Naming, The

Shivering, the little orc rolled over, curling into a tight ball, her knees and head pressed firmly against the rotting boards of the shed. She shivered again, turning her back to the wall as another light breeze sent chills down her spine. Reaching out, hand groping, her fingers frantically searched the empty space beside her.

He's gone!

Sitting up, she peered around, shapes slowly materializing in the darkness. Her eyes raked the floor, catching the faint glimmer of moonlight on steel. A quick glance across the room comfirmed what she already knew; her fathers pallet lay empty.

She rose, bare feet padding noiselessly across the dirt floor. Glancing down at the chain once more, she slowly pushed the door open, widening the crack past the width of the chain holding it ajar.

"Papa?" She whispered, poking her head out into the night. "Papa? What are you - " She stopped, eyes wide as she watched her father lift the naked infant from his swaddling.

Kharsk glanced over his shoulder, frowning a moment before nodding once, as if to himself.

"Come."

The little orc slipped out of the shed, scurrying to her fathers side. Her arms rose, wrapping protectively around the infant as her father placed him against her chest.

"It's cold out, papa... We should go inside." She shifted slightly, blocking the babe from the chill breeze with her body.

"No, Thalleia. Not now... not yet." He looked down at the infant, expression determined. "The time has come, he must be named."

Confused, the child looked up at her father. She didn't understand why he couldn't be named inside, away from the autumn breeze. But, she knew that look and knew, too, Kharsk had made up his mind. Swallowing hard, Thalleia nodded. "Dabu, papa..."

He nodded again, fingers slipping into the waist of his simple breeches, drawing out what looked to be a stone or part of one. Thalleia watched as he brought the stone chip to his arm, pressing it against his flesh until it pierced the skin. Dark blood trickled down his arm as he twisted the chip, widening the gash.

Large brown eyes, made larger yet with fear and fascination, Thalleia watched as her father wetted his fingertip in his own blood then placed his finger on the infants brow.

"Spirit of Air, hear my call." He traced his fingertip along the infants forehead, drawing the symbol for air with his blood.

Wetting his finger again, he placed his fingertip on the infants belly.

"Spirit of Earth, hear my call." A second symbol took shape, foreign yet somehow familiar.

Kharsk pressed the rock chip to his arm once more, dipping his finger in the fresh rivulet of blood and touching it to the infants chest, just below his left shoulder.

"Spirit of Fire, hear my call." A third symbol, easily recognized as a stylized flame.

Once more he touched his fingertip to the wound, coating it in thick, black blood.

"Spirit of Water, hear my call." A black drop formed, its pointed top just below the infants right shoulder swelling to a rounded base on the infants chest.

The stone chip fell silently to the grass as Kharsk opened his fists. "Ancestors, hear my call." Eyes closed, head tilting back, he raised his arms level with his chest, palms out in supplication.

"Gurrak, father of Mog'rel, father of Drom, guard this child, Jaak'an, son of Kharsk, son of Drom." Swallowing hard, Kharsk continued to name the childs ties. "Thok'rull, father of Kergoth, father of Sarrdan, guide this child, Jaak'an, son of Rii'ka, daughter of Sarrdan."

"Ancestors, watch over this child, Jaak'an, that he might grow to bring strength and honor to the clan." Kharsk lowered his arms, head tilting down as he gazed down at his children.

"Go, Thalleia." His voice was low, thick with emotion. "Take Jaak'an inside, I will join you soon."

Thalleia nodded, dipping quickly to retrieve the swaddling before hurrying into the shed. Setting Jaak'an lightly atop her tattered quilt, she turned, snapping the swaddling blanket a few times before turning back and laying it out on the pallet.

"Jaak'an." She said the name a few times, rolling it around on her tongue to get a feel for it. "Throm'ka, Jaak'an, son of Kharsk." Grinning to herself, pleased to have remembered the greeting her parents has sometimes used with each other, the little orc scooped the infant up, transferring him to his swaddling before seating herself on the pallet.

Thalleia studied the marks on forehead, chest and belly, her curious eye drinking the symbols in. They seemed so familiar but she couldn't place them. Brow knit in a tiny frown, Thalleia reached out, finger hovering over the mark on his belly, tracing its shape, bits of dried blood flaking off at her touch. She wondered if she should clean the blood off before swaddling him but the grunting, slurping, smacks of the babe sucking at his fist quickly brought her musing to an end.

She wrapped him securely, tucking the ends of the linen into the folds to keep them from coming loose. Scooping him up, she craded him in the crook of her left arm, right hand reaching for the glass bottle near the head of her pallet and deftly popping the tip into his groping mouth. She smiled down at him, rocking slowly, humming softly under her breath.

Wonder what's keeping papa... She glanced towards the door, gaze briefly sinking to the heavy iron chain glinting in the pale moonlight. Hope he comes in soon... gettin' aweful cold out there. Shivering, Thalleia reached for the tattered quilt, laying it over the babe, its ends draped over her legs. Aweful cold in here, too...

The door swung wide, the moonlight blocked for a moment as Kharsk entered, stepped aside and dragged the chain out of the way before closing the door behind him. He waited, eyes adjusting to the gloom, the only light now emanating from the numerous cracks and chinks in the walls and roof of the dilapidated old shed.

Thalleia wated for Kharsk to settle himself on his pallet before asking, "What was that about, papa?"

"A warrior trying to be Shaman for his son..."

Thalleia frowned, sitting forward a bit. "What's a shaman, papa? An' why'd you cut yourself?"

"The shamans were our guides once, Thalleia... they spoke to the spirits and gave the clans heart." Kharsk sighed, leaning back against the wall, the chains at his feet rattling as he shifted position. "Those times are past, the clans are scattered, broken." Growling low, he lifted the chain, shaking it. "This is all we are now; slaves, chattel..." Dropping the chain, Kharsk lay on his pallet. "All that we once were is gone, stolen and bartered away by those we most trusted..."

Thalleia sat still, waiting for her father to continue. The moments passed, stretching and growing as the little orc held her silence. Finally, unable to contain her curiosity, Thalleia leaned forward. "Papa?"

"Lay down, Thalleia... go to sleep."

"But, papa..."

Kharsk grunted, rolling over, his thoughts too heavy for a small, pleading voice to penetrate.