Gord woke up tired. Unsuccessfully trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, he stretched in his bed.

Another shitty night of sleep. Great way to start the day.

Forcing himself upright with a groan, he saw the soft purple glow of the talisman on his table.

Bad dreams had been plaguing him for the past six-day, dreams he never seemed to remember but always gave him restless, fitful sleep. Everyone he'd asked about it, that is, his brothers and his one friend, told him to go to the shamans.

He'd gone, reluctantly. Aside from the fact that he didn't want some old bat sitting by his bed roll watching his dreams all night, he simply didn't trust them. He was his father's seventh child and seven was unlucky, at least, according to the shamans. He'd once heard them calmly discussing which of his brothers to support and which to kill if his father ever died before naming a successor. They hadn't even remembered Gord existed. Or maybe they did, and knew he had been listening in at the time. Either way, he was apprehensive.

Balo had been smiling down on him yesterday, as most of them had gone off on a "spiritual retreat". It was more a retreat from tribal duties in his opinion, but he often shirked as well and it helped him in this instance, so he shrugged it off.

He'd consulted with the two unlucky wise women left, and they'd advised him to first find one of the medicine men, in case it was a mental illness or injury that could be healed away.

There were even less of them around, as every single hunting party had to be accompanied by a medicine man for emergencies, and they were all out for some reason. Everyone was strangely busy today so asking around wasn't much help but after following another tribesman across what felt like halfway across the valley, he'd caught up with one receiving reports from a few crows.

After a splash of healing confirmed that he was fine, he made the long trek back. In his absence, the two shamans had crafted a talisman, the dream catcher that was now pulsing with a violet light.

I hope its something actually scary. I'd hate to have been so bothered by one of those stupid falling dreams.

Gord shook his long, dark locks out of his face and stood up. He was shorter than he'd liked, but only because he compared himself to his family. His father, grandfather and all six of his brothers were huge men, all over two strides tall and burly to boot. Gord was less blessed, with an average height, skinny frame and weaker overall constitution.

His brothers all took after his father and grandfather (a fact the old man told anyone who'd listen) while Gord looked just like his mother. Apparently. She'd died a few days after giving birth to him so he had no memories of her save some half-remembered fragments.

Picking up the dream catcher, he tried to commune with the sprite inside, but it resisted his efforts. Of course.

Bury you too, dream sprite. Cad tells me you're all ugly anyway.

He'd never been able to use talismans like most people, sprites shunned him. He wasn't the only spiritually challenged person in the tribe, but he'd been born that way, whereas the other two men had killed a spirit beast and then lost their ability to use talismans.

This very much expected development drove him out of bed. Gord's hut, while not the biggest or best furnished, was still a cut above most others' in the tribe. It was small but robust, with four walls composed of dried reeds reinforced with clay, supported by thicker wooden beams and a thatched roof that kept the elements out. When it came time to resettle, all they needed to do was transport the support beams, as there were reeds and clay all over the valley the Ashwalkers lived in.

He looked around his room at the assortment of polished granite axe heads, mammoth bone spearheads, shiny rocks, beast skulls, all the various knick-knacks he'd picked up arrayed on his walls and floor. He smiled a self-satisfied grin.

I am actually the greatest collector under the sky.

As far back as he could remember, Gord had always kept a rock collection. He'd never really sought to do anything with the rocks, some of them just.. whispered to him. Not with words, it was more like the barest caress on the edge of his perception. It never failed to soothe him. As he grew, so did the collection, and it eventually started encompassing more than just the odd rock. Now, his dream was to go out into the wilds and amass the greatest collection the world had ever seen. He shivered at the scale of his ambition.

Rummaging through his only leather bag, he withdrew a deerhide tunic that he slipped on along with some rawhide sandals. Even being the son of a chief, he took to heart his grandfather's advice of having every essential you need in one bag you can run off with. If half his stories were true, the ability to quickly get away from danger was his most useful skill. That along with his cat-like reflexes, supernatural battle instincts and proficiency at convincing chiefs' daughters to loosen restraints, of course.

That's not to say Gord didn't enjoy his position though. As his youngest child, Greg, Gord's father, doted on him, giving him first preference on items travellers traded with the Ashwalkers. Gord made sure never to abuse this privilege, as he was endlessly curious about the world beyond Ashfall Valley and losing access to all the weird and wonderful things outsiders brought in was his worst nightmare. The collection must grow.

The light smell of something burnt snapped him out of his daydreaming. Someone must have been trying to cook. Regardless, he needed to know what the sprite had recorded and for that he needed Cad. Clothed and ready to face the day, Gord stepped out.

No wonder the blighted shamans were out yesterday! How did no one tell me this?

The ground outside was dusted with a light layer of ash. Gord looked up and saw a world of grey. Everything, from the trees, to the huts, all of it was covered in fluffy grey ash.

