Natural Selection

Back to RPStories.

The story relates to Kestrel, and is an ongoing project, describing RP events as they happen, and as Kes sees them. The stories may be used IC within reason. Text copyrighted to Auburn, plagiarists will be keelhauled and fed to rabid weasels.

The girl huntress meets her in the Plaguelands, and from the very beginning, it goes as badly as she feared. She has had this talk with creatures of all species – the one where they hear the first ten words out of her mouth and conclude she is simple, a dog or a child to be ordered or educated. She has grown endlessly weary of it: of correcting or even disdaining them for it. So, she ignores it and simply tells her would-be commander why she refused to kill the leech prince for her.

“Your plan was bad. Would have died. Stupidly.”

Too blunt: the huntress hears only defiance, and turns it to anger. She wonders what the youngling sees, as she plays her role as the indignant commander. A coward? A fool? A cantankerous old wolf, rebelling for no reason except that she can? She keeps her peace as best she can, waits for the girl huntress to finish laying down her judgement. “You will march with us,” the little one tells her finally, “and you will fight for something besides your own survival. We are kal'dorei, we know better than that.” As she speaks, her eyes shine with the sincere conviction of one truly believing she is teaching a hard but desperately needed lesson.

She could laugh, at her motives being so completely mistaken. How long has she served the Circle, because being needed was all that kept her alive? Waiting to die, Sarama had called it, when they talked of other things. Any fight would do – except a useless one. “Almae,” she says – and when the leaving huntress stops as if on command, she finally draws herself up as if she were a person, and explains. About wolves, about dogs, about trust and leaders. But she can’t find the right words, and she can see the girl doesn’t understand. So, she says something different instead. She tells the girl huntress what she sees in her – the lost and lonely young thing, trying to be brave but terrified that asking for guidance will make her seem weak, unfit to lead whatever tatters remain of her lost elder’s pack.

True things. Or true enough to make the girl’s hackles go down, and show her they are not speaking in anger, or as enemies.

After that, they talk. It’s hard, thinking in words rather than now, but the girl huntress reminds her of someone. Another young thing, beautiful and damaged but not yet ruined by her mistakes. She remembers how narrow that divide is. It hurts, just by existing.

They don’t agree, but for a little while, they listen. It’s a start.