Iigwahrr Lahrh
A linguistic analysis of aslari and its ramifications concerning aslaran
societal mores

by Jarephus Maldine, Associate of Linguistic Studies, New Celest
Avechary, 14 years after the coming of Estarra

It is sometimes said that the Providence of Elohora's Revealing Light shines
brightest in the most unexpected places and situations. When a young aquamancer
set out to explore the Basin and found his way into the northern grasslands,
east of the Serenwilde and west of Avechna's Peak, his indiscretion put him at
odds with one of the aslaran tribes that hunt in those plains, very nearly
leading to his demise from his unintended trespass. Luck not only saved him
but led him to a discovery of little interest to him, but of great value to the
studies of both linguistics and sociology. Several pages from the journal of an
older aslaran woman, or "murrr" in the aslari tongue, came into this lad's
possession, and found its way thence to my hand. An analysis of these pages
and the story they tell, from the days before the coming of the Taint, reveals
much about the aslari tongue as well as cultural mores of the aslaran people.

Translating this document was a considerable undertaking, primarily because the
glyphs used by the aslaran of the time are not identical to those used by other
races. Further analysis revealed a clear path of evolutionary relationship
with the glyphs used in several other languages, with influences from the
loboshigaru, krokani, and tae'dae glyph sets in particular, along with an
interesting set of aspects unique to the aslari tongue. An analysis of these
relationships will be scribed later in the year, along with a separate analysis
of the probable phonetics of the language, to be collaboratively published by
myself and Daneera Maldine. The scope of this paper is limited to a lexical
analysis of the language revealed in this text sample, and its relation to
sociological patterns within the aslaran culture.

A precise date cannot be determined for the events of this journal, for the
original author, Nazeeni, the "kurgrahzyah" (huntleader) of her tribe, did not
date her writings with years. This is perhaps understandable since the
circumstances of her writing were quite trying times, and in any case,
universal conventions for the numbering of years had not yet been agreed upon
outside the enlightened halls of Celest. It is known that these events precede
the coming of the Taint, but perhaps not by more than a generation or two.

The most striking attribute of the aslari tongue, lexically speaking, is how
individual words almost invariably represent multiple concepts which might
seem, at first blush, to be unrelated, but which reveal in some cases a
relationship on a more abstract, even spiritual, level. For example, consider
the word "ayvahn". In most circumstances this word would refer to a river;
however, in other contexts, the same word, without adornment of prefix or
suffix, could serve to describe something as originating in a distant place.
This may not seem very confusing, since even the noble merian tongue has words
with multiple meanings; however, when almost every word has such combinations
of meanings, even serving in different parts of speech, reading an aslari
sentence can sometimes be challenging, as there are many combinations of
possible meanings to consider.

The aslaran seem to suffer no difficulty of ambiguity in spite of this, and if
you ask one about this trait of their language, they seem incapable of
understanding the question; to them, apparently, a river is precisely a thing
which originates in a distant place, and therefore, it's self-evident the same
word should serve unambiguously for either meaning. They are one meaning to
them, and thus one word. Why the word "ayvahn" does not also mean "wet", or
"flowing", however, is unclear. The one aslaran to whom I spoke on the subject
insisted that while a river may be wet, it is not the same as wetness, but it is
the same as a distant origin, but she was unable to explain, or perhaps I was
only unable to understand, on what level of metaphysical symbology this trait
of verisimilitude might dwell.

There is some evidence that in the past, the aslari tongue was even more marked
by this abstractive trait, but that influence from other races has introduced to
the tongue certain structural elements, such as the use of definite and
indefinite articles, pronouns, somewhat standard word ordering, and even some
distinction between nouns and verbs. This is more pronounced in the speech of
modern aslaran than it was in the writing of the time of this piece, as will
become evident as we begin our analysis of the text. Naturally, I have taken
the liberty of providing a transliteration into the glyphs of the common
tongue, since some words remain untranslated, and in some cases my own notes on
the text and its ramifications include references to the original text. My
notes are indicated parenthetically herein.

Let us begin with the events of 4 Shanthin, year unknown.