Ashfall had started. Every ten winters or so, Ash Mountain would start spewing enormous clouds of ash into the air for about a moon, most of it eventually falling into the Ashfall Valley, causing the eponymous phenomenon.

Of course everyone was busy yesterday. We're packing up.

During Ashfall, everything in the Valley died. The beasts and insects usually left long before it started, meaning the hunting parties must have been mopping up whatever remnants couldn't make it out. No sense wasting good meat. But the trees and shrubs would all succumb over the next few six-days. Ashfall Valley would become a dead zone, completely silent and devoid of life.

However, Ashfall Mountain had a secret. Life spirits loved its ash. Whenever Ashfall ended, the little green spirits would flock to the valley. It would explode with new growth after a few days, drawing back all the beasts that migrated out and causing, essentially, a feeding frenzy. The ever-replenishing food and healing aura drew in prey from all around, who in turn drew in predators from all around. These predators and some of the stronger prey beasts had long and bloody turf wars that made the valley an incredibly dangerous place to be after Ashfall. The chaos usually lasted for a winter or two, at which point the life spirits left and everything normalised. It was during this period that the Ashwalkers came back and dominated.

Now though, they had to leave. Gord considered going back inside to stow away his things, but he was impatient to know what his dreams were.

Yep, impatient. Not lazy, never lazy. Just impatient.

Someone trusted would come to see to his collection, his father would make sure of it. So Gord just walked away, heading in the direction of Cad's hut with only one worried glance back.

Leaving footprints in the ash, Gord made his way across the settlement. Balo in the sky seemed dimmer than usual, his light feeling almost watered-down. People were as busy as ants in their hill, taking care of their final tasks before the tribe left. A melancholic aura brought about by the oppressive, ubiquitous grey dampened conversation. The air above the settlement was inundated with the drifting flakes of ash. One would think nature itself was suppressed, all the usual bright colours looking diluted and washed out. He tried to see Ash Mountain in the distance but couldn't make it out through the haze.

The utter silence of the forest unnerved him. There were people bustling about, sure, but he'd become so accustomed to the background noises of the wild, that without them this didn't feel like the Ashfall Valley he knew. In a way, it wasn't. This was only his third Ashfall. He'd been born during one, saw another at nine winters old and this one marked his nineteenth winter alive.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't see Cad until he bumped face first into the man's chest.

"You're going to walk off a cliff thinking about those stupid rocks of yours."

"Your face is stupid."

Cad laughed, deep and full.

"My friend, you suck at comebacks. What's up?"

Cad was a lot like his brothers, in that he was taller than Gord, stronger than Gord, much better at talking to women than Gord and way more talented than Gord. It was starting to look like Gord's real skill was gathering superior men around him.

They'd been friends since infancy however, having been born on the same day and placed in the same crib to weave their fates together. Weaving fates sounded a lot more serious than it was though. As far as he could tell, they just put two babies together and waited to see if they eventually started playing with each other. Cad said it didn't look any different in the spirit realm. Gord had always thought it was dumb, obviously children will play together, but at the same time his best friend was a result of the practice so he wasn't against it.

Fates now "woven", Cad's mother had essentially raised both of them. They'd learned to make fire together, learned to hunt together, they'd laughed together, Gord had even cried in front of him a few times (as far as Gord remembered, Cad had never cried in his life). They were brothers in all but blood. Which is why he was the only one Gord trusted with his dreams. His actual brothers meant well but they would definitely never let him forget it if it was something embarrassing.

"I finally went to the shamans about my dreams."

"Yesterday?" Cad laughed. "Most of them were having one last dip in the hot springs. At least, I know the wise women were."

No doubt he'd been invited along. Not only was he ridiculously perfect, piercing green eyes and all, he was a nascent medicine man. He'd be a full shaman one day and likely not have time for Gord. The thought brought a slight frown to his face.

"Yeah I noticed they were all gone, there were two left though, whom I'm assuming drew the short reeds. They made me a talisman I can't use."

At this, he proffered the glowing dream catcher to Cad. Not many people in the tribe knew about Gord's "condition". His family obviously, along with Cad and the Eldest Mother (and whoever else she told, everyone knows shamans can't keep secrets). He'd been told it wouldn't be noticeable as long as he was around other people when shamans were near but Gord did eventually plan on leaving to explore the world. He didn't know what he'd do out in the wild.

Cad had been standing outside his hut. As a budding shaman, he stayed with the Shamans Circle. As such, his hut wasn't anything they'd need to take down, it had started off as a seed and he'd grown it himself into a room with a frame for a bed roll, a table and some stools around it. It actually regulated the temperature too. Lucky bastard.

Cad took the talisman and walked inside. Gord followed, sitting cross-legged on the table as Cad sat on the stool in front of him.

