BIRTH OF A FLAME

by Ted R. Blasingame

(DF 2 Summer)

Hot summer breezes had blown through the valley all day. Those elves who occasionally moved around in the daylight had felt the hot breath upon them strengthen as the sun made its way across the sky.

By late afternoon, the wind cooled as thick rain clouds gathered in the blue sky. Not a drop fell, though, as life in the valley went on. Later in the day, the air grew heavy as the dark clouds blended in with the evening sky.

In the midst of the storm winds, a new life was soon to join the small band of wolf-riding elves. Elven children were rare, but this one was even more special, for this child would one day lead the Timber Folk as chief.

Knowing the time of birth was near, Freshwind had recently moved into a secondary chamber of the Father Tree. It was traditional that all the Timber Folk were born inside the shaped hollows of the magnificent tree, and chief Nightstep’s child would be no different.

Dawnwatch served as mid-wife as the time of the expected birth drew near. Young Duskdew had often expressed her interest in becoming a mid-wife some day, so she had been invited to attend as a helper and took suggestions and pointers on the preparations. She would look on when the time came for the birth. Silverleaf knelt beside her expectant sister to add her support and love. Outside, the entire tribe waited, as the storm clouds threatened them with thunder.

Grassy looked up through the trees at the heavy clouds and raised his eyebrows. He flinched when a blue-white bolt of skyfire zigzagged across the sky with a sharp crackle.

Silverhair stood next to him and noticed the reaction with a chuckle. Everyone was nervous with anticipation. Grassy was not the only one who had started at the flash; Silverhair had also jumped.

**What do you think it will be?** he sent to Grassy, that being the only way he chose to communicate. **Boy or girl?**

The youth grinned at the older elf and replied, “I will bet you my silver fox fur that it is a girl!  Our chiefs have all been male for the past four generations, so it’s about time a girl arrived!”

Silverhair chuckled and replied. **A girl, eh?  Very well, then. Your silver fox fur against my carved dreamberry mug.**

“Accepted. I have always liked your wood carvings, Silverhair. It will be a pleasure winning it from you.”

Redlace and Mooncrest stood next to the speaker’s stone in the center of the clearing near the Father Tree, talking with the newest member of the Timber Folk, the stranger named Longknife. It had only been an eight-of-nights ago since he and Redlace had discovered one another during an incident with a human at the far end of the valley. Now fully recovered, Longknife chatted idly with his two companions. Mooncrest had made a comment about the fact that both Longknife and Redlace wore green headbands to keep their hair from their eyes.

Skyfire suddenly flashed and thunder pounded their ears with a deafening Boom that send many elves scrambling for cover. At an exclamation from Ferret, all eyes followed her pointing. Through a break in the treetops overhead, they could see a lone tree high up on the edge of the valley rim that was bathed in a fiery glow as flames engulfed the splintered wood.

Softwill glanced back toward the Father Tree. “I hope all this wind and noise does not mess up anything!” she said, more to herself than to anyone else. The young girl’s great-mother smiled at her.

“No cub, it will not hurt the birth,” Wavesong assured her. “Nightstep will see to that.”  Satisfied with the answer, Softwill smiled and resumed playing tug with a scrap of cloth that had been latched upon by a wolf pup with which she had recently bonded.

Within moments of the skyfire blast, rain began to fall. It came down hard, sending everyone outside scurrying. Longknife, having been alone most of his life, ran to the Father Tree and huddled near the shaped doorway, rather than return to Redlace’s hometree, where he had been staying. From his position, all Longknife could see was a group of elves huddled at the entrance to a secondary chamber inside.

Nightstep glanced around the room and noticed the soaked elf standing just outside the door in the rain. The chief sent a silent question to his lifemate, waited a moment, and then sent to the newcomer.

