Henigren Frostifoot

Each year, the Gathering brings together each of the families of each of the bands of each of the tribes of each of the peoples of the Glade, the Dell, and the Aspens. Such a grand event it has become that it now provides the sole platform for significant announcements, such as weddings, engagements, and other such life-affecting decisions. So it was for my family two Gatherings back, when my father was to stand before the crowded commons to announce my decision and his blessings upon it. To say I was nervous was akin to declaring that winter in the Aspens was cool and slightly breezy.
I recall traveling there in the bed of our family wagon, bundled against the early spring within quilts, surrounded for comfort and for warmth by my six brothers and five sisters. We played games like sticks and stones, twirling hoops, and Eye-Spy as we wound along the back lanes, watchful for the werebeasts that filled our bedtime stories with elements of danger and intrigue. The entire trip, though, remained firmly defined beneath the umbrella of what my father would say. Four days travel, I recall, and enough food for the first leg of the trip filled the wagon and saddlebags to the brim. We’d learned many years prior that no family ever left without enough food to make it back, supplied by whichever tribe hosted the event. Spirits were high for the trip, and among all the children in the wagon mine felt highest.
“Heggin, now, when we get there you mind to keep your tongue,” my father counseled. “I’ll make the announcement for ya, and afterward you can stand along the line for folk to greet and ask questions.”
I thumbed the catgut of my handmade bow, checking the resin and the oil upon it. Maintenance was the key, my father had said. If I were to live up to Flytter’s ideal, I would do well to keep my bow well tooled.
“Ya know about this bow?” I asked the youngest of my siblings as we crouched in the back of that wagon. “Why, this bow is the bow Flytter used to pierce the heart of that heartless sorcerer as he worked to raise the dead of our ancestors to fight against us.” I twanged the bow, causing a tiny ping beneath our quilts. “And when he made it back to warn the town of the knight’s approach, it was the bow he used to face off against the death knight until the final shot into the visor.”
Of course my tales were stark exaggerations of the real story of the sorcerer and the death knight that nearly erased our clan from the annals of existence. I kept the basic premise accurate, though, to the delight of the older younger siblings. The youngest would learn when the time was right the true story.
I leaned forward, my voice taking on the sinister seriousness of my second uncle Genrick as he told his tales. “When the time comes, each of us will return to the Dell to defend it against those hordes. The sorcerer lives yet as a Lich in the middle of Lake Skrickett in the high tower. We will each do as we can. For me, I will return with my bow. May the Spirit of the Hawk guide and defend each of us as He does the Arkati on their travels.” Oohs and nods were the responses around me.
Such was the talk-about as we traveled in that wagon to the Gathering. When we arrived, the tents were already standing and the pints were flowing. Such a grand party it was, I felt hardly able to control my tongue, but control it I did. The finest of ladies danced with the dandiest of gents. My heart felt a pang for one young lass there, though I’d not the chance to get her name before the announcement. Though I never got her name, when I see that face again, I’ll then let no power stop me. Until then, my heart is reserved for her.
“Allow me to introduce,” my father began, swinging his eighth pint about in a gesture of excessive grandiosity as he stood on the pickle barrel, “my eldest son, Henigren Frostyfoot, descendant of Flytter himself, soon to travel beyond the holdings to the Human lands. Upon his departure, may the Hawk guide and hunt for him, with my blessings!” At that the throngs sent up a cheer and a hearty Hoorah. My heart leapt from my chest for pride. I’ve not since seen the Dell, for that night was my goodbye, nor have I seen that Halfling Angel that stole my heart without a word, but I know, deep inside, I will again see them both.