Cad, used to Gord's antics, ignored him, focusing on the dream catcher.

"Huh. This is weird."

"Come on man, don't say that while looking at my dreams. What do you see?"

"Nothing. Which is what confuses me. It recorded that a dream happened, but it didn't inscribe the actual thing. Curious."

Cad looked up at Gord and squinted. Gord stared back and shrugged.

"I have a theory." Cad started.

"Go on."

Cad stood up and began pacing.

"This is obviously related to why spirits don't like you."

"I prefer to think of it as a healthy respect."

"Whichever it is," Cad coughed, hiding a laugh. "The dream catcher should have worked. The sprite inside doesn't interact with you at all during the inscription, its aura should have automatically done it by proximity. Even Yart and Heft can have talismans used on them. It's like it doesn't see you."

Yart and Heft, the two brothers who'd saved the tribe when a mammoth-sized buck, a spirit beast, had rampaged through their last settlement. With a few blessings from the wise women, they'd taken on the enraged behemoth and won. Their reward was being shunned by the spirit world. The Earthmother truly was a cruel mistress.

Cad continued, tying his flowing red hair back with a band of animal twine.

"The only way that would be possible is if you were Marked, but I've seen you naked countless times, we'd know by now. Not to mention the wise women would have had visions before you were born."

Cad often went off like this. As curious as Gord was about everything outside the Valley, Cad burned to know how things worked and why. Why Balo rode across the sky every day, why spirit beasts only attacked humans, why the Earthmother punished all women when Nera gave man fire, all these questions plagued Cad and it gave him this intense aura of focus that made him nigh-irresistible to anything with teats and quite intimidating to anything without.

"The wise women would rather I didn't exist because I inherited my father's disdain for them. We can safely rule that out."

"Yes. And you couldn't kill a spirit beast even if you got lucky, so we can rule out you somehow doing that in your mother's womb."

"Hey! I could totally kill a spirit beast if I tried."

Cad and Gord stared at each other before bursting out in laughter together.

"Okay fine, maybe not. But still, what could it be?"

Cad immediately got serious again.

"I think you were cursed."

Gord furrowed his brow.

"Cursed? By who?"

"Not who. What."

"You think a spirit cursed me at birth? You mean I'm literally the opposite of a shaman?"

Gord raised an eyebrow, skepticism drawn heavy across his face. Cad shrugged.

"I didn't say I was right. But what else could it be?"

"Like I said, they respect my boundaries."

"This isn't a joke, Gord, this changes a lot. Imagine if you get hurt out there and you don't have a medicine man by your side? We can't use healing talismans on you. We can't use tracking talismans to let us know where you are. Even hunters don't go out without contingencies."

"So? 'Woven by fate' remember? Just don't ditch me."

"Okay, I can tell you're doing your thing where you pretend not to take me seriously then go complain to your rocks about what I said. Anyway, we'll be moving soon, I need to get to the rest of the Circle and I know for a fact that you made no preparations to leave. Go away."

"I love you too, Cad. I'll come find you after I've talked to my father."

"Cool, don't die."

Walking away with his chin in his hand, Gord thought about what Cad had said. He already knew he wasn't Marked but a curse? What kind of monster would curse a baby not yet out of the womb? And why?

Turning these thoughts over in his mind, he got back to his hut. As he expected, it had been taken down and his collection placed in a wooden chest that sat in the now open space, his escape pack leaning against it. Wiping ash off from the top, he sat down on the chest, feeling the half-heard, half-felt whispers of reassurance emanating from the box.

"My rocks aren't stupid. Cad's stupid. Anyway, I couldn't have been cursed. Eldest Mother was at my birth, she would have told my father by now."

Or would she?

Gord sporadically shook the ash out of his hair as he considered the problem.

"You know what, I'll just ask him. He's the type not to tell you something unless you directly ask about it."

He'd been planning on going to see his father before they left anyway.

The smell of ash in the air was now almost suffocating. He withdrew a scarf from his bag and wrapped it around his face. Much better.

Going off in the direction of the chiefs hut, he weaved through naked, frolicking children that had somehow kept a lizard they were now chasing, and their weary mothers trying to get them to rejoin the nursery.

Good times.

Further on, he saw his father standing in his chieftain's headdress with his eldest brothers, Gar and Gild. They seemed to be in deep conversation.

Weird. He only wears that for outsiders.

"Da!" Gord called out with a wave.

His family looked back at him, his father beckoning him over.

"Gord. Just the man we needed. Walk with us."

Gord inwardly smiled at Greg's insistence on calling him a man. He knew his son felt insecure when he compared himself to his family, and tried to include him in everything, up to a point. He looked too much like his dead mother for his father to let him get in actual danger. This sheltered life grated on Gord, however much he appreciated the thought behind it.