The takings from the kill three days ago grew lean, so I gathered seven of our
strongest and set out northeast, for Esahrr had seen where bark on some of the
younger saplings had been stripped there, suggesting the gazelles were out
trying to put on weight before the winter winds came. From the small patch of
youngling trees [Note that the phrase for youngling trees, "tii klahrh",
might also refer to a young forest, or a short-lived act of reaching towards
the sky; the correct choice of phrase here depends on knowledge of gazelle
behavior in autumn in southern climes.] we could see Castle Djarrakh
looming near, but we paid it little heed. The one-eyes had made few threats
and fewer attacks against the pride, as their leader Nkovajj was a weak and
complacent chieftain, easily cowed by the strength of any one of the tribes,
let alone all four tribes. Thus, we hunted without concern, swiftly but
without haste, and took a youngling gazelle almost immediately. With glad
hearts we pressed deeper into the short growths when a familiar rumbling from
the ssplehv [The meaning of this word is unclear in this context; usually it
refers to warmth, fire, or heat.] caused us to swivel our ears in alarm.

Our blades leapt to our paws as we saw the one-eyes approaching, in number
twice ours and with an unexpected determination. For while we expected no
attack this day, we were as always ready for one. Claw of Lightning's Strike
[The literal word here is Zayahfliiz, apparently a compound word whose
translation is unclear. "zayah" means claw, and "zayahf" means blade, but the
two words are often used interchangeably; "fliiz" refers to lightning, while
"liiz" is of indeterminate meaning. Later uses of the word suggest that it is
a ceremonial name for a specific blade borne by the huntleader, or
"kurgrahzyah", of Nazeeni's tribe. Each of the four tribes had three such
blades, but the names of most of these blades are unknown to us, and the
meanings of the names only inferred. As the names are indicated with the
underline symbol that is the equivalent, in the aslari glyphs of the time, to
capitalization, it is assumed this is a proper noun, a name for this sacred
sword.] sang for blood and as always, the krokani flesh parted before it.
Who could doubt that they were meant to be our prey, for none have sharper
claws than we, and none have flesh so readily rent by a honed edge as they.

While my hunters circled around them, keeping them clustered together, I
advanced on the largest, and probably stupidest, of them. It seemed likely he
led them; writing his fate with his blood on the grasses would send the others
scurrying. His clumsy but weighty pike reached for me, keeping me at bay, or
so he thought. My tail curled behind and my legs gathered beneath me, my
whiskers twisting to follow his movements before he made them, and when the
moment was right, I leaped at him, twisting in mid-air. Though Zayahfliiz
sliced through the air like lightning's very strike at his neck and my other
blade reached for his gut, I felt my own claws extend slightly, and a snarl
rose to my throat, as my hindclaws gripped the soft flesh of his back and my
forepaws wrapped around his head. I was still in mid-air when Zayahfliiz
tasted his throat's rich blood, and by the time I had extricated my claws from
him and landed on all fours behind him, his body was beginning to slump to the
ground, sliding off my right-paw blade impaled through his innards.

All this was swift as the blink of one enormous eyelid. The thick-witted
leader was still beginning to say something as his body slumped wetly to the
ground, his voice severed as neatly as his [A word here is unreadable.].
The snarl I made was almost a howl, for I could feel the first stirrings in my
body of the heat that would come with the cold winds, not so strong yet to
catch the attention of the males around me, but enough to make their eyes shine
a bit more brightly. I watched the one-eyes, prepared for them to retreat, and
with a subtle twitch of my whiskers I indicated to the other hunters that they
should let the blundering fools take their leave. We kill when we must with no
hesitation, but we kill only as much as we must, as my uncle had taught me, and
his aunt had taught him.

[The word rendered here as "heat" caused considerable difficulty in
translation. In fact, in my first reading, I had not even realized by this
point that Nazeeni was female. In speaking with several aslaran I found them
all strangely reluctant to speak much of this subject, but I was able to
eventually piece together the facts of the matter, finding them very revealing
concerning aslaran sociology. One month in each year, an aslaran female (or
"murrr") experiences a period of fertility I have translated as "the heat".
During this time (and sometimes just before it), her sense of smell is more
keen than usual, and her mind turns towards amorous matters much more easily.
She gives off a scent which is described by aslaran males as being very strong,
catching their attention at distance and turning their thoughts to amorous
matters as well. While the effect of this scent is potent, it is not so strong
that they lose control over themselves. An aslaran female in heat will not mate
with just any male, nor will any male pursue her, though some of less will might
be tempted. Generally, though, mating only happens between aslaran that have
bonded (in the present day, aslaran often wed as do other races, but in the
past, the bonding was less formalized, though no less binding). Pair bonding
between a male and female is common, but by no means exclusive. In addition to
pairs of the same gender, aslaran often form small units of three, four, or more
who each treat all of the others as spouses, and other combinations are
possible. This is especially common for tribal leaders, who often take a
harem; however, even here, the aslaran are diverse, since some tribe leaders
take only one spouse and this is accepted by the tribe in a very matter-of-fact
way. There is evidence to suggest this only scratches the surface of aslaran
mating customs, and further study of this rich subject and its relation to
other aslaran social structures is clearly warranted.]

