By Eitros Tixe, Friend of the Tari, Former Templar of Abalach-Re

The tari, for all their differences, had become my family. Their resilience, their humor, and their determination to create meaning from the scraps life had left them inspired me in ways I could never have imagined.

And as I watched Kino carefully draw a line of characters on a tattered piece of parchment, I realized something: I was no longer a guest among the tari, I was becoming one of them.

But belonging was not so simple. Rabekela returned from the council, with a mixture of relief and unease. Indeed, while I had grown comfortable among the Shadowed Claw, the world of the tari was far larger and more complex than the single pack that had saved me.

Her first words upon her return gave me pause. “You have been noticed.” she said, her tone heavy with meaning.

It seemed like my presence among the tari was now a topic of discussion among the other pack leaders. It had been Soso Y’Likolo, the Wind-Touched shaman, who brought the matter to their attention, recounting his dramatic discovery of me to an audience of leaders with both awe and theatrical flourish.

“Your tail-less healer is a storm.” Soso had declared, according to Rabekela. “The wind whispered of him long before I found him. He is not just here by chance!”

Some leaders had dismissed his words as typical of Soso’s eccentricity, but others had not been so quick to wave them away. The Wind-Touched’s reputation, odd as he was, carried weight among the tari. His insights, even if cryptic and maddening, had proven true enough times to demand attention.

Still, not all were convinced. A debate followed, with the leaders divided between skepticism, cautious curiosity, and outright hostility.

Rabekela admitted that she had defended me, though it had been no easy task. But not all were convinced.

“You must understand, Eitros, that trust does not come easily to the tari. We have been hunted, betrayed, and dismissed for too long. To some, your presence is a risk we cannot afford.”

I nodded, and my question was simple. “What did the council decide?”

“Nothing…yet. For now, you remain here, under my protection. But the packs will now watch you closely.”

Her gaze softened, and she placed a clawed hand on my shoulder. “You have already done much to earn my trust. But trust from the many will take more time.”

Her words lingered with me as I returned to the shadowed corners of the cave, where Kino still sat with his parchment and ink. His youthful optimism, his unshakable belief in the bonds we had forged, seemed almost naive in the face of the pack leaders’ doubts.

The Visitors

It began subtly, with visitors arriving seemingly at random. A few came openly, while others pretended their visit was for other reasons; a trade, a council meeting, or even a simple social call. But I could feel their eyes on me, watching, judging.

Some were warriors, adorned in colorful trinkets of bone, beads, and feathers, their weapons displayed prominently. They carried themselves with pride and confidence, and a few of them were surprisingly friendly, even curious.

One of them approached me directly, his braided fur jingling with small bells. “You’re the one Rabekela speaks of,” he said, tilting his head. “the healer. The scribe.” He smiled, sharp teeth flashing. “You don’t look like much, but they say you have steady hands. Show me.”

He tossed me a piece of bark and a crude knife. I took the challenge in stride, carving a simple but precise holy tari pattern into the bark. The warrior inspected it, his grin widening. “Not bad for a fur-less.” he said, winking.

Others were not so welcoming.

One elder, hunched and grizzled, spoke to Rabekela in rapid Tari while pointedly ignoring me. Though I couldn’t understand all his words, the occasional glance in my direction made his meaning clear: I didn’t belong.

Another warrior, younger and brash, took a different approach. He sat across from me during a meal. “You think you’re one of us now?” he asked directly. “Living here, eating our food, drinking our rakra. You’re just a guest… a weak, lost guest.”

I met his gaze but chose my words carefully. “I know I am a guest.” I said in tari evenly. “And I am grateful for what I have been given. But weakness… that’s a matter of perspective.”

His ears twitched, but he said no more.

Others came with no words at all, simply watching from the shadows. Normal tari, unadorned and unassuming, peered at me from behind corners or from across the cave. Some whispered among themselves while others averted their eyes if I glanced their way.

Kino, ever the optimist, tried to reassure me. “They’re just curious. You’re strange to them, that’s all. They’ll get used to you. Or not.” He shrugged, his whiskers twitching.

I knew better than to push back too hard. Though some of the provocation stung, I reminded myself that I was still a guest here. Any sign of arrogance or entitlement could doom me in the eyes of the tari.

Instead, I focused on showing humility without appearing weak. When they asked for help, I gave it willingly. When they tested me, I met their challenges with quiet determination. And when they insulted me, I let their words pass without retort, knowing that actions would speak louder.

The visits continued for weeks. Then, just as suddenly as they began, they stopped. The constant scrutiny lifted, replaced by the quiet rhythms of daily life in the caves. I didn’t know what conclusions had been drawn, nor what Rabekela or the other pack leaders had discussed. But for the first time, I felt a sense of tentative acceptance, or at least tolerance from the tari.

Kino grinned when I mentioned the lack of visitors. “Told you they’d get used to you.” he said, his tone smug. “Now you’re just boring old Eitros again.” I laughed, though the relief I felt ran deeper than I cared to admit.