Herd Mentality part 1
A Tales of Tuomi short story
Another Tales of Tuomi story for you guys. No warnings for this one.
A gentle breeze rustled the emerald leaves above him, mere shadowy blurs in the murky, gray light. Dawn was still hours off so he made his way quietly, careful not to alert the rest of the herd to his morning commute. The light level was not ideal to his eyes, but he could make his way blindfolded, having made this same trek every morning over the last three years. He reached a small pool and tucked his long legs under him, his hooves sinking slightly in the mossy grass.
From a pouch slung across his back he produced a small serrated blade and reached up to the top of his head. The knobs were almost tall enough to show through his shaggy light brown hair and he winced. They grew faster in the spring which was painfully annoying. Moving his hair out of the way, he grasped the budding antler and began cutting. It would hurt some from the core of veins that fed the antler, but he was used to it now. The pool did a good job of hiding the blood, sending the evidence gurgling away along a small creek that also masked the sound of his sawing. The antlers were a bit harder to hide, but carving the shed antlers of males was a common pastime of children and females so he simply snuck them into his usual carving supply.
Antlers, a symbol of maturity for all males. His father had spent years lauding the glory of them, alongside the violence and aggression expected of a mature male. He had panicked the first day he had run his hand through his hair to find he had grown bumps in his skull, terrified at what it would mean. He had never cared for the mock battles the other young males had favored, no matter how often his father had forced him to participate. As a mature male, he’d be expected to participate in the raiding parties that went out to procure supplies and trophy females from other herds.
He winced as he severed the first antler and moved to the second. It soon joined its twin in the mossy grass and he sighed, dunking his head into the pool to clean the remaining blood. Long hair dripping, he cleaned and stored the blade, swapping it for a straight one with a fine edge. He retrieved a jar of cream as well and began smearing it over the pale brown stubble on his cheeks and jaw. Dragging the blade carefully over his skin, he shaved the offensive hair off.
Like antlers, beards were a sign of maturity and all mature males took great pride in them, braiding and decorating the wiry hair. Shaving was typically reserved for the head as all males had the side hair shaved, leaving a strip of long hair between the antlers. That strip was typically left to grow long then braided and decorated like the beard. Dye was also common, especially before raids to better identify clansmen in the heat of battle. The sides, while shaved, did not remain unadorned long. Tattoos telling stories of one’s first raid and first kill were typical, but more abstract designs were also common.
Face shaved, he finally let his gaze meet the pool. His light brown hair hung down past his shoulders, the damp ends curling slightly framing his face. Gray blue eyes stared back at him above a delicate nose and pouty full lips. He could almost accept the creature looking back at him until his gaze traveled lower. Flat, hard-muscled planes that looked and felt wrong had him turning away from the pool.
His father would likely beat him for the thoughts in his head, he knew, just as he had when it had been discovered his son had allowed females to dress him up and paint his face like they did each other. Not just allowed, he had thoroughly enjoyed it and wished he could look like that daily. He sighed, packing away the razor, and began his journey back.
Amongst the huts once more, he tried to shake off his moodiness and look forward to helping with breakfast. An elderly doe stepped from one of the huts, her long white braid draped over her silvered hindquarters. Her blue eyes were clear and sharp as she spotted him approaching.
“Good morn to you, Raff dearie,” she greeted warmly and he didn’t have to force the answering smile.
“Good morn, Elder Celia,” he returned, “what is on the menu this fine day?” She chuckled and motioned for him to join her. A giant cauldron sat above a fire already lit, two females were peeling and chopping beside it. The redhead looked up, a grin quickly splitting her heart-shaped face.
“Good morn, Raffie,” she greeted.
“Good morn, Cerise,” he said, settling down beside her. The other female was quiet, obviously unsure of him, a male, joining in work delegated to females. She was likely a trophy female from a recent raid as she was unfamiliar to him. Females captured in raids were tied in the center of camp for three days and nights, if the female was not rescued by sunrise on the fourth day she was made part of the clan and given chores. He had heard of only one rescue attempt since the last raid and two of the three females were reclaimed. This female was likely not deemed worthy of rescue though he didn’t understand why. She had lovely blonde hair, braided intricately, though it was more ashy than golden, and her deeply tanned skin was unblemished. Her hindquarters were equally unmarked, the fur a rich brown. Her chest was far flatter than most females he knew, but that didn’t detract from her beauty in his opinion.
