Precision

You've never understood me.

You, Shadowborn, trained in the ways of the Shadow Skydancer mages before converting to a Mirror, surely you ought to understand.

You who voluntarily chose to take on a form like mine, who chose a Plague mate, who trained in the warrior Mirror ways that had their origins in the Plaguelands, how can you not understand.

My dedication, my precision, my courage and my sharp claws. All these combine to make me who I am. All the elements that your mate's mother instilled into every one of her numerous trainees, as well as her children.

And yet, you reject the Mother's blessing. You chose to follow a god who is not there, who speaks via bubbles instead of the nearness of our life's-blood. I do not understand you, and you do not understand me.

But on the other claw, you have always welcomed me into your pack. You, your mate, his parents and siblings, all worked together to make me welcome, to train me in the ways of our joint warrior heritage, to ensure that I always had a friendly body at my side, even in the times when the way of the Necromancer proved lonely. Even when I pushed you away, thinking that was best in my dedication to Plague, you were still there. Pushing back, keeping me upright.

In a way, that is the same love the Mother shows to all of us. Pushing us on, pushing us down and back and sideways and up, pushing us to our very limits, making us strong.

Therefore, as strange as it may seem, in a way, you are my mother, too.


~Achlys, Necromancer, to her adoptive mother in Clan Aquaurora