belly, and the kindness of her friends.

The reward she earned from fate.

Santalla gladly accepts.

Valarqvin follows the Cyclops procession that has entered the icefields.