“This is Joe,” Cerise said, indicating the female beside her. Raff felt his eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. “Yes, it’s a male name,” she continued, “she refuses to go by any other.”
“She is entitled to be called what she wishes,” Elder Celia chimed in, eyeing Raff carefully. He always had the oddest feeling she knew his secret, but she never confronted him about it so he couldn’t be sure.
Breakfast preparations went smoothly from there, though Joe said little. Raff wondered if the female felt like he did, but he had no way to ask with Cerise present even if he felt comfortable doing so. As usual, she held her own conversation, filling the air with her latest misadventures with the various males trying to court her. Her red hair and copper hindquarters were rare and thus males competed tirelessly for her favor. Blonde and various shades of brown were far more typical, even hair the color of ravens was far more common than red.
The cauldron was ready just as the males began filtering from their huts and Raff helped ladle the thick meal of oats into bowls. His father barely acknowledged him, but Raff didn’t let it bother him. He enjoyed this work over the training and sparring his father insisted on and did not see it as demeaning at all, unlike his father.
Shouts of dismay and a wail of grief had the males prancing about nervously. Raff winced, knowing only one thing was likely to have happened. The Gray Wasting, they called it. It struck suddenly looking like nothing more than a gray blotch on skin or fur. It spread quickly, discoloring the infected and causing them to waste away, becoming skeletal in a week or two depending on their size. Nothing they knew could help, even slowing the disease seemed impossible. They had learned it had struck other clans from the captured females, but the source was still unknown.
Raff suspected a parasitic fungus was the cause based on all his studies with Elder Celia. She was the clan’s herbalist and spent much of her day making salves, tonics, and the occasional poison for the clan. Raff loved helping her whenever he could get away from his other obligations. Her hut was more of a home to him than his own.
The crowds dispersed, the meal taking a somber tone with the news of another struck by the Wasting. Raff ladled a bowl for himself and settled down beside Cerise. Surprisingly, Joe sat on his other side, though perhaps she merely wished to be closer to Elder Celia.
“Moringa,” Joe said, her attention to the elder doe, “my birth clan used it often for such diseases.” Raff knew of the tree from his reading, but had never seen it.
“Your birth clan is to the west, yes?” Elder Celia asked, “Bordering the land of madness?” Raff instinctively flinched at the name. Cloaked in a thick fog that warped one’s mind, the land of madness was home to all manner of terrors if those that survived could even be believed. Travelers often went mad from venturing too close to the fog and clans that lived on the border were deemed just as crazy.
“Yes,” Joe affirmed, “though not so close to the fog as to be at risk. I could guide you there with ease.” Raff watched as the elder doe shook her head.
“I am far too frail to make such a journey,” she admitted, “but Raff here knows about as much as I do about plants.” Raff felt himself sit taller at the praise. “I will discuss this with the others.” He nearly dropped his bowl at the implication, but she paid him no heed as she rose and headed towards the council hut.
The council was made up of three members, Elder Celia being the only female. Raff’s father was another, as was Cerise’s father. Each was an expert in their field. Elder Celia was the herbalist, Raff’s father was the expert tactician and led the clan raids, and Cerise’s father was the weapons master. Raff had dealt with plenty of bruises from the male, though, unlike his own father, it had never been a punishment, merely sparring. He could handle himself well according to the male, but lacked the drive to dominate he needed to truly succeed in battle.
Raff finished and collected the dirty bowls, stacking them neatly, pleased that cleaning them was no longer one of his tasks. Younger males and females would scrub them clean instead.
Morning chores finished, Raff headed to Elder Celia’s hut. If he was potentially going off to find this Moringa, he imagined he should refresh his knowledge of it and the lands to the west. Elder Celia had given him leave to use her hut whenever he wished, having proved he would not accidentally ruin one of her tinctures. The elder doe had once quipped that since he spent more time in her hut than she did perhaps it was she who should be asking permission.
The heady smell of drying plants and books wrapped around him like a comforting blanket as he entered the cramped hut. Cramped though it was, it still managed to be brightly lit thanks to strategically placed panes of glass in the roof. He found the books he wanted with ease amongst the precariously stacked towers and settled down to read.