**Longknife, Freshwind says it is all right if you want to come inside, but only if you keep your distance during the birthing to allow the midwives to work. It should be very soon.**

Longknife smiled and stepped in through the doorway of the Father Tree. Once inside, he stepped quietly to the side, his eyes wide in wonder at the opportunity to witness the rare birth of an elf child. Nightstep looked at him and, noticing the stranger’s expression, gave him a wink and a smile.

Windrace waited the time away in the hometree he shared with Rosemist, silently sharpening his blade as the rain and thunder continued outside. Rosemist looked after her own young son, helping him change into dry garments.

Windrace was just running a finger along the sharpened edge of his thin-bladed knife when a large bolt of skyfire arced across the bottom the clouds and then shot down into the valley. With a fiery crackle and a deafening boom, it reached out and touched a large bough of the Father Tree.

With much haste and excitement, Timber Folk poured out of the surrounding trees like ant, mouths gaping at the sight of the large demolished limb. Most of limb lay scattered over the wet ground in splinters. Large chunks were thrown in to the tops of surrounding trees, and the frayed stump of the branch was on fire that was quickly extinguished by the falling rain.

Windrace ran madly toward the Father Tree, fearful of the fate of those inside. His bleeding forefinger was forgotten as he and others raced up the shaped steps.

Before they managed to enter the main chamber of the huge tree, a shrill cry pierced the night above the din of rain and excited voices.

Through the destruction of a part of the oldest tree in the holt, and the storm overhead, a new life emerged triumphant, voicing its victory with small but strong lungs.

In unison, a mighty howl issued from the throats of every elf in the tribe when Nightstep’s proud sending announced, **A son!  A healthy male cub has been born!**  Many cheered in delight.  New life!

Grassy ran to his hometree and returned a moment later to present his soft silver fox fur to Silverhair with a wide grin. The older elf laughed merrily and slapped the elven scout on the back before passing a handful of ripened dreamberries to him.

Longknife jumped out of the Father Tree gleefully and blindly ran over Windrace in his haste; both elves crashed to the muddy forest floor. Although the birth had made them all joyful, Windrace cursed under his breath and gave the newcomer a hard glare as he scooped wet grass and mud from his clothing. Windrace had always taken pride in his appearance and Longknife’s blunder irked him.

Longknife apologized sincerely to Foxvine’s brother, but Windrace only nodded silently and stalked off toward his hometree.

Mooncrest was standing nearby and had seen the accident. He wiped rain-soaked hair from his face with a chuckle. “Don’t worry about it, Longknife,” he said. “Windrace is still not used to you being around, and it makes him a bit edgy. He will get over you knocking him down. After all,” he waved his hand, “it is only mud and grass.”

Longknife smiled. “I am not used to being around all of you yet, either,” he said. “Just give me time. I will fit in.”

A moment later, another open sending reached out to the elves. **Timber Folk, you have a new chief-to-be. When it comes time, he will lead you as I and my fathers before me have led you. He was born the instant that skyfire struck the Father Tree, so he has been named for this. He will be the ninth chief to lead since the Timber Folk entered the valley, and his name is Skyflame. Rejoice and celebrate!**

Almost as if to commemorate the new elf-chief’s birth, the rain subsided as the storm moved away from the valley. Then, as in a symbolic salute of the gift it had brought, several streamers of skyfire fractured across the sky in brilliant blue and white light.

The son of a chief had been born under the fury of a storm, even in the midst of destruction. Some believed it to be a sign of the High Ones, that Skyflame would one day lead them with strength and stamina that would surpass the chiefs of the past.

This child, son of the chief, the firstborn after the mighty Death Flood, still small and vulnerable, would be protected and raised until his own strength and wisdom allowed him to lead the Timber Folk.

Nightstep was proud of Skyflame – rightfully so. All the elves knew a gift from the storm had been sent to Freshwind, her chieftain lifemate, and the rest of the Timber Folk. A celebration was in order. A feast would be prepared.

For many seasons to come, this night would be remembered as the night that a chief-flame had been born to the tribe.