Legends of Belariath
Amara
Amara. The name was supposed to be a good omen, chosen when her parents realized that they were going to be receiving the gift of new life within their family. Those nine months were spent planning what their kitten was going to do, where she was going to study, what she was going to work towards, and eventually what position in life she would be flowing into when she came of age.
Imagine their surprise, the horror that overcame them, when what emerged was not a full-breed but a cursed half-breed; and that half being human!
Her father was outraged, horrified and insulted, the simple thought that his wife had been with another was enough to send him spiraling into depression and despair. Her mother couldn’t believe it, despite her claims and pleas that she hadn’t been with one; she was labeled a harlot and made an outcast from the tribe, never allowed to return.
But the tribe’s customs were to take care of those born within the boundaries of the village, and so Amara was brought up within their folds, although not without complaint or incident in her life. She was tolerated, but that is about all that could be said, labeled as a troublemaker and the scapegoat for other youngsters in the village when something went wrong, it was quickly apparent to her, that she would need to learn more, learn it faster and be better suited to life away from the village than what was liable to be her fate when she came of age within the walls of the village itself.
She was taught the arts of crafting, creation, painting and drawing as they were the skills that most thought she would be best at and wouldn’t be a burden on the rest of the village if she was unable to master those skills. In her own time, she also learnt a little about the wilderness and how to survive, how to find water and food, and some stolen lessons on tracking, so that she could keep herself out of harm’s way if she needed to leave the village.
Her sixteenth birthday approached and it was the time when those in the village would normally take their quest to become an adult, however for Amara the quest wasn’t planned to be a pretty one, it was planned to be one that would present her to her future life as a breeding slut for the village, in the hopes they could get at least something decent out of her. One old lady, who wasn’t as upset with Amara as the rest of the village, wasn’t at all happy with the thoughts that were put into place for the kitten, and so she saved and scrimped, and put a little money and clothing aside, and one evening, as Amara was working, the old woman clasped a hand around her mouth and nose, a rag within it, dipped in a local concoction that soon rendered the young kitten unconscious and was dragged off into the woman’s hut.
Three days passed, outrage ran through the tribe, surprising how many of the males in the village had wanted their chance to plunder the poor half-breed’s body. Three days that she was kept unconscious by the old woman, who forced liquids down her throat to keep her alive, until the hunters were sent out to find the errant kitten. And then, the woman brought her back to consciousness, and quickly explained what had been in store for Amara, and why she had done what she did.
The kitten hadn’t believed anyone in the village could have cared for her, not enough to save her from the fate, and she cried as the woman gave her the clothes and the coins, and promised to lead her out of the village and into the wilderness, that she could at least have a chance to survive and have a normal life. And so, that night, the pair of them left, creeping through the village and out of its limits, away into the forest.
What the kitten didn’t know, was that the woman was dieing, and had chosen to make this her last act on the face of the land. So once they were out of earshot of the village, the woman pulled her to a halt, caressed her cheek and kissed her on the forehead, before she was pulling a dagger out of her belt. ”Take it,” she whispered. ”Take it and go, find yourself, find what you are meant to be.” With that, she was turning to move off in a different direction, leaving the kitten standing alone in the wilderness.
For three weeks, the kitten moved very little, only enough to find a place to live, a fallen down tree stump provided some protection, and she made a rough lean-to out of debris, living on the flora and fauna that were nearby, before she made that final decision that she had to leave and find her life in a new area.
There had always been tales about a kingdom of Ilfirian, and a town within it called Nanthalion, that seemed to be a good place to go and be, a place to prosper and find herself, and so she collected her meager belongings, and set off on a journey, that would take her years, to find this place, and see exactly what her fortune would bring her.