Amaste’s Tale: Part Three

Author’s note: This would be my entry for the Blog Azeroth shared topic: RP a scene with your favorite mount. It is also the next chapter in my story about Amaste Lightweaver. Ironically, this is where the story was headed, even without the shared topic coming up.


Tripping over the rubble of the broken door, she stepped through the entrance way. She grabbed her cloak, drawing it over her mouth and nose to keep from inhaling any more of the acrid smoke. As she blinked away the tears from the smoke, what recently was a body filled her vision. A dark pile of ash lay on the floor in front of her. The person this once was had not been burned naturally. There had been a lich among the undead that had invaded here.

Among those ashes she could see the gleam of an emerald, an emerald in a beautifully filigreed setting. It had been her aunt’s.  She scooped it up and stuffed it into her pocket, fighting back tears. She glanced around in search for any signs of her sister. She had to stay strong until she found her sister.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement in the shadows at the corner of the room. She urgently hissed, “Dhoti!” but no answer came. She tiptoed forward, carefully avoiding any burning rubble. As she approached the corner, she heard a high pitched squawk and a rustle of feathers.

Her aunt had been attempting to hatch an orphaned hawk strider egg. In the turmoil of the invasion the egg must have hatched. She made soft cooing noises as she inched towards the corner.

Still wet with the fluid from it’s egg, the bird was huddled behind what once had been a bookshelf, shivering and squawking occasionally. Her feathers a jet black, as dark as the ashes of her aunt, the bird looked at her knowingly, calming as Amaste approached, and allowed her to pick her up.

Allowing herself a moment to cope with the series of events, Amaste bowed her head, hugging the bird tight to her chest and whispered a solemn prayer:

Out of death comes life.

Out of violence comes peace.

Rest easy, Aunt Zoe.

I will see that this life lives,

Even though you have died.

Amaste made a silent vow to herself. The bird’s name would be Zoe, and she would be the best hawk strider that ever lived. She wiped the bird clean with the end of her cloak and carried on in search of her sister, the newly named hawk strider in tow.


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