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Plunging your hand into water, you can feel the change in temperature. As well as pressure, like a second skin. So too can you feel the sunlight’s first rays as an imperceptibly thin layer of warmth. Perhaps you have felt it. Most however, have not felt the soft touch of moonlight upon them. Or so much as realized it.
Tonight the full face of the moon fell to land a kiss on the tear wet face of a boy. He knelt in the snow at the crest of a hill, hands woven tight around the hilt of a small flint dagger. The chill wind picked up and brought the boy back to himself. He had been thinking how just one turning of the moon and everything could be changed. Although he had come and sat to watch the moon ever night, never had he done so feeling so alone. The boy’s hands relaxed and onto his lap dropped a tiny pouch, empty but for the residual of some fine powder. Howl’s and cheers rose through the night from the great food hall below. Looking back up at the rising moon the boy sighed.

Not yet.

Not yet.

The grand hall was bustling with the noise of talk and song and shouted laugh. The bones had been picked and plates lay scattered about the floor for hounds. Yet the favored course was just being served in the tin cups, pewter mugs, and wooden tankards about the hall. They would have filled their mouths directly from the tapped barrels, like sap piglings, if only.
The once roaring fires had died down to nearly embers. A maid came round and added logs. Bending over to blow the flames back to roaring life. Did that make the fire hers?

“Oy ye? Ye want to keep me warm tonight, ye lovely?” She was bear hugged from behind and lifted from off her feet. She yelped as she was swung around by broad and scarred arms. The man’s yeasty breath was hot on her back.
“Leave her be you roughnecks. My fires gone cold.” Another groaned from across the table.
She was released as men from other seats chimed in agreement. “Besides.” Shouted another. “Shes’ with me tonight.” He said biting his beard and swaying his hips.
The girl sprung free and took up her wood bundle hurrying along. She couldn’t for all the world imagine how the serving wenches managed it. Just then another song was taken up. Every man added their toothy shouts in tune.

“Fear ye! The Tuskers come.
Beastly spirits on salmon run.
Fear ye! We Tuskers come.
Horns call carry on fun.
Mad-Eye’s dogs o’re everyone.
Shores left red, men left dead!”

Men downed their drinks and stamped their feet. The song roused the lone man at the raised table. Smiling he put up his arm to encourage his horde. Chuckling to himself he looked into his horn. Damn good stuff in those barrels eh? He hadn’t remembered being this tossed since his younger days. For a moment his back sweat at the thought of being too drunk at a Callout feast. He should be kept sharp. To this he laughed again. He needn’t worry for that any longer. No one had the stones for it, he’d made sure of that.

With his good mood he turned to his left. A row of empty seats. Oh aye, he thought and shifted right. Another empty few chairs. Not guilt, just a need to see those seats filled again. Aye. That be what reddened his face, for but a moment.

Damn that last boy of his must be out howling at the moon. Shoulda never left him and his sister with that crooked gran of theirs. Woman was a right witch. And besides, weren’t this a new leaf?

His face was warm and he nursed his drink. No need to dampen his night with thoughts of regret he knew. But the table felt cold with him at it alone.

I ought to make peace with that boy. He is the one I got left.

The chief looked out over the little kingdom he had won. The men were in good spirits. Patting his belly he smiled. They would all be soft and fat here soon down in these south lands. Where it was warm. And now with that clan of Bushawacks and their crazed chief Spit-Blood off their backs he could rest easy. Let ’em turn blue.
Aye old Mad-Eye. You’ve done well for these Tuskers.

He realized the room was going quiet and he looked up. How much had he had to drink again? He couldn’t remember. With freshly filled mugs the men were beginning their toasts. Some shouted up to their chief in praise and thanks. All stomped their feet and cheered. Others drank to brothers lost to arrows, spears, and swords over the years. All slammed their cups and sloshed some onto the floor for lost friends. With bellies full and the men finished their toasting. It was time for the Callout.

The chief stood. His head felt under water but he managed to raise his horn in salute.
“Aye Tuskers!”
The men resounded.
“Not bad,” he belched, “ not bad ehhh?”
The men rose and slammed mugs together in the air.
“From all the way in Whit-Peak!” The left side of the room exploded in cheer.
“To cliff..Cliff-Side!” The right side went up.
He had a hard time getting words out.
“T..To all you bastards in ‘tween!”
The whole house was a roar.
“We made it!”

He thrust up his horn and tossed it back. The room followed his lead and their empty drinks fell to the floor. His head rushing, he looked down into his goat horn. Ah well, he thought and brought the cup to his lips and then let it fall as well. After the clatter settled the men waited. He burped and clutched at his guts. Blowing out he grasped for words that seemed to fleeing from him.

