Cariad Earthspear

"Your ancestors are watching over you, friend. And I'll be here if they blink."

### Known relatives

Chauru Earthspear (father) Edeki Bloodhoof (mother) Machik Earthspear (uncle) Sanar Earthspear (mentor)

## Physical Description

### Tattoo(s)

Frostwolf clan symbol in an embarrassing place. Orcish ale is surprisingly strong and orcish enthusiasm is surprisingly infectious. Cariad always did have a soft spot for wolves.

### Weapon(s) of choice

Anything stout, wooden, and heavier than a gnome.

## Overview

**Cariad Earthspear** is a young, idealistic tauren who has only very recently begun the formal shamanic training necessary to one day serve as Spirit Walker for her clan.

Though she remembers a childhood on the move, fleeing from the cruelty of the centaur tribes, most of her life has been shaped by the good fortune that her people have experienced since joining Thrall's horde. The orcs and trolls have proven to be staunch allies, helping the tauren in their time of greatest need, and Cariad is determined to repay that generosity.

An unstoppable force of positivity, every step the young shaman takes on her journey to better understand the spirits and elements falls with the assurance of someone who believes absolutely that the world is a good place – one that only needs a little help from time to time in getting there.

*More to come.*

## A Different Hunt

It was the cold that woke her.

The wolf was watching her. The wolf she had killed. Its legs were too long, too slender, and its eyes shone like wet riverstones worn smooth and featureless by time, but she knew it was him. He stood over his own corpse, unmoving, implacable, and radiating cold. Cariad shivered, pulled her legs in, and said nothing.

She had spoken earlier, of course. Said the old words over the beast’s body as his grey fur darkened around her spearhead. It had been a good throw, but not good enough, and the wolf had whimpered before she could give him peace. He had seemed so large, so fast and dangerous. But here on the ground he was a small thing. She could make out his ribs near the haft: he had been hungry, at the end. His leg had kicked one last time as she said the words and she faltered, but there were none nearby to judge save the Earth Mother and if she did so, she did it silently.

This was tradition. This was a thing of pride for her people, a celebration of the Earth Mother’s gift and yet as the spirit’s white eyes bored into her she could find no solace in that fact. Did he hate her for what she had done? Were there cubs in the valley who would now starve just so that she could be seen an adult? Would he take from her what she had taken from him? His eyes answered with moonlight and nothing else.

She had never seen a spirit before. She had heard them, yes, and sensed them – as all who must eventually walk the spirit trail do. Voices, emotions, longing. Occasionally when she was speaking with someone she would become overwhelmed by sensations of pride or maternal love, and she would know that this person’s family was both near and far. Sometimes the emotions were so powerful that she feared she must surely lose herself to them, as all Spirit Walkers finally do, but until that day came she would bring as much kindness and understanding into this world as she could…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the wolf. He had come closer, though she had not seen him move. It was a moment before she realized he was looking past her, off beyond the oasis, and soon she heard a scuffling, too. The low rumble of voices. Cariad’s eyes widened; she knew that guttural tongue. Snatching up her spear, she looked around in a panic. There – a rock, its dark shape half-sunk into the soft earth. Without knowing why, she grabbed the wolf’s corpse and threw herself behind the low rock, wedging herself as tightly as she could into the mossy earth at its base.

The stamping of hooves grew louder. Growled words and responses. Two, three, five… more. Too many. Far too many. A full hunting party. They passed by her campsite but then one barked a word. The hooves came closer. The wolf’s blood and fur mingled in her nostrils, though she had not breathed in near a minute. The centaur found her camp. She heard her herb bag torn apart, her bedroll stabbed. The wolf was watching her. The centaur began to fan out. She tasted blood in her mouth, felt the burning of her knuckles on the spear. The wolf was watching her. She could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears.

The wolf turned his head, and a gazelle shot out of the nearby ferns. It streaked like lightning to the east. Whooping and screaming, the earth shook as the hunting party gave chase. Cariad counted to ten, and then she ran. Clutching the dead wolf to her chest, she ran west under Mu’sha’s pale light. She ran until An’she’s rays pierced the horizon. She ran until her legs gave out, and as she lay atop the dry Barrens grasses, heaving for air, the wolf sat beside her. He was lesser now, smaller under An’she’s gaze. But he looked at her with those same knowing eyes.

“Thank you, spirit.” Cariad found her words at last. “If you had not woken me, I – I would have… and after I…”

She breathed in, slow. Gathered herself up before letting it out. She sat before the spirit, and for the first time, looked into his eyes without fear or shame. “Thank you, *mahigan.* I will honor your tribe always.” She stood up. “And I will live a life,” she spoke as she placed the spearhead on the earth, holding the haft out at an angle, “worthy of the gifts you have given me.” Her hoof crashed down onto the blade, snapping the sharpened stone in half.

The spirit watched her, pale orbs unblinking, and then just like that, was gone. Cariad turned towards the green valleys of Mulgore and home. The elders would need to be warned; the centaur were once again growing bold. Uncle Machik would need to once more take his spear down from the lodge’s wall and rally the braves. But there was a warmth growing in Cariad’s heart, for she had something else to do as well.

#### *Days later…*

The voices of shu-halo carried in from outside the hut; the camp was bustling today. Cariad blew away the last of the wood shavings and held the results up to the morning light. The totem, once a spear stave, was intricately painted and carved. Adorning its surface was a tuft of grey wolf fur, which felt ever so slightly cold to the touch. She smiled.

Sanar was going to be so pleased.