But the rest of the one-eye pack did not break and run as we expected. If
anything, they seemed to draw determination, though not courage, from the death
of their kinsman. Their pikes rose and moved almost in unison, forming a
barrier that made it difficult for my hunters to bring their blades to bear
against them. Such cooperative tactics had been seen occasionally before, but
never for very long, and never very effectively. As I closed ranks with my
hunters, my mind went quiet and I contemplated this. For a long moment we
stood at a standstill, their pikes defensively keeping us at distance. I broke
the silence: "Why do you invite your deaths at our blades? For long has Nkovajj
respected the four tribes, and limited our fights by uneasy accord, lest his
people be rent. Surely your hunting grounds in the swamps and near the river
have not gone fallow?"

Several of them looked to one another, as if conferring without speech, before
one spoke. "Nkovajj is dead," he said with a flat, toneless voice. "Three
months past. Kev'nach now leads." Without thinking I drew in a sharp breath.
I had met Kev'nach once. Nkovajj was meeting with my mother and the chieftains
of the other three tribes to discuss terms of our conflict for the following
year, and as is the one-eye way, one of the several candidates to succeed
Nkovajj accompanied him on each such gathering, and this time it was Kev'nach.
As my brother was occupied in training his warriors, I and some of my hunters
served to escort them. The hostility in his eye was unmistakable, and though
my mother, relatively untrained in the ways of claw and fang, did not notice
it, I plainly could see him watching me appraisingly, studying my movements,
looking for weaknesses, probing for secrets. If he now led the one-eyes, the
accords would not last. Whether his unblinking study should prove him a better
tactician than his predecessor could be told only by time, though it was hard to
imagine he could prove worse. It is one of the greatest failings of the
one-eyes: a single leader serves all four leadership roles, so one who is
talented in one of them may prove ineffectual in the others, weakening their
pack.

[The four leadership positions Nazeeni refers to are as follows. Nominally
the highest ranked member is the chieftain ("rahzyah"); his (or her, since
females may be leaders as readily as males) duties include inspiring his tribe,
general leadership, getting heirs, and most importantly, all external matters
such as negotiations and trade. His firstborn child usually becomes the new
chieftain. The secondborn typically becomes the huntleader ("kurgrahzyah"),
and handles day-to-day matters within the tribe, including but not limited to
leading actual hunts. The thirdborn will become warleader ("zayahgrahzyah"),
training and leading warriors in battle; when there is no thirdborn, sometimes
a single person will serve as both huntleader and warleader, since the
distinction between hunt and battle is less sharp than one might expect. The
fourth leadership position, the shaman ("vhroahgrahzyah"), is not inherited;
instead, a shaman chooses a successor based on talent or merit and trains him
from childhood. At the time of this writing, the first three leaders of each
tribe bore one of the named blades, while the shaman generally used a sickle or
dagger.]

Kev'nach would be a poor diplomat and likely a poor huntleader, allowing his
people to starve from neglect, but he would be a warleader, that much was
certain. My heart sank. While I relish a claw in their flesh as much as
anyone, these last years have seen the four tribes grow stronger, freed from
the drain of constant warfare and the attendant wounds and deaths. Our numbers
have grown so much that there has been talk amongst the chieftains that one of
the tribes might even leave the Moors and seek new hunting grounds, since word
has reached us that more of the Basin has been made healthy with life by the
efforts of the communes, and even with the krokani limiting their conflicts
with us, our growth might exceed the growth of prey. And the freedom from
constant battle leaves one time for other matters. Even as huntleader, I have
been able to while away many hours with Rhaskii, whose smell is as apple trees
when the apples have not yet become ripe. Now if we would fight, would there
be so much time to spend with my pursheh? [This word's translation is
uncertain, though it seems to be an endearment of some sort.]

