The Balance
The sky was beginning to brighten from a long and dangerous night at last. Within a few more hours the sun would climb the horizon and chase the bitter cold away, with the clawing shadows following soon after. It was the ideal time to graze, long before the rest of the herd stirred from the prairie, allowing him to feast on the juiciest of leaves in isolation; for an aldgoat his size, he would need all the food he could get before the scorching heat and defiant rivals emerged to challenge him. Partially hidden in the Thanalan morning fog, he grazed alone, biding his time and building his strength to protect his herd… but he was too old to mate, yet too stubborn to step down. His sheer size alone would crush his brides if he even attempted to mount them– but he still had fire in his veins and fury in his heart; he would not wander off into the twilight and lay down like some wounded lamb, like his father before him. If these upstarts wanted his women, they would have to fight him for them!
Lowering his head he pushed his snout along the ground, kicking up a handful of dust and dirt with every snort. Hidden beneath the brown and crunchy shrubs was his prize– newly grown leaves, small, but dark green and succulent. He pinched the plant between his aging teeth and yanked it free from the ground with a single jerk of his massive head; he even gave it a good shake to loosen the dirt clinging to the tender roots. Victory was his, and he savored every morsel. His ears flicked at the songs of the morning birds stirring from their nests, but… something was wrong. All around him was silent and still. It was too dark to see clearly, especially with his aging eyes, but even he knew something was suspicious. He dropped what was left of the shrub and breathed deep, swelling his chest before lifting his head and letting out a guttural warning!
“RU-U-U-U-U-U-UUUGHHHH!!!!”
No birds leapt from the morning fog and took off into the sky. No birds fled from his roar. He could hear them, perhaps, but they were not here. Angrily he lifted a massive hoof and slammed it into the dirt; if wolves were among him, then let them come– none of these mongrels would dare challenge his ornate horns, and if they did, they would be crushed underhoof like many fools before them. His chest swelled again but he held it this time, waiting to frighten whatever was lurking in the dark as soon as it revealed itself.
THWIP!
A sharp sting struck his side, just behind his shoulder! Agony startled him enough to charge blindly into the dark, trampling the bushes and even smashing his head against a weak tree! He ran, faster and harder, his white breath rushing from his snout with every labored gasp! The aldgoat ran until he could no longer hear the false birds, until he could no longer feel the stinging in his side, and until he could no longer run. Exhausted and panicked, his heart pounded in his head when he collapsed into the dust. His side was wet and numb, his legs burned but with every moment they grew colder, and he no longer had the strength to rise back up to rejoin his herd. Then he heard the birds again, followed by footsteps and strange voices. He struggled to rise but all he could do was flail, and only for a moment. He grew dizzy– sleepy. With all his might he tried to force his eyes open, but it just wasn’t enough. His body grew cold and the sounds of his home grew distant, but he was just too tired to care anymore. Ultimately he decided to close his eyes and rest… just until he regained his strength.
A Miqo’te emerged from the darkness, then another, then a half dozen more. The clowder gathered around the great beast, watching his breath slowing with every inhale; they chirped amongst each other, until eventually the pack leader stepped forward with a carving knife. One thrust through the weakly beating heart and it was over. The others sat beside her once she started to gut the beast, pushing both hands into the belly all the way up to her elbows.
“Rra’zikt.” She declared, pulling out her bloodied arms to reveal the pumpkin-sized liver. She handed it over to one of the huntresses as the others waited eagerly. “Ba’ross.” She reached in again and pulled out the kidneys. One by one the huntresses received their rewards for hunting such an old and dangerous beast, all except for the youngest.
“Thoh? Tirrish?” Timidly asked the girl of just ten summers. She still had her baby cheeks and her tail hadn’t quite grown all the way out just yet, but this was her first trial with the huntress caste and– in accordance to the rules– not only earned her place amongst them, but deserved a piece of the kill by right; she was the one who fired the arrow, after all. “Nval’karrsh?”
“Va.” Answered the chief huntress. She reached in one last time and pulled out the most succulent part of the aldgoat of all– aside from the meat, of course. Dripping in her hands was the heart, midnight red and understandably the bloodiest part of the beast. “Na’krreskt. Thah duum.”
“Tha duum.” Repeated the rest of the clowder. Amazed and in shock, the child sheepishly accepted the weighty gift and bit down, provoking the others into cheering and dancing. As per the custom, she then handed it over, allowing everyone to take a bite from the heart to take the aldgoat’s strength. They propped open the mouth to let the spirit return to their goddess, so that he may be reborn as a calf in the following year.
The Zu Tribe is just one cog in the machine to keep the balance of nature in Thanalan. If they butchered every aldgoat they could find, they would quickly run out of food, and the wolves would become hungry enough to try their luck hunting their children. Yet if they killed all the wolves, the prey animals would breed out of control, and strip the land of plants– which would also lead to mass starvation. The Miqo’te tribes knew this, the tenacious Amalj’aa tribes knew this, even the greedy Qiqirn clans would sooner raid the Immortal Flames supplies than test their luck hunting anything larger than fish. All of Thanalan knew how important keeping the balance was– all but Ul’dah; the halfmen and their tents of stone and sand would respect the customs of the natives, sooner or later.
The huntresses finished stripping the beast down to the bones, carrying the pieces back to their tribe one trip at a time. Today breakfast is secured, but within a few more hours the huntresses would have to go out and hunt another aging bull again.
Such is the way of the Zu. Such is the will of Azeyma.
