Knives and Teeth {interlude}

I've made up my mind. The everstorm is already so needlessly destructive, it does not need my help. I did not think it would turn on us, but perhaps this is 0nly another challenge for the storm islanders that remain here, another way of whittling us down so we are strong and sharp. Whatever happens the knife is still sharp, and it cuts us all. I will not bring this pain to others needlessly; when the everstorm wants somewhere it will take it, with the sureness of a tiger taking territory from those too weak to challenge. It does not purge or destroy us, but grants us the freedom to be little agents of it's indominable will.
 
I guess I should write what actually happened: my "first hand account" of what lead me to this greif and sadness. I have been with the storm riders for a few weeks, and my mentor Uruk brought me to Ka'ar to experience the chaos of it's peak so steeped in magic. Past where Balthzar's corpse no longer lies, an empty grave that I now sit by wondering what chose to move him so cleanly but leave his knife behind. Up into the caves, where a wrong turn brought us to a huge egg. Past it, out into the sky that shouted it's joy and freedom to me as the winds danced their endless dance. A beautiful swift serenity broken as the ground beneath our feet rumbled and shook, and a huge beast climbed out. It spoke to me then, of an anceint kin who somehow owned the everstorm's land, who remembered a time before the rift and who ruled it. It told me of the destruction of my people that was to come if we did not abandon our only home. When if offered to reward me for "waking" it, I do not know why I begged for mercy for people who turned their backs on me, rather than knowledge or wealth. Perhaps it is a love for this place that burns in my soul, tied to the chaos here like a snowflake in a storm. A love for our people and our ways. For the nomads and the travellers and the druids, people like balthzar and drura, and to an extent sari. I do not wish others to know the loss that so nearly drove me to become someone so unlike myself.
 
His name was ananacras, the lord of the white dragon flight. George would know what that means, Frald and kauri would know what to do about it, and Mel would smile quietly at some subtle joke and bring me out of this useless moping. But they are not here, and I should go back to them. Uruk has returned to his tribe to warn them, I think he's dissapointed in my inability to follow his path. So I am alone, with an empty grave.
"Do not surround yourself with the past, live in the now and strive forwards through the beautiful chaos of creation." It is hard advice to follow, Balthzar, and both you and I have failed to do so. But at least I am free to leave here, return to people too ignorant of my true failings to bear me ill will.