There were worse things to be called apart from Tokoloshe, he supposed. At least they said it with respect rather than fear. At least they saw him as a protector rather than a threat.
A ghost who killed their enemies rather than a ghost who haunted them.
He could live with that.
As they neared the edge of the farmlands, a small figure stepped into their path.
A little girl, no more than six or seven summers old. Her hair was tied back in messy braids, and her small hands clutched a wooden container carefully, as if it held something precious.
Behind her stood her mother, a sturdy woman whose hands were calloused from years of hard work. She wore the simple garb of a Beastkeeper, one of those who tended to the tribe’s few domesticated animals. Around her neck hung a cord strung with the shed teeth of the creatures she cared for, the traditional mark of her position.
The Beastkeepers were essential to any tribe fortunate enough to have them. They reared the animals, milked them, tended to their health, and ensured that the tribe had access to the precious resources that only domesticated creatures could provide.
And the creature they tended here was the Stonehide Auroch.
It was a massive beast, larger than any auroch found in Mana-poor regions. Its hide was thick and gray, almost like stone, with faint patterns of purple veining that marked the Mana flowing through its flesh. Its horns curved wide and heavy, and its eyes held a placid intelligence that suggested it understood far more than a normal beast should.
The Stonehide Auroch thrived near moving mountains. They grazed on the Mana-rich grasses and grew strong from the concentrated energy in the air. A single auroch could feed a tribe for a week if slaughtered, but living, they were far more valuable.
Because of their milk.
The mother gently pushed the little girl forward.
The child stepped up to Damian with nervous determination, holding out the wooden container.
"O Tokoloshe."
Her voice was small but clear, reciting words she had obviously been taught.
"You saved mother and many others today from certain death. Like your certain death that you came back from."
She took a breath, steadying herself.
"This is our offering to you, Tokoloshe. Please keep protecting our tribe before you return to the Ancestors..."
...!
In her outstretched hands, the wooden container held a vibrantly milky white liquid that seemed to glow faintly from within.
Auroch’s Grace.
This was what the milk of the Stonehide Auroch was called. It was thick and rich, with a subtle sweetness that carried undertones of the mountain’s power. Those who drank it reported that their minds became clearer, their thoughts sharper. The Mana within them circulated more smoothly, flowing through pathways that had been sluggish or blocked.
It was reserved mainly for Warriors of the tribe.
The Beastkeepers produced only so much, and the effects were too valuable to waste on common folk. Before battles, before hunts, before any task that required peak performance, the Warriors would drink Auroch’s Grace and feel their bodies respond with enhanced clarity and power.
For this little girl and her mother to offer it to him was no small thing.
Damian smiled and shook his head.
These people.
He truly did not even bother to correct them anymore.
"Okay, okay."
His voice was gentle.
"I accept this offering. Go on now."
...!
The little girl’s face broke into a smile of pure relief. She handed over the container carefully, making sure not to spill a single drop.
But before she could retreat, her mother stepped forward.
The woman’s face was serious, her eyes holding the weight of someone who had lost much and feared losing more.
"The Great Tokoloshe..."
She hesitated.
"Will protect our tribe, right?"
She asked such a heavy question seriously.
Damian turned silent.
Promises were heavy in the Lands of Stone.
Once they were made, they had to be kept. A man’s word was his bond, more binding than any contract written in clay or carved in stone. Those who broke promises found themselves outcast, shunned, unable to find shelter or aid when the dangers of the land came calling.
So one could never make promises too lightly.
Damian looked at the two in front of him.
The little girl with her nervous smile. The mother with her desperate hope. The simple wooden container of Auroch’s Grace that represented sacrifice and trust.
He thought about his life in this tribe. The years of planting seeds and pulling weeds. The mornings spent working beside people who had accepted him when he had nothing to offer. The quiet kindness of folk who had never asked where he came from or why an old Warrior protected a young man with no Mana.
He thought about what he would undoubtedly have to do in the future now that his power was coming back.
The questions he needed to answer. The enemies he might have to face. The path that would likely lead him far from this small tribe and its simple concerns.
Could he promise to protect them?
Could he promise anything when he did not even know what tomorrow would bring?
He reached out and ruffled the hair of the little girl.
His touch was gentle, almost paternal.
"Maybe."
His voice was honest.
"Maybe."
...!
It was not the definitive answer the mother had hoped for.
But it was not a refusal either.
And in the Lands of Stone, maybe was often the best anyone could offer.
The woman nodded slowly, accepting the uncertainty. She took her daughter’s hand and stepped aside, allowing Damian and Uncle Adam to continue on their way.
As they passed, Damian heard the little girl whisper to her mother:
"The Tokoloshe has kind eyes, Mama."
He did not look back.
---
They stepped onto elevated ground as they went past the farmlands.
The soil here was rockier, less suited for crops but marked by the passage of countless feet over countless generations. A worn path led upward toward the base of the Roaring Stone Mountain, used by those who ventured onto its slopes to gather Primal Plants or hunt the lesser beasts that dwelt there.
The air changed as they climbed.
Damian felt it immediately. The Mana concentration increased with each step, thickening like honey in the atmosphere. He could sense it now in a way he had not been able to for years. Could feel it pressing against his skin, seeping into his flesh, filling the pathways that had been empty for so long.
It was intoxicating really.
The Roaring Stone Mountain loomed before them, its massive bulk blocking out half the sky. This close, Damian could see details invisible from the tribe below. The veins of purple crystal running through exposed rock faces. The sparse vegetation that clung to the lower slopes, hardy plants that had adapted to the Mana-rich environment. The faint shimmer in the air that spoke of power concentrated beyond what normal lands could hold.
And far above, shrouded in perpetual purple mist, the peak waited!