World of Warcraft®

“Helloooooooooooooooo, Thunder Bluff!”

Kickfeather burst through the doorway of the Ishnu Por Ah lodge, a great big smile on her face, her arms wide open and two maces held firmly in her hands. She wasn’t stupid. Friends they might be, but had she been the one victim to someone charging through the door in surprise, she knew she might very well have bashed their head in without hesitation. She was prepared to ward off any such attempts on her own noggin.

But there was nothing. Silence. An empty room with no one to greet her.

“Well. THAT’S disappointing.” She had fully expected to be fending off a sword or a fireball. At the very least a hug.

Looking about, she noticed things had changed very little since the day she had left. A few things had been moved around to fill some of the space where Red Earth and she used to store their belongings when they lived here too. But otherwise, it was relatively unchanged. She kicked a nearby crate and watched as the dust on it floated into the air. The place wasn’t in total disuse. She could see the signs that someone had come and gone recently. And so she figured if she sat around and waited someone would eventually show. Then she could greet them with a tackle.

Traipsing over to her old corner of the lodge, Kickfeather tossed her rucksack onto one of Otter’s barrels of ale taking up space there. The flying dust enveloped her and she sneezed. Waving her hands in an attempt to clear the air, she looked around the lodge once more, frowning disappointedly.

“This just won’t do.”

“Sister Kickfeather? Is there a problem?”

A tall Shu’halo warrior entered the lodge, followed by a few others. They were Kickfeather’s companions, members of the Swifthorn tribe who had come with her to fulfill their obligations of trade and treaty with Thunder Bluff. She had told them to come meet her at the lodge after they had finished delivering all the fine hides and bone work they had brought as gifts for Chief Baine and the city’s Elders.

“This! This just isn’t right. It won’t do!” she insisted. “There’s gonna be some changes around here.”

There was a deep conviction in her voice. The sort that punched guts if they got in her way.

A few weeks earlier. . . .

With the help of a few eager young ones, Kickfeather and her band of little braves strung up the last of the hippogyph carcasses, binding the end of its tether securely to the trunk of the tree from which it hung. Eight beasts in all were suspended from the heavy branches of the tree, the result of a good final hunt in Feralas. Kickfeather would now help the village skinners strip and debone them, and she would do so while regaling her young helpers with a tale of her adventures, their payment for helping her do the heavy lifting. They loved hearing her tell them of the world because not only was it exotic compared to village life, but she did it with such exuberance that at times she would garner a click of her mother's tongue to remind her to concentrate on her work.

This was Kickfeather playing her part in the rhythm of the Swifthorn tribe's village life. If not helping her mother and the others skin hides, or entertaining and inspiring the young, she might be hunting, or watching the herd of kodo they kept. Or maybe patrolling, keeping an eye out for Grimtotem war parties. Or if she was lucky, heading out on a war party. Or sparring with other tribe warriors to keep up their skills, or gambling and boastfully telling stories with them. It was a good life.

Fel bells, she was so bored!

It had been wonderful when she'd first returned to the tribe along with her sister, Red Earth, after spending the last several years among the Horde. There seemed like so much to do. Amidst the happiness and celebration of their return, there was so much she gave to the tribe who had spent those years living in isolation while the world around them was embattled. She showed off and taught them skills she'd acquired warring strange armies and monstrous creatures. She gifted them with odd objects the likes of which many of them had never seen. Weapons made of odd metals, unique trophies from defeated enemies. Told them tales of adventures in strange lands and about different worlds and cultures. All these things she could share with them while putting every effort into helping the tribe rebuild and prepare for the eventual migration away from their mountain refuge that had kept them safe during a trying time.

But now that time of glory had passed. Though she still shared a special honor among her tribe, after several moons and a full summer season with them, she had been eased back into the regular life of a tribesman. And it bored her. She wasn't looking to be any sort of glorified hero that was worshipped by those around her. Though it certainly felt nice for the length of time it did happen. And she had absolutely no dislike towards the tribe and her family. She would do anything for them. Go to the ends of the world for them and in some sense she already had. But she had slowly come to the conclusion that village life was not for her.