Though most of my hunters did not know who Kev'nach was, let alone what to
expect from him, they smelled the shift in my mood, and were distracted by it.
The one-eyes did not waste the opportunity. With a slow but sudden movement,
they changed the weaving of their pikes from a defensive one to one of attack,
and then they were upon us. They fought with skill we had not seen in their
kind since before I was a kit, particularly in how they coordinated their
movements with one another, so each man's pike both attacked his foe and
defended the man next to him. They also fought with a determination that I had
not seen in a krokani eye in ten seasons, not since the unfortunate incident
involving some playful kits of the striped tribe caused a flurry of fighting.

Blood was spilled and bones shattered. Even with the best cures our shaman
could provide, we were hard-pressed. Taken by surprise not by the attack but
by the tactics and determination of the one-eyes, my hunters let their claws
outreach their discipline, seeking the quick kill and the taste of blood rather
than the unhurried certainty of a contemplative hunt, and this cost us. By the
time Zayahfliiz left my paw as the last of the one-eyes fell, four of us had
died, and three more had injuries too grievous to cure on the field of battle.
With the sweat of carnage in my nose, the pain of these losses did not strike
me, yet. Instead, my mind turned to concern -- were more krokani armies
marching on others? Perhaps even on the young and old of the tribe, to strike
before defenses could be mustered? So much haste compelled me that the gazelle
was left with the other fallen as I led my hunters swiftly back to our camp.

And indeed, when we arrived we found an attack was just being routed, with many
dead on both sides. We leaped into the fray and before long I stood beside my
brother and mother in the defense. Zayahflahrhrr [Claw of Winter Wind]
rose and fell in my brother's paw as if it had its own thirst, and even my
mother managed to drain the ichor from a krokani eye with Zayahfeekrrah
[Claw of Poison Fang]. I was proud of our tribe, for years of reduced
conflict had not slowed their claws or dulled their fangs, and though many
one-eyes had come to fight with new skills, in the end, half of them lie dead
and the other half fell into retreat.

Now I set down my quill to take up the grievous task of burning the dead, after
which I will go with my mother and brother, and many of the tribe, to meet with
the other tribes. Ciagwyl, chieftain of the tawny tribe, will host this
gathering in her grand tent to the west, and leaders from all four tribes will
convene to discuss these attacks, what I had learned of their cause, and what
should be done about them.

The following entry is dated 5 Shanthin.

It has been years since I had even seen Ciagwyl's tent, though Rhaskii had
ofttimes spoken of showing me the decadence by which Ciagwyl lived with her
many consorts. And indeed, such opulence took me by surprise. One expects
such grandiose displays from the striped tribe, surely. But the tawny tribe,
like the spotted tribe, has always taken a middle ground between the showy
ruffles of our striped kin, and my own tribe's understated elegance. One could
not help but note, though, that amongst Ciagwyl's consorts, the dark-furred one
from our tribe was perhaps least in Ciagwyl's company, while the striped one
was hardly away from his place at her feet. No doubt his influence was felt in
the finery of the silks and decorations there.

The discussion was longer and more contentious than I expected. Simultaneous
attacks on all four tribes of the pride had caused many deaths, particularly
amongst the spotted tribe. Many ideas were proposed, debated, contemplated,
and rejected. It was a revelation to me to see the four chieftains discuss.
Ofttimes I had seen my mother take pains to establish her dominance even when
there was no real challenge to it, and wondered why, since the whole tribe
followed her without question. Why should she demand the lahrhrr
[Translation is unclear.] of us so often when we had already bared our
necks to her? I had taken it as a quirk of hers, but then, I had known no
other chieftain. Now I saw all four chieftains acting in much the same way,
reasserting their dominance over their own tribes (and especially their
huntleaders and warleaders), and also vying for dominance over one another,
this last conflict fruitless since none of them could truly challenge another.
I considered how my older brother, who had not yet taken the tribe's leadership
from my mother but would do soon, had started to show similar behavior even as
a child, and wondered: is this something born in the blood of one who would be
chieftain, or is it learned at his mother's side?

