The Orc and the Swamp (continued)

These stories took place during user:p3a's Spring absense from the game due to school. They feature Ursala Earthwielder, a young orc shaman.
They are a continuation from the Earthwielder: The Wetlands series. There is a week between the end of the previous set and the beginning of this set.
They happen parallel to the correspondance documented in Letters from the Wetlands.
The author got lazy with the odd dating and pretentious naming, for the time being. She apologises for this.
==24th February==
How do we fight a shaman? 
We do as he taught us. 
Do not forget that the vast majority of shaman can heal, and that this one calls himself a Restorer. Do not forget that Air can interrupt spoken word, and that requests need to be made aloud more often than not. Remember that we, too, can heal - even in the heat of battle. Remember that Earth will answer great requests of ours. 
Do not forget our axe. Do not forget that Fire can sharp its edge. Do not forget that Water will sit on a deal whereby it will grant you the grace needed for another spell whenever you are struck; equally, do not forget that Water is fickle and the agreement will need to be reiterated. Do not forget Earth's strength and Air's fury, for we shall need them both. 
Remember our shield. Remember our skirting dodges. Remember our agility. We are not large, as orcs go, but we can make up for it. More than make up for it. Headbutts are slow. We wear leather armour with only a chainmail shirt - some see this as a weakness. We know it to mean we can send him past us when he expected to connect. 
Wear the headdress this time. If a frustrated headbutt collides, we shall not be knocked cold as last time. Dazed, but conscious - and Water will catch us, flowing around our mind as to leave it clear. We get back on our feet. 
Always, always get back on our feet. Something here is odd, we think... he has struck us twice with that weapon of his, and yet we do not feel injured. 
Have the bones drop. We are dreaming. 
And who are we? 
Wake up. Shake your head, violently. We? No. You. You and I. You and I, for now. Maybe later there will be a merge - maybe, later, there shall be that duel. Not now. 
Now, you are no longer ill. More importantly, you are no longer a pup. You may now do your job as fully intended. 
Begin to walk.
==25th February==
The note in the mid-section was penned by Gulgrim both in- and out-of-character.
What I thought was a bird dropping turned out to, in fact, be a small, scraggly piece of paper.
It was early morning in the Wetlands. I raised my hand to my eyes to shield them as I squinted after the bird that had dropped the note rather strategically in front of my feet, but the sunrise it was escaping towards made it impossible to identify it.
I shrugged, and picked up the note. It was muddy on one side, but thankfully not soaked or otherwise illegible. It seemed to have been rather quickly scribbled on a scrap of parchment left over from something else, so it was with a raised eyebrow that I read it.
-
Ursala,
I had no idea! I wish I'd had a chance to see you before you left. There were many things we could have discussed, many paths to walk. No matter. Those paths will preserve until ours cross once more.
Strange though, your words have troubled the Chieftain something awful. I've never seen anything have an effect on him quite like this. He seems to think that perhaps you are right, but that he will never become a Shaman full fledged once more, due to his commitments as Chieftain. I see his point, but I also know that he is still a far more powerful and respected Shaman of the Horde than I.
I would very much like to hear of your exploits, as I will tell of mine. Tonight I earned my first scar on the field of battle in Stranglethorn Vale. A barbed arrow caught me clean in the left bicep, but I decapitated the offending Troll to earn my scar. The Chieftain himself healed me, his powers coursing through my system and closing all of my wounds.
I very much like your hair in that style. It is at once practical and yet appealing as well.
Gulgrim of Dagger and Totem.
-
Gulgrim. Gulgrim was sending me notes? I knew I had sent him one, but... how had the reply come? I was sure that this was not allowed. How had the bird known where to find me? Did my words really affect the Chieftain as badly as my fellow younger shaman was claiming? Was it possible that Gremkarc's anger had been out of frustration at my stating his fears aloud?
And... I put a hand to my hair, newly styled as it was in a ponytail, and stood there in silence for a good few moments.
The Elements, for once, left me to it.
Slowly, I folded the note into a smaller square. I would have to reply. This, as far as I was concerned, was imperitive, no matter how many rules it broke. However, it was not urgent. This was all very well, but I had a job to be getting on with this morning; Earth had earlier called me to the north, and I answered it now with a tap of the foot to let it know I was on my way. I put the folded note into a pocket on my sash (the one with the blank Durotar rock, as it happened) and began to run on four paws in the right direction.
==12th March 2010==
I held the bottle up to the sunlight. It was a clear sky today. The vial was transparent – and not empty, but the ink was too diluted now.
