Summer, 637 Miradai. Day 12 of the Harvest Moon
And so it has finally come to pass that I, Vehein de Nathal have been banished from my home of so many years, a small tribe of wanderers. I am no longer sure how many summers I have seen, but I know they number more than twice that of any of the village elders. And so they fear me now. I remember vaguely how the people cared for me when I was little. A blessing of the land, of the forest. Elven child of the animal spirits, with naught but a name from my people. And so it was that I was raised by man, by five generations of man, and learned the ways of the tribal shamans.
But they have come to fear me. Here, the elders rule. And their elders are to me as newborn babes are to them. I sometimes hear them utter abomination. And those words hurt. They wound me, and I bear them like the battle scars of the war chiefs. I am not human, a fact that is as hard for them to understand as it is for me. I have never known anything else.
And so I must leave the lands of the Elk Tribe, never to return lest I be slain on sight.
But even as they banish me, forsake me because I am not of their blood, so shall I do one last duty as a shaman of the tribe. A young warrior is leaving the tribe for his spirit journey. And I have decided that I shall accompany him, as is the right of any elder who wishes it. He does not know of my banishment. He does not know that I shall not return with him from this journey.
All things have their time.