In the end, the debate centered on one contentious question. Apparently, in
previous gatherings, the idea of having one or two of the tribes leave the
Moors and seek new homes had been discussed much more seriously than anyone
knew. To my surprise, my own dark-furred tribe was strongly considering
leaving northwards, towards the now-fertile grasslands between the Serenwilde
Forest and Avechna's Peak, a thought which filled me with the most mixed of
feelings. A new hunting ground, healed of the ravages of the Soulless by the
careful ministrations of the covens of the Serenwilde and Ackleberry communes,
rich with prey and largely free of competing predators, seemed a most agreeable
adventure and a delightful new life. And I had always appreciated the idea of
more chilly climes where snow was sometimes seen in the winter. But my claws
clattered at the idea of leaving behind my pursheh, never again to have his
scent fill my nose. Though it was a year before we were to consider whether we
would wed, already the chilling air filled my mind with thoughts of his teeth in
my nape, and I could not bear the idea of leaving him behind, as the tawny tribe
had no intention of leaving. Still, the choice was not mine; I would do
whatever the tribe needed of me, even if it meant a life of solitude and a
wooden heart.

The striped tribe was also considering a departure, heading east towards the
Gloriana commune, but beyond that, they would not say where they intended to
live. Surely not amongst the elfen, many of whom did not even eat meat. It
was plain the Gloriana was just a passageway to somewhere else, but where, they
refused even to hint at. There were grasslands beyond Gloriana where bobcats
dwelled, but surely they did not intend to compete for prey with our wordless
brothers?

The idea of hastening these departures was brought up and strongly advanced by
my mother and by the chieftain of the striped tribe. They even went so far as
to suggest that the whole pride might take its leave of the Moors, arguing that
while we had hunted there for more generations than any could count, there were
now fertile lands in many other places, thanks to the work of the communes, and
perhaps we could hunt in peace and flourish without our rivalry with the
one-eyes. Ciagwyl was adamantly against this idea, likening it to an act of
cowardice and surrender. She refused to consider simply handing the Moors over
to the krokani, and many from all of the tribes nodded and purred at her
stirring words. Instead she implored us all to stay and fight as one pride,
slaying the krokani or driving them from the Moors, tearing down their ugly
castle, and no longer having to share the Moors with anyone. Some who had lost
family in yesterday's fighting nodded at this, but some others were as quick to
flinch from it, their ears flattening.

There was an amusing moment where a young girl, scarcely more than a kit, from
the tawny tribe, simply spoke up even though it was not her place, nor her
turn. Her words I do not precisely recall, but they were very brief, almost as
concise as the tae'dae speak, yet full of meaning. She suggested with complete
earnest that if we could set aside our long conflict with the krokani and
instead cooperate with them, sharing meat since we were better at the hunt, in
trade for the crafts at which they excelled, both the pride and their pack
might benefit from it. This idea was met with surprise for a moment; then most
ears swiveled away from the girl, but a few, more than one would expect, perked
up and turned towards her. Only for a moment, though, before Ciagwyl snarled a
word of silence and the girl, apparently cowed, meekly lowered her head. And
the idea was set aside and not discussed again, though I saw in the girl's
deferential stance a tiny hint of determination. She would not confront her
mother again (for I later learned this was Rashaala, fourth child of Ciagwyl,
last of her first litter) this day, but she was not persuaded against her idea,
either. I thought what a pity she had not found her way from her mother's loins
a bit earlier, for though her ideas were strange, her will was clearly that of a
leader.

We prowled around the point of contention as though we stalked a rhinoceros,
harrying it from time to time and then darting away, inconclusively. Perhaps
we would have gone on that way all night, had we not been interrupted. Some
two dozen of the the spotted tribe came barging into the clearing at the totem
pole before Ciagwyl's tent, howling a call to arms. A moment of uncertainty
took the room, as the words on Ciagwyl's lips about rising to the fight lay
dying in the air. This silence lasted a long, long moment, as if the whole
pride were paralyzed. Even when the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of pikes broke
the silence, no one moved, as if each waited for another to spring first. I
saw a look of fear on Ciagwyl's face, ironic given that she had moments before
been entreating us all to rise to the fight. Zayahfliiz found its way into my
paw and without another thought I loped out of the tent. At first, I found
myself alone as I went to join those of the spotted tribe, but to my relief,
several of my hunters came behind me, and then warriors and hunters of all the
tribes behind them.