I looked down at the letter in my hands. It was from Gulgrim. What was it abut him? My head pounded with thinking about it, as did my heart, but not just for all four Elements’ indignation. What was it? What was this most frustrating… longing for his company, the sight of him, even to read his words again? It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
And yet, here I was, entertaining the notions. Writing another letter, even though I was out of ink. I was sat on a cliff this afternoon, overlooking the Alliance harbour. There was a lit fire next to me; over it, a rack made of sticks and on that, some parchment that was now dry. I reached across to take it off before it burnt.
Pay attention, said one voice that was many. It grabbed with a sparking hand for the parchment.
“I have to write a letter,” I replied.
Another hand snatched at my hair and the rest of me – one of the wind, this time. I clutched at my precious paper and snarled.
You must, came the whispering echoes of Air.
“You can have my voice for a time if you deliver it for me,” I bargained, the growl still sitting on the back of my throat. The wind stopped – but something else rumbled through my mind instead.
YOU MUST DO AS IS TOLD. I cried out for the force with which Earth’s intentions arrived, gritting my teeth.
“I have to write a letter!”
The wind then floated the crashing of the waves at the bottom of the cliff to my ears – they did not soothe me, because they hissed with each sigh of the tide:
Pay better attention. Pay better attention.
“I have to! I have to write this!”
The indifference to my mortal plight was astounding. I looked at the spent ink vial in desperation, still struggling to sit straight against Air’s annoyance. There was, I slowly realised, only one thing to write with.
I drew my knife and made the cut, half-way up my left forearm. It stung. I made it just large enough that it would seep in order that I could dip the carved twig that I called a pen into the blood.
Keeping the parchment in place with my other hand, I wrote the letter.
The blood took a while to dry on the parchment. I looked at my arm. There was still a lot of mud around the wound I had created, and now it was bleeding more. I made the familiar request of Earth and was met with… what?
“What?”
No.
I sat for a good few moments in astounded silence.
“No?”
No.
“Why not?”
NO.
“Ghh!” That hurt – as much from the guilt of what I was doing as the physical headache from such a strong assertion.
I gave up on the healing for now. In a few moments, I would set about bandaging the wound in the usual, mundane way that I had learnt so long ago in Razor Hill. For now:
“Air, I would like a bird to take this letter to Gulgrim. In return I offer my voice, for as long as it takes the bird to reach him or for one full day – whichever comes sooner.”
Yes, crooned the Wind now. It felt as though I was turning to it for the support that Earth was refusing me. This was not, I knew, the case. The bird landed beside me – I gave it the folded letter, and it flew off with a purpose.
With my head ringing from too many voices, I set about seeing to that bandage.
==16th March 2010 Onwards==
Today, you hold the last letter in your hand. You use the strange vial to pen your reply. We help you, because you ask it. In return, as per usual, you offer your voice.
We shall not take it. Wolves need a voice to howl.
What, then? There is a place deep in the swamp where there is another clog in the veins. But not this time. Other things, too.
Now, we have your full attention. There are herbs and parts to collect. Things to burn and bury, things to scatter and scry. Things to move. Leave offerings for us. We will use them and show you how to do the same. You will not see with your two Orcish eyes, but you will learn the ways.
It takes time. Of course it takes time. Boundaries blur – hours into days into nights into weeks. Orc and wolf; you and us. Your meditation breaks down in favour of lighting bright, sparking fires by the sighing sea to dance with. Your concepts of “healing” and “attacking” break as well, their cracked shell revealing instead things such as “balance” and “imbalance”.
This is good.
Your hands, more often than not, become paws. The nature of these paws allows us to speak directly though them to you, as well as through your ears and eyes and nose – to you, without an instance of interruption. You cease to question. The abandonment of your Orcish morals means that one more barrier can break.
You do not run any longer. We run.
We are a wolf. We are one wolf, and we are all wolves. We are a Shaman and we are the Elements. We are Fire and we are Water; Earth, and Air. We are man and woman; pup and adult; mortal and not; fleeting and lasting. Our actions are perceived as in one dimension and four. Time passes all at once and not at all.
This lasts for a time, but the limp on the left front leg brings us apart – your body cannot take too much. This was expected. Mortals need time to rest. Their bodies are not eternal as ours are.
We will give a gift. You call this gift a memory – something that is both physical and not. Normally, you wear them on you. This one is no different.
It is a gift such that you may remember what it is to be both wolf and orc at once.
You stay for another while. There are no more letters. You do not worry, although you yearn. This is not bad. You continue to see as we do and do as we ask without hesitation. This is good.
After that, we send you onwards. There is more to be done, but not now. Another time; another place. You will know when.
Go, Earthwielder, and find your pack.
Category:Story