Nimbar: Of the Red-Eyes tribe

[Lynx]

Packmate. That’s what I was called. What my peers, my friends, my brothers and sisters, what my race had called me. And yet, it would not always be so. There was a time when I became a listless outsider to those I called my own, when my family name was cursed as bad hunts where cursed and as growing seasons that produced bad crops where cursed. I was the outsider from a traitorous family who sold out our people for currency and a promise of safe keeping. No, not just our people, but our packmates, our tribe, our family who was not. All that may yet change though; I refuse to be branded by the failings of my father, and my father’s father. I did this to clear my name, not theirs. For their failings could never be forgotten and would live on as a reminder as why our race is what it is.

As I fell, I saw every mistake I had made come rushing back, playing in the symphony of my life in which I thought I was in complete control of. Seeing it pass though its entire melodic burst in those last few moments, I realized I was never in control of where I as headed. That had been decided by the winds of my ancestors, and that wind brought me here, falling to my death while trying to save my people. I always had control over who I was though, and how I would reach my end. But the end was decided in stone that I could never change. I was going to die, this I had known, but as to how I would die was the real story and the real test of my life. Would I die Nimbar Ru’faarn of the red eyes tribe? Or would I die Nimbar, son of Tharin, Traitor of our people?