The army that awaited us was clearly no match for our numbers, but well more
than a match for the score of spotted aslaran they hunted. We circled around
our spotted brethren, closing ranks before them, and battle was engaged.
During some of the more abstruse debates of the gathering, I had spent some of
my time considering the interlocking pike tactic of the one-eyes and means of
countering it. The trick of it was the rhythm, I had concluded, and now was
the time to test this idea. I closed with a pair of krokani whose pikes
clattered towards me both in offense and in defense, and without a
counterstrike or even a parry I allowed one of the pikes to hit me soundly in
the gut, though I had taken a stance to maintain my balance and minimize the
harm of this blow. Then as the pikes were moving back for another blow, I
turned sideways, extending Zayahfliiz before me, and stepped between them. As
they turned to follow, their pikes bumped slightly against one another -- not
enough to break their movement, but enough to break its rhythm. In my left
paw, Zayahfliiz slid between the ribs of the larger of the one-eyes, while in
my right paw, behind my back, my other blade clattered ineffectually against
the pike of my other foe. Ineffectually so it seemed, but while it tasted no
blood, it occupied the krokani as he adjusted his pike to defend against it,
rather than relying on his mate's pike to protect him. This delay was long
enough for me to spin around and with a deft hack, sever the tendons at the
back of his leg, Zayahfliiz seeming to spark as it cut into the bone. The
one-eye fell heavily and I did not waste the time to finish him, as more
pressing threats needed my attention.

I rallied my hunters, a twitch of my whiskers telling them to observe my
technique as I repeated it on another pair, and within minutes, this counter
had spread to all the warriors and hunters, and the krokani were falling back
more quickly than they could expect. Dullwits that they were, they could not
discover a new tactic to counter ours, and they broke into a retreat. But as I
watched them go, my heart felt wooden, for I knew Kev'nach would devise a
counter and our next battle would be at a disadvantage again.

My heart grew only more heavy as we heard the terrible news from those of the
spotted tribe that stood before us, several of them wounded. They were, apart
from those who had been at the gathering, all that remained of their tribe.
The krokani had fallen upon them in great numbers and shown no mercy, killing
cubs, kits, and elders without reservation, seeking to slay them entirely.
Their leaders and their best warriors had gone to the gathering, but those left
behind mustered the best defense they could; before long, that best defense was
the defense of swift retreat. Unexpectedly, though, the one-eyes did not
remain behind to loot the tents or desecrate the corpses of the fallen [It
is known that the krokani are one of those few races that eat the flesh of even
those foes that can speak and bear the spark of one of the Elder Gods, as the
aslaran bear the spark of Aslarn; krokani even have been known to eat the flesh
of their own fallen comrades.] but instead moved into swift pursuit,
hounding the retreating spotted aslaran and killing a few more. Their shaman
was lost to a thrown rock, and her apprentice was taken soon after. The
chieftain of the spotted tribe heard of the death of the shaman and wept like a
cub, for he had taken no wife but her.

As the shaman of the other tribes set to healing the wounded from these
battles, the debate began again, even more contentiously than before. My
mother insisted I speak of the tactic that had routed the krokani, but as I
explained it, I was forced to admit it won us only a temporary reprieve, and
everything suggested that when they returned with the sun, they would be in
number great and without so readily exploited a weakness.

The gathering did not so much conclude as simply run out. Weary and feeling
naught more would be accomplished, the striped chieftain took her people and
withdrew, to discuss their options amongst themselves, she said. My mother
soon followed suit. As we left, I stared over my shoulder through the crowd
until I saw Rhaskii, standing in a position of deference not far from Ciagwyl
-- a position of some honor for one so low-born as him. My heart filled with
such longing and regret that I thought I might howl right then, but I bit my
lip and let the faint taste of blood remind me of purpose, and with unhurried
swiftness, walked with my tribe into the night.

We gathered a scant distance away atop a low hillock, my brother setting his
warriors in a circle around us facing outward to prepare for an ambush from any
direction, yet with their ears turned to listen to the discussion inside the
circle. Swiftly my mother and elder brother spoke of their former discussions
and intent to leave the Moors. There was some regret from those who wished to
stay and avenge the fallen, carving justice from the flesh of the one-eyes and
offering their corpses to the fire for Shanth's glory and the blessing of
Aslarn. But more of us relished the idea of fresh, unspoiled hunting grounds,
with much prey and no predators to keep them in check, and free of the endless
battles with the krokani. Better to spend our efforts on our own health than
on the slaughter of one-eyes.