“Well, uh, Anyone got issue with ‘ol chief Mad-Eye?” The asses of every man in the hall hit their seat in an instant. The room held its breath. All that could be heard was the lapping of the dogs below the tables.
Good. Thought not. He smirked.

Just as the breath he had held all night was finally being sighed, the doors at the end of the hall were thrown open. Cold wind dimmed the fires and put a chill through the warm inside air. The chiefs eyes were blurred, but he saw a lanky figure silhouetted. Blinking he saw that it was just his son making his way to the head table.

“Ah Slow. Good a’you to juh, join us.”
The boy stood before the raised table glaring up at the chief.
“Come. Sit wit your ol’man.”
The image of his son before him was hazy. Good thing this row was just about over.
“Sit boy! This the callout!” Someone shouted.

The boy turned and spit.
“Aye. And I’m standin’.”

The rough men of the room stalled but then barked laughs. The boy just stood. A grizzled man, grey in the beard came to the boy’s side, pulling at his arm.
“Don’t make a fool boy. Don’t gotta show you’re hard like your brothers was tonight. There’ll be time for..”
The boy pushed the old man down.
“Hard? Who left ‘ere is hard?!” The boy shouted.

The room was silent.

“Your brother would be standin’ now if he were here. Where is ‘ol Rock-Fist eh? Eh?! Where is my dear old uncle?” He was yelling at the man he had pushed.

“Oh, stray arrow at the foot bridge was that it? With no enemy in sight?”
He was riled up and moved toward his father.

“And what of me brothers eh Da? One sent chargin’ into a trap plain as daybreak, and the other caught cold in mid summer. That quick eh, that quick?”

He point a finger right at the big man’s chest.
“And since when do we go selling our land! And our daughters!” He hung on that word and his finger shook with fury.
“Ain’t we Tuskers?! Ain’t we bone.”

The chief just stood there, blinking slowly.
“So aye, I’m standing. ‘Cause I might be Slow, but I ain’t soft.”

Just like that the table legs screeched across the stone floor to make room. The men lined the walls and stood clear. Chief could see a little knife in the boy’s hand. The one his sister had made for him, he remembered. Suddenly someone was handing the chief a blade of his own. He stared down at it. His hands felt like lead weights.

“Any tricks chief? You right?” The man who brought him his weapon asked.
His tongue felt like it filled his whole mouth. What had the man asked?
“R..right” He said.
The man left and pat down the boy.
“No tricks!” He shouted. And stood between them.
The men shouted for their chief.
“Put down the pup chief!”

No one challenged the Mad-Eye and lived. Many had tried. It was in major part to why he had come to lead the Tuskers. His fury at a Callout. Well, callouts past.

“He’s slow, chief he’s slow!”

The fight began. Quickly the men grew quiet as they watched. They had expected to see the old fighter charge in quick and strike hard as he always did. Putting his opponent on the defense from the start. But that isn’t what they watched at all.
The big man lumbered forward and let his knife hand swing in wide arks. The kid moved awkwardly but kept out of the way each time. Jabbing in with that little knife. Before long the man was covered in shallow wounds that just wouldn’t stop bleeding. He swayed with every step like a man too drunk to stand.
They’d all seen him drinking, and he was getting old. No one thought too hard about what happened in the hall that night. For whenever they thought about it, they could remember just one thing. The boy standing square before the bloody bear of a beaten man they once thought king and extending out his hand.

The boy curling his fingers in a sure, slow, beckon.
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That be a backstory I wrote for a Dungeons and Dragons character a few years ago. A big druid bear guy who worshipped the moon. A keen eye would see the obvious Joe Abercrombie parallels. I found this while searching frantically for last semester’s research paper to use a reference for this year’s. I failed to find it.

I post this to exemplify two points I’ve been swimming between lately.

1. I gave a shit. I wanted to give my all. I thought things were cool and wanted to contribute to a group endeavor. And I haven’t felt that same cooperative fun in a long time. I can’t seem to muster it anymore. And at the time I was a little defeated by my apparent effort, and that of others. I want to care, give a shit, try, together. But somehow, no matter what, in every endeavor, you are really alone. And I wonder how many defeats it took for me to stop. Because somewhere between then and now, I don’t think I could do that again. And why not?
2. At the time I was reading the First Law trilogy. I’ve more or less kept up with fantasy and sci fi as my majority literature consumption. I love it. But I’ve since had stints of diet, financial, homesteading, gardening, aligned media. Phases of being really into what I eat, what I buy, what I want from life. And its been shaped in the media I either was subjected to, or sought out. Not sure which way. But I know you are capable of self reinforcement. Especially in today’s media age. So maybe if you watched a little less netflix, and a little more on topics you actually benefit from in your life, you would drive towards those things. Those goals. You are the circle you put yourself in. So, manage your media consumption towards your wants. At very least it keeps your mind things of your choosing. Instead of, I don’t know, insert trend or popular media.