Writing Prompts Archive/2/Mis'to Raesthe

*I’m walking through the outskirts of Limsa Lominsa when the soft tones of a distant panpipe stop me dead. It’s an old song, a Keeper song, one I heard so many times drifting through the dark forests of the Shroud to guide me home. For a moment I feel the warmth of the campfire on my face, see the dappled light of the moon dancing through the boughs, smell the charring meat as the juices drip hissing into the flame. I hear his laugh, light and anxious, as we talk about his approaching leave.*

*Nostalgia, hitting like a gut punch. If anyone deserves to know I still live, it’s him.*

*Let me tell you about my brother.*

*Mis’a and I were fortunate enough to be born to the same mother, barely two years apart. That was about all we shared, as both of us were very different. I couldn’t wait to leave the stifling clan, explore the deep forests on my own with nothing but my own cunning and wits to keep me alive, win over eager young women and sire kids of my own. All that romance. But Mis’a…*

*When the time came he left with a smile, a brave face, and did not look back. He didn’t know that I’d heard him until the noon sun pleading, begging the Matron to let him stay. Mis’a was no hunter. His strength was in his hands and what he could make, in caring for its people, keeping them well fed and their camps maintained. But there was tradition. He was a man. He could not stay. And hearing the Matron’s response to him...I suppose that was the first time that the pedestal I’d built up in my head cracked. When he left...for a brief moment I feared it would be the last I saw of him.*

*And yet, two years after I’d made my own way, I came upon him by chance as I left another clan, drawn to the sound of that tune on a panpipe he’d whittled himself. I tapped his shoulder in delight on seeing him - and recoiled.*

*He was so thin.*

*“Mis’to...” He clung to me like mistletoe, all skin and bones. “Please...stay with me. Don’t leave me.”*

*“I’m a failure.”*

*“No you’re not.”*

*“Yes I am. I can’t...I can’t look after myself. No clan lets me in. What kind of Miqo’te am I? What a shame to Menphina I must be…I deserve to-”*

*“No. You’re still with us, aren’t you?” I hand him over more of the jerky I’ve stockpiled. Can’t wallow in self-pity while he’s wolfing it down. “Listen. I should…” I should have told him when he left. Stay close. Wait for me. I’ll leave early if I have to. “You travel with me now. Understand?”*

*He looks at me, a mixture of hope and guilt. “But Mis’to-”*

*“I was going to Gridania.” I made up my mind exactly five minutes ago, but I’m not going to tell him that. It had been on my mind for a while, but now it’s for certain. I think it’s the only way a soul like him will find what he’s looking for. Our people...failed him. “I think you should come with me.”*

*“Gridania? The Wood Wailers?” Mis’a looks at me, ears folded back in anxiety. “But what if they kill us-”*

*“I think,” I say, gently, “that you staying out here - you’ll die anyway. One way, or another.”*

*He looks at me, and in that moment he realizes that I know him better than he thought.*

*It’s morning in the Lavender Beds, and I’m following the song.*

*It’s a small little cottage, one strewn with the tools of a craftsman and lovingly built with the same hands. Wood beams aplenty, some sawn, some already cut and lacquered and drying in the sun. There’s a dozen spearheads all sharpened and oiled, their completed shafts sitting nearby ready for the two to be set together. Set out on a nearby table are a number of small animals carved from wood; from the way the knots and rings weave through them, you’d think that the tree grew it for that very purpose. And there sits Mis’a - Naith, as he calls himself now - hale and hearty, whistling that familiar tune as he whittles away.*

*He catches me when my shadow falls over him, and his eyes crinkle in beaming delight.*