The Recluse

Dee's first stop was, of course, The Sorghum Peaks. When the dun doe mentioned having a son who was a Cape stormcaller that lived on a mountain she had intended to journey to anyway, Dee knew it was fate.

Of course, just because it was meant to be didn't mean it would be easy. Harsh winds sang a song of violence and hardship as they whistled through the cutting bladegrass. This mountain was where all the water on the island was born; forged in ice and not yet softened by its time in the world. Bitter cold streams cut down the mountainside in untouched channels that stung at her throat when she drank despite the clarity of the water. 

Also, the mountain range was LARGE.

There was plenty of room for a recluse to recuse himself from his duties to a herd and the world and simply wander without ever meeting another fawnling again. As, evidently, this stag had.

According to his mother, his name was Djalu. He heard the song of the wind and wove it into great melodies with his magic. He had used his mighty talents in the war, but abhored the violence. To him, magic was for beauty, not for conflict. His fellow Cape magickers labeled him a deserter, and he found himself seeking solitude and the voice which did not judge him.

This made perfect sense to Dee. If she could find the Moon on a mountain, finding the Wind there was surely a matter of simple persistence. 

Her muscles ached from the journey up the mountainside and sweat dripped down her sides though the sun was long gone. The paths here were not paths; no one traveled this way in many years. They were simply assemblages of rocks and dry-weather scrub, living as they wished without thought to the convenience of fawnlings passing through. 

It was a week before the randomly strewn rocks gave way to a proper path, a path cultivated by someone who came this way and culled back rocks and plants that would impede their footfalls. A gardener who bent the world to their vision. It was a small bending, in the scheme of things, but Dee was beginning to despair at the thought of finding any soul at all and thus to her it was a large victory.

She began calling Djalu's name as she walked, turning it into a song. It was a lovely name, full of open vowels and rolling, resonating consonants. It was nearly daybreak when a silhouette broke the grey of impending dawn in front of her.

"Why do you keep saying my name," a gravelly voice demanded. The voice belonged to a scruffy body and both seemed in poor condition. Poorly kept, perhaps.

"Because I'm looking for you. Your mother wishes to see you again before the wind takes her soul."

The stag scowled. "If the wind takes her soul then it will bring it here to me. Why should I make the journey? Those living down below have made it clear how they feel about me."

Dee blinked. "Can a soul on the wind tell you how proud she is of your prowess? Can it embrace you one last time, offer a warm back to lean on in the cold winter night? Or would it feel disappointment that you turned your back on your brothers and sisters and were too much a coward to face them again?"

The stag reared back his head, radiating fury. Dee was so tiny standing before him, but she had the weight of his mother's will behind her.

He sighed, finally, head falling. "Living up here gives one a sense of perspective... and a lot of time to ruminate on the nature of regret. Show me the way, little traveler."