He walked in lockstep with his brothers and father as they talked tribal business.

"-true then we'd have to let the other tribes know, to prepare. This isn't something our shamans and warriors can face alone." Gild was explaining.

"What can't we face? We're the most powerful tribe in the region." Gord inquired.

Greg looked grim.

"A wave of spirit beasts."

Gord's eyes widened.

"What? Why? How?"

Gar chimed in.

"A traveller entered the Valley a few nights ago, with tribe sigils no one has seen before. The wise women scryed him and sent hunters to pick him up. He's with Eldest Mother now, she's reading his intent. But the look in his eyes... He told us something is driving spirit beasts south in numbers. Specifically spirit beasts. His own tribe was nearly wiped out by a woolly rhino spirit and that was just the first one that got there."

Greg took over, his deep voice rumbling.

"He seems touched in the head. He doesn't remember where he's from or his tribe name. The medicine men healed him but whatever messed him up happened too long ago. We need to know where he's from, to get a rough idea of how much time we have until the wave. That's where you come in, Gord."

Gord nodded. Thanks to his "hobby" he was the one tribe member most able to identify strange artifacts and sigils.

"Okay, I just need a look at his equipment."

The three big men towered over Gord as they walked, but rather than timid, he felt overwhelmingly safe.

Nothing could defeat the Ashwalkers while such pillars led it.

They reached the chief's hut, waiting outside when they realised Eldest Mother was still busy. Sensing them at the door, Eldest Mother sent one of her attendants to usher them in.

The room was filled with a smoky haze, the sweet fragrance of shamanic herbs and a soft guttural chanting filled the air. Eldest Mother would periodically bring her ornate ivory pipe to her lips, light her flame, and take a drag. Her eyes glowed with renewed intensity, the same rich violet as the dream sprite, each time she did this, communing with the spirits to reveal the intentions of the man laid before her.

The men had waited for a spell, Gord feeling oddly more fidgety than usual, when the Mother sat up, her heavily wrinkled face turning towards them. The herbs hadn't worn off so her eyes still shone with that intense purple light.

She spoke in her low voice, harsh from all the time spent communing with spirits.

"Chief Greg. I cannot say whether his information is correct, but he wholeheartedly believes it to be true. And he has been in contact with a spirit beast at some point. I recommend we trust it for now."

Greg nodded, brow furrowed in thought.

"We'll need to send messages to the other tribes in case the wave starts before we get to the meeting point. Order your medicine men to get on it as soon as possible."

"No need to rush," she wheezed. "This is an opportunity."

"No. We're already the most powerful tribe from here to Muran's Drop. If we're all going to endure this, we need to have every tribe at maximum strength."

"You've already considered it. I'm glad the tribe is in such capable hands."

"Don't patronise me, hag. Get it done."

His brothers looked uncomfortable at the way their father talked to the Mother, a figure they'd been raised to hold in the highest regard. She just cackled in her wicked, eldritch manner before turning to Gord.

"Young Gord," she rasped. "It seems we have need of your particular... interests."

He took note of how she didn't say talents or expertise.

I don't like you either, shrivelled crone.

Gord, saying nothing, walked up to the man. He was unconscious, with his head in the Mother's lap as she poked around in his mind.

He didn't have many distinguishing marks, just the tribal sigil that no one recognised. Hmm.

His equipment was basic, a polished flint spearhead along with some twine, a small hunting bow, a polished bone knife and needle, and a small clay pot.

Gord put his hand on his chin, considering.

"His pot is inscribed in the Cavediver style. He's either from a smaller tribe in the area or he passed it on his way here. I should be able to narrow it down further though."

As he ran his eyes over the man, that faint fidgety feeling returned even stronger. Like there were ants running along the inside of his skin. Gord ignored it, he wasn't about to give Eldest Mother more of a reason to dismiss him. The sensation only grew more and more insistent.

He dropped to his knees, ostensibly to inspect the man further but really to keep a lid on the crazy goings-on inside his body.

Gord started rifling through the pouches on the man's belt, feeling drawn to something within them.

He opened the first two pouches and only found dried stimulant herbs, presumably how he had made it here. Opening the third pouch however, revealed the most glorious sight.

Jagged edges. Dark grey surface. A rock. A special rock.

This one didn't whisper. It sang.

The world disappeared around him, time itself slowing down as he reached out towards it, almost in a trance.

Nothing else existed except Gord, this most wonderful rock and the seductive promises that spilled from its dull exterior. Promises of freedom. Of adventure. Of danger.

Promises of power.

He didn't know how. He didn't know why. He just knew that this unassuming stone was his destiny. All he had to do was take it.

Like it was the most delicate petal, Gord brushed it with the very tip of his finger.

And immediately fell unconscious.