“So, do the Tauren worship the Ancients?” Kazbo asked.
Sanja shook her head. “Tauren worship the sun and the soil. They worship nature. The Ancients are part of that, of course, but they aren't gods,” she explained. “I think that if the Ancients really were gods, then there would be no people at all.”
“In all the books I have read, I've never seen any on Tauren lore,” the Gnome said. “I find it so fascinating, but I guess no one has ever written it down before.”
Jorga had plucked some newly-grown grass stems and was blowing on them to try and get them to hum.
“I wish you could hear my favorite story about the Ancients,” Sanja said.
“Will you sing it?”
Sanja shook her head. “To do it right, the entire tribe has to participate. You sing it in the dark, around the fire, at the end of a celebration. They beat on drums, and everyone dances in a circle around the fire, and they spin and spin.”
She rolled over on her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. “Before the celebration, everyone gathers up a shtumanialo. That's a bundle of thin sticks, but you roll green leaves inside the bundle, and you tie them up tight. Then when you dance, you cradle the shtumanialo in front of you.”
Sanja smiled as she thought back to the utankan festivals. “You see, the bundle is supposed to represent a dead body.”
“A dead...” Kazbo gasped, “dead body?”
Sanja nodded. “You see, the story is about an Ancient that sees the wood smoke rising from a Tauren camp. So she comes out of the forest and stomps on the village to put out the flames. She kills a bunch of people before storming back off into the woods.
“Normally, Tauren bury their dead, but in this story the survivors build this gigantic bonfire, and they burn the bodies instead. So, at this point in the song, all the dancers toss their shtumanialo on the fire, and it builds into a huge blaze. And of course, all the green leaves burn, and the whole camp fills with smoke.”
Kazbo stared at her blankly. “That sounds like an awful story! The Ancient punishes the Tauren for burning wood, so the Tauren burn more wood?”
Sanja sighed. She picked a tiny daisy and flicked it at the Gnome. “Most Tauren stories are ironic, Kazbo. They're supposed to teach a lesson. The purpose of the story is to show that there's no point in being angry about something that can't be changed. Tauren need fire to survive, so why be miserable about it? You should think about things you can change, instead.”
“Someday I'm going to go talk to one,” Jorga said, suddenly.
“You're going to talk to an Ancient?” Kazbo asked.
The boy nodded, without looking up.
“Oh, really?” Sanja turned to look at her brother. “And what are you going to say to an Ancient?”
The trio stood and walked along the shore, away from where they had seen the creature go.
“I'll say, 'I'm Jorga!'”
Sanja laughed. “I doubt an Ancient would even notice you. He'd probably just step on you and squash you flat.”
“Nuh uh!” Jorga retorted. “I'm not always going to be short. Someday I'll be tall! I'll be... a hundred and six feet tall!”
Sanja bobbed her head in disbelief. “Oh really?”
“Uh huh! And then I'll step on the Ancient.” He slapped the palm of one hand down on the other. “And I'll squash him flat.”
YOU ARE READING
Tauren Tale
FantasySanja set the knife down gently on her backpack. “Not talking to you. I’m going to teach him a lesson,” she said – referring to his monstrous alter-ego. “No weapons, no armor, no magic, no tricks, no nothing. Just fur versus fur. And when I’m done...
