I feel as you all deserve an explanation. Of course, there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the Sun. My tale tells of a time to be born and a time to die. It speaks of a time to tear down and a time to build. A time to be silent and a time to speak. Now is my time to speak. Here lies my insight and creation of Winds of Azeroth.
We all have our dark moments, those volatile shadows that stick like Spider Silk. We were born mortals, we die as mortals, then shed our Earthly Coil. Though there are some that push those boundaries to extremities, stretch our limits, monitor patience and measure what is truly virtuous.
My tale begins in Bloodhoof Village, a reclusive, untainted town nestled in the south end of Mulgore. I was but twenty-five seasons then, as was my soulmate, Junattieta. I held an honorable duty as a Hunter of the Bloodhoof Clan, cultivating the beasts of the land for food, while surplus was to be sent and sold in Thunder Bluff. Junattieta was one of the Wood, a fine Druid lady with strong ties in the Cenarion Circle. Together we lived in the village with the balance of the Earth Mother and her bounteous blessings.
The seasons passed, and it was our time to create Life itself, have Juna bear our one child for the Clan. In the Miracle of Birth tent, Juna gave birth to a vibrant young male. “What shall we name him, Love?” I chuckle, “He has my broad shoulders and your tender eyes.” There a light tan Tauren lie, spotted ever so, horns of black, eyes of what Juna said was blue. His snout was small, and a mane that sprawled outward, away from his forehead.
“He has the look of Hunter such as yourself, Hurg. Perhaps we could name him after Sha’lim, our tribe’s Great Hunter of Ancestral Past?”
I look down at my boy, he glances at me with the exuberance of a child, “Sha’lim Steadwind, our little son.”
Once Juna had rested, we traveled over to the Bluffs to consult with the great Cairne Bloodhoof. As a Shu’halo of the Bloodhoof Clan, we must present the child to Cairne himself, approving or disapproving of his name. There resides Cairne, carrying the sacred totem, finding him in Spirit Rise. He spots Juna and me, shifts the totem to one arm and holds the child in the other. Sha’lim wiggles in his arm, carefree as the winds itself. “Sha’lim is what you choose? This child does have the air of a Hunter. I expect, Hurgroda, that you will raise him with the cunning and agility of a hunter, as you have served my tribe thusly so. Blessings of the Earth Mother be upon you both, and as well as your new son, Sha’lim Steadwind.”
The guards then escorted us back to Bloodhoof Village in celebration of the birth of a new Life. The Clan now has another generation of Hunters, keeping blessing upon blessing in my village. Sha’lim is to be raised as a great Hunter. Now I ask, am I capable of raising a son to surprass my own skills? To seek the way of Nature to a heightened understanding? Seasons, years cannot speak of greatness. Spirit speaks of greatness, and sometimes those who carry such height may someday know the hurt of a Great Fall.
