Lore Child
by Winter
"Understanding the meaning of a story, is only half the journey."
The Lore Mother's voice was even, low close to a whisper. It drew Kim in. Kept him from falling asleep even though the smoke from the fire made him dizzy. He nodded, but he couldn't stop his left ear from twitching.
"You do not agree, child."
"No. I mean yes. I mean, I'm not sure..." His voice trailed away, and he felt sure that his snow white face fur couldn't hide his blush. "What's beyond the meaning?"
"A good question."
Kim opened his eyes. Dancing light from the yak-bone fire made shadows move across the uneven canvas of the hide tent, creating stories of their own. He could see a brave knight, chasing a firesome dragon, which became a boat sailing down a river followed by a wild wolf stalking a yak. Then the fire popped, Kim jumped, and they were all gone.
He glanced at his Lore Mother, but she sat as still as ice. The grey on her muzzle stole colour from the flames, painting her bright red fur whole. She looked young. No, Kim realised, she was young. That was not her!
"Stories tell themselves." The voice sounded as if it came from far away, or from the other side of a closed tent flap. "We only give them words. Remember that, little Joakim. Remember that, and you will never lose your voice."
The fox girl, whoever she was, began to move. A sensuous, rhythmic swaying that reminded Kim of the tale-dancing that his Lore Mother sometimes used, for stories that could neither be spoken nor sung. Then she shot through the fire, scattering ashes and burning bone everywhere. Her voice rose to fill the tent.
"Remember!"
Kim opened his eyes, and a squeak escaped his lips. The fire was back on the stone hearth, where it should be. The girl was gone. The Lore Mother sat across from him, watching him with a smile on her lips. The flames did make her look younger, but this was really her. He hoped.
"Did you see another time, child? Or maybe something from the never-was?"
"I... I don't know." The smoke made Kim cough, and he had to take a drink from his water flask. "I saw a girl. A fox, just like you, Lore Mother. She knew my name."
"What did she say?"
"That..." Kim's nose twitched, and like he always did when he was deep in thought, he clutched his slender mouse tail to his chest. "That we don't really tell the stories. Just give words to what's already there. Something like that."
"A vision. Or a thought from your own mind, perhaps. It's not always easy to know." He handed her the flask, and she took a sip. "Do you believe it? That there are stories you discover rather than make up?"
"Oh yes, Lore Mother!" Kim squeaked. "I've even been in one. I went to before the snow began to fall, remember? When the world was warm."
"I remember."
"We're on lore grounds," he went on, "where all the times are now. Back home in the village, there's just our now."
"That is true." She nodded. "What about the meaning of a story?"
"I'm not sure." Frowning, Kim thought back to stories he had heard, stories he had told. Stories he had lived, stories he had imagined. "The meaning is everything, isn't it? Words make up the mind-pictures, until everyone can feel it."
"There you have it." She smiled. "Feel."
"I don't understand."
"Part of every good story is in the heart. Both in ours, as tellers, and in the audience's. Unlock the heart of the story, and the same words can make one listener laugh and another weep."
"The meaning... and the feeling." Kim nodded. "I think I get it. Some of it. They're connected."
"Thought and feel. Head and heart. Words." The Lore Mother smiled. "And story."
"Yeah." He grinned. "The story's heart, will touch them more than my words ever could."
"Very good. For one so young, you do learn quickly."
"Hey, I'm twelve!" Kim huffed. "Almost. And I do know stuff, I just don't always know how to... well... explain it."
"It will come to you. Listen. Learn. Practice. Tell the tribe a story after supper. One from the long-before or the never-was."
"Which one?"
"Let the story's heart find yours." She stood up, and Kim did likewise. "Now, fetch us some snow, and put out the fire. We'll leave the tent here for now. Next time, we'll stay longer."
"Are we gonna camp on the lore grounds? Imagine our dreams."
The Lore Mother said nothing, and Kim realised that today's lesson had ended. He slipped through the tent flap, and the always-present cold of outside slammed into his near-naked body. Shivering, he gathered up as much snow as his scrawny arms could hold, then hurried back inside. The fire hissed and protested as melt-water doused it. Only a small bone lamp lit the tent, and Kim smiled. He remembered that particular lamp.
Chilled through the fur now, he hurried into his yak-skin clothes, then started gathering their packs. By the time they left the tent he had warmed up enough to stop chittering. They traced their own footprints in the snow, up dunes and down dunes, and Kim felt the magic of the lore grounds fade. The stories stayed with him, though, at least the ones that lived inside his mind.
Stars spattered the sky above, tracing their familiar patterns. He searched among them for a good story. The long-before or the never-was? Maybe both. Ahead, the Fisherman's Spear grazed the edge of the ice rim, aimed at the endless sea below. Kim smiled. He would tell a tale of their seafaring ancestors, of a battle between tiny boats and a terrifying water beast. A monster of the depths. The hero would be a young mouse boy. White of fur and small for his age, but brave and clever and triumphant!
Tonight Kim had taken one step closer to uncovering a story's true heart, but he still had a ways to go before he reached true humility.
