World of Warcraft®

“If da boot fit, wear it.”

One of the first lessons Gath’jin remembered being taught.

He heard the words in time to the bass troll drum as his tribe celebrated the end of the harvest season and the beginning of the year’s quiet time. With no moon in the sky, the words whispered through the wood’s wind and he chuckled.

Like others in his tribe did and would do this evening, Gath had stepped out of the village a short distance to pay his respects to the newly dead. Off the trail, in a semblance of the wild woods that his pa’s pa would both appreciate and scoff at, Gath stamped down the brush to create a small clearing and planted his totem.

Squatting before it, eye to eye so to speak, Gath’jin brushed some wood chips off and tied a couple of Lucy’s and Squawk’s feathers to it. The rustling of the underbrush heralded the arrival of his two birds. He did not turn from his inspection of the totem.

“If da boot fit, wear it.”
It was an old Troll proverb. Many a shaman had said these wise word to their tribe or supplicant. Its message clear and somber: Make use of that what is there.

“If dat boot choo find fit, den wear it. If da fruit rettee and ripe and choo hungry, den pick it un eat it. If da clearin’ be da right size for choor tribe, den set up camp in it.” Both his pa and his papa made sure Gath understood these words. “If da boot fit, wear it. Make utes of dat wat is dare.” Sensible words. Easy to learn, easy to understand.

This Squawk was the first macaw not gifted to him by his papa. The old troll had noted and nurtured Gath’s fascination with the winged ones. He had gifted Gath with his first Squawk when he was only eight years old; had helped him train the bird to do its one and only trick (“Not all Squawks be bright”; another life lesson from Papa): to pick seeds out of the boy’s shaking palm. The old troll had been there and helped the boy through his first experience with close death; had helped him bury his first Squawk; and had gifted him with every Squawk after the first. Until this one.

Papa was a good teacher.

He cocked his head to inspect the laughing mouth and dancing feet on the 2 foot tall totem. It was a very simple totem; Gath was not skilled in this art. A thick stick of wood with a rough mouth and 2 feet carved into it. A couple of bird feathers, tied with strands of his bright red hair to dangle down its sides. This would do.

“If da boot fit, wear it.” Like every troll proverb, this one had layers of meaning.
“For if da boot doon nah fit, den toss it. Only be wearin’ a boot dat fit; den choo be happy.” This be what his pa and papa tried hard to teach him. Sounds simple enough, but hard in practice, Gath had found.

Papa had seen that Gath had more love for Squawk than for his training raptor and that neither Gath nor his still unnamed raptor were happy. He and Gath had argued. Repeatedly. For Gath’s friends all had or desired raptors.

Finally Papa had run Gath out of the village. “Practice wid a raptor, aye. But boy, even da rocks can tell choo ain’t happy. Dese raptors, aye, day mean fightehs, dem. But look at dare mudders. Chee planz her eggs in da sant and leafs dem ta fent for demselfs. And, jess, dat makes dem mean, does. If day livfe.

“But if choo wan da meanest, ders a birt for choo. Go fine a strider, a mudder wid a clush. Choo study her. Den choo come back, tell me wah choo seen, choo. Den joo try ta tell me dat dese raptors be the one for choo. I doon wanna see yoo ‘roun here til den.”

Papa had thrown a pack at him and shooed him away from the village. So he snuck north into Ashenvale and then into Darkshore - elfen territory, constantly on vigil for patrols. For months always on edge, he searched for, tracked down, and studied striders, searching for new clutches and the mothers who guarded them. Study he did, see he did. Fierce was the clutchmother in defending her nestlings.

She did not look like much; all legs and neck, unable to fly. But.

She ran off, sometimes killed, the fierce cats and big bears of these woods who be liking the taste of fresh egg laying so ready right there on the ground. And not just one cat or one bear, no, he seen a clutchmother fend off a cat and her kits. All at one time. Alone. Successfully.

But his heart was truly won, the summer night he watched a clutchmother hop-dance a greeting to her new hatchlings. Around the nest she hopped, bobbing and weaving her head and long neck to some silent drums only she could hear, wings popping out for exclamation, heels kicking up, tossing dirt into the air. He was mesmerized, his heart stolen. She must be his.

Weeks later, Gath returned to his village in need of repair. And Gath had learned to doubt that Papa was a good teacher.

Gath’jin held his palm out to Lucy, who lightning quick slashed through the skin, just drawing blood. He let a little blood pool in his palm then drew his hand down one side of the totem, painting a red stripe down the stick, and then wrapped a rough bandage around his hand.

“If da boot fit, wear it.”
“Der be also a sinister warnin’ in dem worts, boy. If da boot fit, wear it. If it be on dat udder fellas foot, well den.
“Choo might have ta do sometin abou’ dat, ya see.”

