A Beast's Sorrow
#1 of Nakoma
A piece I wrote a small while ago to explore how Nakoma felt since being resurrected from ancient times and thrust into a modern world. Let me know what you think!
Nakoma approached the large mirror, her sweeping tail stilling as she stopped in front of it. It was so strange seeing her own reflection in something that was not water - how did this modern world do it? She lifted a thin hand and tapped the glass with a long claw, her white eyes fixed as the wendigo in the reflection did the same. Drawing back sharply at the surprising solidly surface, Nakoma let a quiet growl of unease. This world was not her own, and she missed the familiar surroundings of dusty hills and pale skies.
The ancient tribe leader suddenly felt exhausted and brought up a hand to draw it through her mane, gripping it wearily. She looked at the mirror again and straightened up, taking her in her tall form and coloured warpaint. Nakoma realised that she had her mother's skinny body and grey skin, but her father's strong skull-shape and curled antlers. The black hairs on her head and tail must have come from a relative she did not know; most wendigo's - including Nakoma's own parents - would be killed in battles. They were a prideful race, fighting for the tribe even if they had a young family, which left a lot of children orphaned at vulnerable ages.
Next her eyes wandered to the many scars that littered her skin. A slight smile turned up the corners of Nakoma's mouth as she looked the claw marks on her right forearm; they had been her first wounds, and had happened in a training session when she was just coming out of childhood. The male wendigo who had inflicted them had been extremally apologetic, which was strange for a wendigo, and later in life she'd appointed him as 'guardian' for the orphaned children.
The two scars wrapping around her throat caught her attention next and Nakoma slowly brought up a finger to gently trace them. She'd almost died because of these. The former leader couldn't remember what rival tribe they were facing in battle that day, only an extreme pain in her throat and the feeling of hot blood pouring from the cuts. She had woken after being in a comatose state for eight days, barely able to breath, talk or eat. Her younger brother, Hibashi, had immediately thrown himself onto her in a crushing hug, loud wails of releef coming from his mouth.
Hibashi. Nakoma froze at that name, her hand dropping lifelessly from her throat. He was dead in this world of the future, as was the rest of her tribe. Or maybe even her whole species was gone by now...was she the only wendigo left in existence? Grief stung Nakoma with such force that she closed her eyes and gripped at her skull, digging her claws into her scalp. Only till she felt blood beginning to trickle down from her hairline did she let go and open her eyes. The wendigo slowly brought her hands down and stared at the bloodied fingers blankly. When was the last time she'd had blood on her hands? She jerkily looked from her hands to her reflection once more - the dead look in her own eyes scared her. Where had everything she had ever known gone? Why was she here? /Why had the Gods brought her back?!/
With a scream of rage Nakoma lunged forward and hit the mirror with her fists. The glass cracked under the force, shattering her reflection into a thousand ugly pieces before it began to drop off the wall and smash at her hoofed feet. She stood there, shaking with rage and sorrow, not even flinching when shard of glass caught her thigh in its descent. She had been resurrected when she should have stayed dead, and now she had no one. With a silent wail of heartbreak, the fierce wendigo crumbled to the floor and covered her face with her arms - while outside, the modern world continued on.