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Journal of a Zearok

Novel By: Feywolf

Nira, a young Zearok (Dreamcatcher), tells of her journey from her city home to the misery of war. Written in diary form she recounts events that have been long forgotten by even ancient legends and myths. View table of contents...



Submitted:Mar 24, 2011    Reads: 42    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   

Entry 1

​ My name is Nira. I am a Zearok. And I am considered to be young by my people. Around fifty years or so. I will not bother converting it into human years. Well, I really don't know what to write. My mother bound this book for me to write down my experiences in. She says that it will do good in the times to come. Something is happening. The Kin are growing restless and the Elders are doing what they can to calm us.

​ Mother and father whisper together, late at night. I'm supposed to be asleep but sometimes I'll lay there and listen to them. I don't understand most of what they say but what I do understand is that something big is happening. Something between the human race and the races of the Kin. What it is, I do not know.

Entry 2

​ We left our home in the city of Creson, early this morning. Before dawn father came into my room to wake me. He hurried me downstairs. He said that what I needed was already packed away including this book. When I asked where we were going he answered, 'To the forests of Jastel'. We were one family among many fleeing from the human city to the safty of the forests.

​ The forests of Jastel are ancient. Said to have been old when the first being stepped forth from the sheltering bossom of our Mother Renoar. Their trees grow wide, wider then they are tall. The wood is soft and easily carved into. The peoples of Jastel, Fey and sprites mostly, have perfected their techniques or wood work and have crafted great wooden cities from the trees. Because the forest dwellers offer their protection to the soft wooded trees they are allowed to make their homes within them. It is said that any who does not seek permission and carves into a tree then vengeful spirits will leap forth and rend you limb from limb. This of course seems silly but many still believe it.

​ We go there now to Lar. The central city of Jastel. Here the Council has promised us shelter and protection. Things are starting to get worse in the major cities. Father says that because humans are more inclined towards violence that there may be a war. He fell silent after that and refused to say more. Even after I asked him if he and mother would have to go and fight. I hope not. I do not want to be seperated from them ever.

Entry 3

​ We have reached the outer fringes of the forests. Now we must wait for a guide to lead us through to Lar. Only the forest dewellers know the right paths to take and the paths to avoid. Outsiders who try to pass through usually get lost in the shadows and are never found. Their bones eventually seeping into the soil. That's why you need a guide to lead you through. Thankfully though the Elders have already spoken to the Council. We were lucky they took us in. Usually the forest dwellers wish to have nothing to do with the outside world. Not that they can be blamed for it.

​ Sprites, especially, have reason to be wary. They are hunted humans and some of the kin for their delicate wings. Fine powder is ground from the wings and used to make jewelry. And also to make the blush and eye shadow of the finer lady's shimmer. If not for their wings then they are stuffed and put onto display like deer heads.

​ Wolves are howling tonight. I can not help but wonder if any of them are Kerof. Mother says they are not, that these are ordinary wolves that are singing to the waning moon. I still can not help but think that Kerof are among them. The moon is unusually bright; meaning that something will happen. The moon is only this bright when she is full but tonight she is not. Yet still she sheds her pale light upon the land. Enough to see by, enough to cast shadows in which danger can stealth. It is only superstition but it is almost always true.

​ Today- do you hear that? That keening wail. The wolves have gone silent. Everything, save for that dreadful wail, has gone silent. There will be death tonight.


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