I kept my own voice silent, for how could I speak without memories of Rhaskii
flooding my nose? I felt sure that I would never see him again, and somewhere
within me, I thought, if I could but just kiss him once before I left, perhaps
my heart would not become wood, perhaps I could survive. I saw a few
sympathetic smiles from others as my face betrayed the fears that I dared not
speak, though even those smiles were tinged with recriminations -- how many
times had people told me it was unwise to choose one from another tribe and so
low-born at that? As if I could tell my heart what it should choose; the first
whiff of his heady scent and I was his, whether it be wise or no.

Now I write these pages by the moonlight of only Mother Moon [Interestingly,
the aslaran have no word for "light", only for specific kinds of light, which
explains the duplicative nature of this phrase], as we dare no fire that
might alert the krokani to our position. I should be sleeping, for we are
resolved to set forth by the first sunlight on our northern exodus [in
aslaran, "iigwahrr lahrh", from which I took the title of this work]. A
handful of hunters have gone back to our camp to gather what can be salvaged,
but with a gentle wordless gesture, my mother kept me behind. Perhaps it is
best. If I were to leave the tribe now, the challenge of not rushing to
Rhaskii for at least one more kiss, to have him leave his scent on me marking
me as his, might be too great. And if I went to him, the challenge of
returning would be even greater. Out of the tribe comes strength and purpose,
love and duty, honor and beauty, renewal and hope. The tribe gives to us
ourselves, and we return the gift. I will always belong to him but I belonged
to the tribe first and so will I remain, wooden heart and all.

The following entry is dated 6 Shanthin.

We gathered once more before the end, and at my mother's urging, I spent some
few minutes with him. His smell lingers on my fur and I cannot bear the
thought of grooming for to lose it, for I shall never feel his touch again.

Ciagwyl made one last attempt to persuade us and the striped tribe to remain
and fight, but her heart wasn't in it, for it was plain we intended to take our
leave. As ever the striped tribe remained coy about their destination, only
saying they would strike out south to the mountains and then follow them east
towards Gloriana, and speaking no more beyond that. The spotted tribe, in
numbers less than half what they had been two days prior, made the surprising
decision to stay and fight, and not only that, but to remain in the vanguard of
the fight. And as the chieftains met one last time, my mother told me, simply,
"Go to him. You have little time, so do not waste it. Come back if you can;
if you cannot, I will miss you." And she turned and walked off giving me no
time to respond.

Well, naturally I stood slack-jawed for a moment before I set to arguing with
myself. I fancy that in the end I went to him not because I was convinced it
was the right thing to do, but because my mother so rarely gave a direct order,
and how could I disobey? I found him, of all things, practicing with a blade,
and had to hold back laughter, so clumsy was he with it. Laughter that
immediately turned sour as death, as I realized he meant to fight, though he
had never shown any interest in the hunt or the fight or indeed aught save his
artistry, and had had no training with claw or fang. At sight of me he froze,
and I saw in the twitching of his whiskers the same debate I had just had with
myself. I did not give him time to conclude differently than had I; he would
be ruled by me and that was that. Without hesitation I strode to him and took
him into my arms, rubbing my cheek against his to mark him with my scent, and
whatever resolve he had to resist me melted.

We wasted little time talking. With the sounds of preparation, for war or for
pilgrimage, all around us, we clung to each other, the agony of our impending
separation making our hurried, passionate mating all that much more
bittersweet. It was everything I had dreamed of and more. Even now, the
trickle of blood slowly tickles the fur on my back, ungroomed, from where his
teeth took purchase in my nape, and I cannot stop reaching up and touching the
raw flesh with a shiver of pleasure at the memory. But in the end, he would
not come with me, and I would not stay. We parted with tears, swiftly but not
hurriedly, each of us full of the other's scent. I will never love again, but
if this be all the love I will ever experience, at least I have had that much.
I will whisper that to my wooden heart over and over, until it believes me.

As the tribe loped towards the north, I could not help but look back over my
shoulder. I fancied that once I saw him amongst the massed rran [Strangely,
the aslaran word for themselves is not aslaran, though they do use that term,
but rran, or sometimes srran; I am unable to determine if these words convey
subtle distinctions of meaning, or are simply synonyms.] who stood ready
for the army of krokani I could see marching towards them in lockstep. So few
seemed their number compared to the one-eyes... yet, so sharp their claws.
Before the forces met, we topped the rise and they fell from my sight, yet I
dreamed I heard the clash of blades and pikes, and the wet thud of falling
krokani, the smell of blood and victory, and the bitter taste of death. His
smell will never leave me. Will the pain turn to wood?