Colourless Rabbits Down the Rainbow Looking-Hole |Sarpedon><0ubliz|

The forest was quiet, as it normally was at this hour. And then suddenly, it wasn't. Except that, in reality, it still was. The confusion was caused by the use of a certain substance, unknown to those calling themselves civilized. Those they called savages had used it for many aeons, and referred to it as the Guiding Light, which was ironic, considering that the plant grew only in perfect darkness. Normally only an elder would be permitted to partake of the Guiding Light, but this was a special case. In this case, the one using it had been cast out, ordered to fulfill a destiny that none could tell him of, and forbidden from returning until he had found his fate. And after a month of idle wandering toward the east, where the 'civilized' ones dwelt, despoiling each others' homes, he had given up, and now sought guidance from this plant.

The man's name was Fhalden oer'Hyald which, when translated into the speech of the 'civil' roughly meant Calm, Mauling Bear. It was a strange, and oxymoronic title, but very fitting for the man, for he was rather stoic, and an immovable fighter. Never once did he cry out, in fear, pain, or anger. Indeed, at birth, he was told, he did not cry. At first, many had been concerned, but he soon showed them that he was perfectly healthy, and simply felt no need to be so loud. And since then he had remained quiet, though volume had nothing to do with his ferocity, or his abilities when it came to anything considered 'wild'. He commanded the respect of everyone he met, and it had been a shock when he had been cast out, such a man was valuable, especially with winter coming and food becoming scarcer. But now he would learn why he was turned away from his home.

He sat up in his mind, though his body remained on the ground. In his mental state, he saw himself dressed in furs, the world around him covered in rime. He could hear dogs, big, hunting dogs, the ones the 'civil' people used. They were dangerous, but he did not fear them. The barks of dogs became the shouts of men, and then reverted, and he laughed, there would be mindless, useless thugs in his destiny, and it sounded like a great many of them. He heard a scream, and looked around. Now there was blood on the rime, and the screams came from the ground nearby. A strange, black and white bear was screaming, it had blood on it, though not as much as was on the warrior. He was coated in it, he noticed, though he didn't mind. He had to find this bear, kill the dogs that bay'd it, and it would lead him to his fate?

With a shrug, he looked around, the bear kept screaming, he watched another bear approach it, and the screaming got louder. That other bear was him. Stained deep crimson from the battle, it failed to calm this other bear, and he realized that he would not be lead to his fate. He would find it, and he would drag it kicking and screaming into the light. He laughed, and the world faded from around him, turning into a swirling pattern of stars that he recognized only vaguely. It would be at least two days before he found the bear, he thought, and the hunter wondered if it really was a bear he was looking for. It was a strange one, and he did not know bears to scream. He supposed he would find out, though, now that he was prepared to rip destiny into place.

When the stars finally faded and he opened his eyes again, Fhalden found himself where he had left himself, but most of a day had passed. He sat up and looked down at himself, ensuring everything was where it should be. His tattoos had not moved, his limbs still worked, and he was hungry. That worked for him. He pulled out an apple he had plucked from a tree on his way here, and chewed on it while he thought. His free hand idly built a fire while he was distracted, doing all but setting the flames, and when he came too, he did that as well, having finished his snack. "Guess I'll stay here for the night, see if I can't find fate in the morning..." he muttered to himself, stretching out on the ground. He was not bothered by it, despite the fact that he was wearing on a pair of buckskin pants and a satchel made of horse hide. He closed his eyes and began to rest, not sleeping, but no longer awake. His tattooed chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly as he rested, and an air of calm descended about the tiny glade he lay in, waiting for the sun to rise once more...