Chapter 740 - Frost Moon Ⅶ (2/2)
Clear across the large clearing at the opposite end is an old battered tent with old dyes of ancient scenes and more recent paintings on the tent depicting the past of the centaurs. A large, clear pool of water deep enough for a centaur to bathe. The pool's crystal clear waters glisten in the moonlight and reflect everything just as clearly as a mirror.
Beyond the pool is an impossibly large garden filled with the scent of various plants and herbs with a well-built fence to keep rabbits and curious young centaurs out. Baby-centaurs tended to get into everything and anything as they possessed no concept of self-preservation. There was a very good reason, why centaur mothers were so fierce with their young. Otherwise, their young would surely perish from sheer naivety.
On the other side of the tent is a large, wooden building, the only one which, Rowan had seen. A warehouse of sorts, but Rowan wasn't curious enough to pry. Everyone was entitled to their secrets including her own. Still, if she had to guess pottery, herbs, and other precious items were stored therein.
There a feeling of reverence surrounding the tent as those surrounding the tent and Rowan patiently wait in silence for the figure inside the tent to speak. After some time, an elderly, but steady voice filled with power emerges from inside the tent. ”Enter, Child of the Founders,” the voice ordered leaving no room for misunderstanding. Nadira instantly moves to follow Rowan inside, but the elderly Shaman's voice emerging from inside the tent sternly chides, ”Only the Child of the Founders, Guardian, I ask that your respect my wishes.”
Nadira hisses unwillingly but obeys. Firenze bows his head in the direction of the tent, before obediently retreats further away, but nearby to sit and wait. Nadira unwillingly does the same as she curls up on a large stone and intently watches the entrance of the tent with her mystical deep blue colored eyes. Firenze's lips twitch into a gentle smile as he holds back his laughter. He would hate for the guardian to take offense, and so he turned his slightly amused sapphire-colored eyes upward to the starry night sky. Saturn, Jupiter, Venus were in a line, three intersections that would connect by the will of the heavens.
Despite the green canopy protecting overhead a portion of the canopy had been pulled back to reveal a glimpse of the night sky. It was a comfort to all the centaurs as they only trusted in the will of the Heavens. However, the Heavens are not so easily read and what appears to be plain to the eye is not always what it seems for not even the present Shaman with all his wisdom and age could always read the will of the Heavens. For that is life, and the woven strands of fate are not made to be read in their entirety by the living. And so, it must remain to maintain the balance that exists between that which is living and that what which is beyond. For there is a purpose to all things, no more and no less.
The tent opening was quite high that Rowan even peered up with interest, but it needed to be as this was a tent made for taller begins than humans, centaurs. The air smells faintly of mint and other soothing herbs; but not an overpowering scent rather just enough to relax the spirit and mind, a perfect balance.
The tent is lit by a warm yellow light produced from a beautifully crafted stone lamp. Rowan's eyes widen instantly in recognition as she had once witnessed the same craftmanship deep below the lake waters in the home of the merpeople's leader, Merchieftainess Murcurs. It was a merfolk craft and revealed the fact that there indeed existed an active trade between the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest and the merfolk of the lake.
Rowan's eyes pull away from the lamp to a figure she had not instantly spotted as they sat sprawled on comfortable, thick-looking cushions and an exquisite, ancient carpet that spoke of trade with humans (likely magical ones) at one point. With solemn eyes, she studied the elderly shaman of the centaurs that paid her no mind as he continued to delicately study the ancient, yellow-aged tome before him. His fingers are long, and the tips are dyed from the many years of crafting herbal remedies, dyes, potions, and more.
The elderly shaman had long, white hair braided back similar to a French Ponytail that hung all the way down to his h.i.p.s. Bright magical bird feathers are neatly intertwined into his long-braided hair. Each feather is perfectly preserved, and none belong to the same beast. Rowan's eyes even widen a tad at spotting a long, scarlet feather belonging to a phoenix. Likely belonging to Fawkes, but she couldn't be exactly certain unless she asked. Although loosely hanging from his c.h.e.s.t is a bone necklace with a single claw and fang from the most dangerous beast the tribe had ever slain, a dragon.
The elderly shaman possesses a long angular face with full lips and a pointed chin. A spray of freckles can be seen across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His arms are thin, wiry, but still possessing muscles filled with old strength. He is rather thin much like Firenze only with a small pouch of belly fat due to age. His ribs can clearly be seen including old scars earned from fierce battles that are strewn across his rib cage, and more so on his lower extremities.
The elderly shaman's lower horse extremities are that of a Fleabitten Gray with a spray of blood marks to match the colored freckles on his upper human half. He is not a very large centaur much like Firenze and is free of facial and body hair as of that of a young boy. The elderly shaman seemed to have a perpetual youthful genetic disposition and Firenze did as well. No doubt even in his old age, Firenze would remain much the same as the elderly shaman did.