That was Papa’s lesson when Gath finally healed up from the beating he took from that clutchmother. Gath returned home humiliated from his adventure - scratched, clawed, pecked, beaten, and bloodied. But with no bird.

Papa asked him, “Tell me whachoo learnt.” But Gath wouldn’t talk about it. So Papa let him mope around the village for a week, then took him for a hunt, just the two of them.

See da birt. See da worm.
Do ya see da boot, boy?
See da cat. See da birt. See da eggs eaten. See da eggs not eaten, leff wid no mudder birt.
Do ya see da boot, boy?
See da plant. See da boar.
Do ya see da boot, boy?
See da scorpion. See da boar. See da boar left to die and rot uneaten.
Do ya see da boot, boy?

And yes, he saw the boot; he learned.
He learned to care that in his hunts he minimize “the eggs not eaten, leff wid no mudder birt.”
He learned that there would be times when that couldn’t be helped, that the boot would fit at someone else’s expense, and he learned to accept that.
He learned too that just because the boot fit, did not mean he had to wear it. That there was a choice in those words.

And he also learn that some people reveled in the dark choice, that whether they needed the boot or not, if it fit, they would wear it.

And at a young age, he chose: these would not be HIS people, not the ones he would admit into the tribe he built in his heart.

So he told Papa of his adventures hunting down clutchmothers: what he learned, what he saw, her dance.

And Papa, clearly seeing that Gath had found the pet of his heart, strategized with Gath’jin on how to capture a clutchmother:

what price he might have to pay to do it and how to minimize the cost.

Gath’jin walked back into the village months later, with pride, Lucy by his side.
Papa had been proud.

Papa was a good teacher.

Gath rose and cleared a little more room all around the totem. It was about time to head back to the bonfire in the village. He only had one last thing to do here – remember Papa’s best story.

“If da boot fit, wear it.”

Many cheers ago, da village doon da way, well a goblin came by dem, selling his wares, see. As choo know, day half many foolish trolls dare and de goblin, he know dis. Dat tribe? Day his . . . bess . . . customers. (Papa would snort here.)
So won tay he comes to da villij wit a wagon piled high with boxes of bright ret chews. Ret was out of elfin fashion at dat time or sometin’, so he had a lot of dem.
“Dese chews be all da rage ‘round Kalimdor”, he toll dem, “everybutty be askin’ me for dem. But choo my bess customers so I come to joo first ta see if you wann dem.”

Now, da trolls know day doon need no chews roun’ da villij. Day juss get dusty ‘nd torn ‘nd waste a money, dem. So day not lookin’ berry intresstid, ta goblin tinks.

“Weeeell, I guess I be sellin’ dese to da trolls up da way. Day be learnin’ dantsin’ and fatshun and society. So day will know dat dese be de best dancin’ chews ever, dem,” the goblin said and he began packing his boxes back onto his wagon.

He packed tslow, den tslower cuz he coot see da trolls, day be looking back and fort ta each udder, some leanin’ ovah ta whisper to dare neighbur. “Dese were all da rage in da dancin’ salons of Tsilvehmoon Tsity juss lass week . . . “ the goblin said before one of dem trolls rush up and intrupted him, eager to get a pair.

Lucky for dem (another snort) he had plenty of tsizes so day all had boots dat fit. Da goblin left happy and rich, da trolls remained, happy and tchod. To celebrate der purchases, da trolls planned a campfire dance dat very night and invited our tribe and da udders aroun’ ta come see dem dance in der fine fancy new ret dantz chews.
(Usually about dis point Papa would begin trying not ta laugh.)
Now dese chews had 6 inch heels (Papa would always lean over at dis point in da story, lift his right foot, and wit his han’ measure how far 6 inches extend below his heel), so you can hardly imajin der dancing.

(At this point Papa would stand up and stumble dance ‘round da fire, swingin’ his arms, his hips, tossing his feet out for balance, and everyone would be roarin’ wiff laffter imagining such a sight as a whole villij stumble dancin’ in ret chews. We kids woult then join him in the “dance” as well as any udder light hearted folks until we all fell doon gasping with laughter.)

To the beat of the village drums, Gath’jin began the boot dance around the totem, flailing his arms and hips out as though he were hobbled, kicking his legs out as though unbalanced.

Lucy joined in, clutch-dancing with Gath and the totem, her head bobbing and weaving on her long neck, popping her wings out in exclamation, kicking dust up in celebration.

And Squawk flitted in, out, and around the three.

Four dancers: Gath’jin, Lucy, Squawk, Papa’s totem.

“If da boot fit, wear it.”

It was too soon for Gath to laugh with Papa’s spirit, although he was sure Papa was laughing now.
Perhaps next year.
When he was out of breath, Gath’jin stopped, nodded once to Papa’s spirit, then turned and headed back to the village bonfire and celebration.