Meeting The Murrs
You approach them. It seems to be a fairly big group of people from what you can see, about twenty
people including children. They are gathering around three caravans that seem to be the type that
gets pulled around by animals. In fact, the creatures that do that job – even in the dark, they don’t
look like horses of oxen – are parked a little further.
As you get closer, you start to distinguish the features of the people there and notice that they don’t
look very human. That doesn’t surprise you as much as it should have: since you arrived here you
have met many creatures – mostly as clients of Blurred – that seemed as smart, if not smarter, then
humans while having strange shapes.
They are a little smaller then you and stand of two legs with ease, even if some of the younger ones
are running around on four legs. Short dark brown fur covers their body from head to toe, protecting
them from the chilly air of the night. Their eyes and upper face resembles the ones of cats but the
lower part looks more like human’s. Round ears perk out of their hair on the side of their heads.
As you approach you, they gather around you and start asking questions – or at least, you guess they
are questions, since you can only reply on the tone to understand the strange words they emit. You
try a few words in English, but it appears that they don’t understand you more then you understand
them.
However, they don’t reject you. One of them takes your hand and brings you near the fire when
they see you shiver and a blanket is thrown over your shoulder. People gather around you. A
younger one, curious, climbs on your wings to reach for your horns and you let her do, to tired to
protest.
Food is brought to you. It’s not much, a piece of bread, some lukewarm soup, but you look at their
worn clothes, their caravans, their settlement under the stars and at the mercy of the night and you
understand it’s all they have. You nod and smile, before eating quietly.
Strange, how the world goes. The richest person you met may look like a doll, but turned out to be
nothing more then a beast at heart. The ones that have a roof are to scared of losing it to let you in
and the ones that have nothing give all they have left to you, without waiting anything from you in
return. Why so?
Maybe the recognize a lost soul when they see one.
It suddenly strikes you. You are lost. Alone in a world you know nothing off, a world with strange
rules, in a body that is not even yours. You left family behind – what will they say? Will you ever
see them again? And your friends? And everything you have accomplished in your life? What was
the point of building it all if you weren’t even able to take care any of it here?
You might have as well died…
Maybe you did die, and this is the afterlife. No one comes back from the dead.
You feel a few tears stream down your face before realizing that they are yours. You reach up and
touch them, surprise by their very presence, and bring your finger in front of your face. The tips
shine in the fire’s light because of their new moisture.
It appears that dragons can cry too. How strange.
Suddenly, someone hugs you from behind. It is one the creatures. Then a second one comes, then a
third, and a forth, and before you know it you are in the center of the hugest group hug of your life.
It’s not much; it’s all they have; your tears dry out.
You fall asleep next to the dying fire, wrapped up in the blanket they gave you.
The next day, you wake up as one of the smallest around the settlement climb on your face
dribbling and babbling some nonsense syllables in the way only toddlers do. You discover that you
can breathe fire by lighting the one for breakfast amd a piece of bread is shoved in your hands some
omelet laying on the top. You share a cup with one of the creatures that appear to be around your
age and get three refilling of tea to get some warmth in your cold limbs. Nobody speaks a word you
can understand, but communication happen anyway, using signs, tugging, pointing and sometimes
even miming. Several people present themselves to you and you catch their names easily, but you
have nothing to give back. Eventually, they come up with a name for you: Tori. From what you
understand, it means dragon, but you aren’t quite sure. However, you did understand that they refer
to themselves as the Murrs, even if you are not sure if it’s the name of their tribe or their specie.
Even if there are caravans, it doesn’t look like they will be going anywhere today. You give a hand
for the washing of a bunch of dirty clothes and help bringing fresh water from a stream nearby,
along other various choirs.
As the sun gets higher in the sky, several targets are set up, a little further in the field, and bows are
taken out. They are obviously hand made by the Murrs themselves from their rustic design but the
latter seem pretty skilled with them.
Noticing that you are watching them from the side, one of them comes and proposes you their
weapon for a try. They show you how you should position themselves and you get the hang of quite
easily. Of course, the first few shots are way off, but when one hits the outer side of the target,
many give you what appears to be their congrats.
You feel pretty proud. As you walk to retrieve the arrows you used, a thought comes to you: if you
were ever to see Blurred again, that magician that had bought you and torn you from your world…
your bull’s eye will be his pupil, in the middle of those cursed purple iris.
Written by Clayem on 29 March 2016