Celestial

Prologue

I'll provide some definitions of words that will be used by the people in the fic below. If they're not there, I intend to clear them up as this story progresses. The idea for this AU was coined by lupinlu and I; we hope you enjoy it!

Tarr: An animal similar to a caribou, these animals stand at around 1.5 metres at the shoulder, and possess antlers of up to 2 metres from tip to tip. They are usually a patchy white-brown colour, and graze primarily on grass. They migrate over frozen water every year to reach warmer climates, and return in summer via a land route to the hunting grounds of the tree tribes. Tarr make up an important food group for all three tribes, despite living mostly in the low-lying areas around water, which makes it difficult for any tribe other than the Tribe of the Full Moon to make use of them through the two seasons they are available.

Liufr: Large, dangerous predators, these animals are similar to gray wolves. They are about 2 metres in length fully grown, and can come in almost any shade in the regions of white, black and brown. They usually hunt in massive packs of about thirty, but don't often attack humans. They prefer to stay in the mountainous regions, but with food scarce, they have been coming down to attack tarr. Their numbers have been dropping dramatically over the last twenty winters, and there is thought to be only one or two packs remaining in the tribe areas.

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Summer had finally come for the Three Tribes of the Light.

Hot sun had erased any trace of snow from the long winter months weeks ago, and the tarr had returned from their winter migration to graze at the new grass that lined the forest. With them they brought the birds, eager for the fruit that hung heavy on the bushes that had rapidly bloomed in the hot sun.

Sigurd Bondevik, Shaman of the Tribe of the Full Moon and the oldest living member of the group, hated the season.

Now, he didn't hate every aspect of summer. Having enough food to live comfortably was certainly an upside, and the spirits always got chatty and let Sigurd share their energy with him. However, the light hurt what remained of the old man's vision, and the bugs  that buzzed in his ears and landed in his hair  were a constant hindrance – it wasn't like he could just stand up and move away from them anymore. Sigurd's legs were far too weak for that sort of  thing a nymore. By the Spinners, he hated being old.

Nevertheless, there were many reasons for him to hate summer, and so he continued doing so with a vigour that did not quite match his age. Of course, Sigurd had always hated with a surprising passion, considering his usually-flat expresssions and the way that he ignored the small things.

"Tino!" The only possible upside to being old, Sigurd observed as he called out for the boy, was that he got people that were younger than him to do whatever he wanted; hence, having Tino as an apprentice was clearly a logical thing to do.

"Yes, Sigurd?" The soft voice of the boy he'd taken on around six winters ago distracted Sigurd from his thoughts, and he turned his head in the direction of Tino's voice. He'd never seen the boy, of course, as he was mostly blind, but he enjoyed imagining what he might look like. Was he tall? Would he have dark eyes and light hair, or neither of those features? Whatever he looked like, Tino had a voice that sounded like the too-cheerful birdsong he was forced to listen to throughout all of summer. He liked Tino more than summer, though. If anything, Tino reminded him of spring, of new life and excitement and things he'd long lost interest in. It was refreshing, the old man decided.

"I need you to write down something."

"Another story?" The note of delight that entered the voice Sigurd had come to know so well over the last few years amused him a little, and he gave a slow nod. When he'd first taken Tino on, he'd checked with his chief (his name was Erzbet, and much like his mother, made an excellent leader) as to whether the boy could write, and when Erzbet had confirmed that he could, Sigurd had instantly begun telling Tino stories. Tino wrote them all down, too, which comforted the Shaman. Even when he was gone and he became a spirit, his stories would still be here. Hopefully the people he would leave behind could make some use of them.