A knock pulled him from his reading and Cerise popped her head in. He was surprised the light in the hut had changed so much, indicating he’d likely been reading for hours.
“The council has summoned you,” she said softly, her brows slightly furrowed, “I don’t like the thought of you going anywhere near that fog, but it sounds like I don’t have a choice.”
“I will stay away from it, Cerise,” he assured her, “I will be fine.” He rose, working the kinks out from sitting so long.
“You better, Raffie,” she said, practically launching herself at him. He loved her enthusiastic hugs now, though the first few times had unbalanced him. Growing up, most of the children had stuck to playgroups of their own gender, but when Cerise had seen Raff sitting by himself she had immediately decided he was to be her friend. The fact they both had fathers on the council had ensured they frequently were thrown together as well. Other males had mistaken their friendship for more as they got older and sought to challenge him for her. He merely had rolled his eyes at them and explained they were just friends and that honestly she was more like a sister to him. The challenges had stopped, though a few males now thought trying to curry favor with him would help their chances. He took advantage where he could and shared the details with Cerise, amusing her greatly.
They paused at the council hut and Cerise hugged him once more. He playfully tugged one of her braids as he often did before heading inside. He had only been inside this hut a few times, outside of festivals, and the mood was even more somber and serious this time.
Three cushions sat on a dais at one end, atop each one sat a council member. The walls were decorated with paintings and carvings of major clan events and past council members. Joe was also present, seated before the council. Raff approached and bowed to the council.
“Have a seat, Raffael,” his father instructed gruffly, motioning to the cushion beside Joe. Raff sat, tucking his long legs under him primly. He found it rather strange that Joe, a female, was sitting in a more masculine way, while he sat in a more feminine one. He wondered what the council thought of the odd reversal before them, if they even noticed.
“We have decided that this moringa plant is worth trying as a way to combat the Gray Wasting,” Elder Celia announced, “as Joe knows the route best, she will act as a guide.”
“Elder Celia has claimed you, Raffael, are the most knowledgeable besides her in identifying and properly harvesting this plant,” Elder Mael, Cerise’s father, continued. “As she is unable to traverse such a distance, we ask that you take up this task.”
“I accept this task,” Raff said formally, “and hope moringa offers the solution we’ve been hoping for in curing the Gray Wasting.”
“Then pack what you believe is needed and safe travels,” his father replied, officially dismissing him from the hut. He rose, bowed to the council again and left the hut. Joe followed, trailing him like a shadow all the way to his hut. He held the door, motioning for her to enter. She raised an eyebrow at him, her expression unreadable.
“As you know where we are headed I could use your input on what to pack,” he explained. She seemed to consider him a moment, then entered. He watched as she took in the space, her expression blank. Two beds, as different as their owners, were up against opposing walls. One was surrounded by trophies collected from various raids while the other had stacks of books and a few bundles of herbs hanging on the wall. Raff wondered what Joe thought of the difference. He knew what his father thought, hearing his father’s derisiveness and contempt almost daily.
“We should head south to the grasslands then head west, following the coast,” she advised, “to go immediately west through the forest will take much longer.” He agreed, nodding absently as he prepared a pack.
“The grasslands will be cooler at night than the forest,” he added, “but then warmer during the day because of the lack of shade.”
“Possibly,” she agreed, “if there’s a steady breeze off the ocean it will not feel much warmer.” Raff estimated a day’s travel to reach the grasslands, but had no idea how long it would take to reach her birth clan. “Two days of hard running along the grasslands then half a day traveling north from Mermaid Cove.” Seven days roundtrip, he noted. Probably too late to save the male that had been recently afflicted, but they could still hope.
“It is said fire draws strange creatures at night close to the fog,” he ventured, hoping she would ease his worry.
“Indeed,” she said instead, “burning sage in the flames seems to deter them though.” He nodded, collecting rolled bundles of dried sage and adding them to his pack.
“Mermaid Cove,” he mused aloud, “not the safest route for males.” She scoffed.
“So you are a male?” She retorted, “From all I’ve seen and heard so far I was beginning to wonder.” He took the barb quietly and she continued, “Wax in the ears helps muffle their songs and I could tie you up at night to prevent you from following them to your death.” She seemed quite eager to tie him up, he noted, though he tried to shrug off the discomfort.
“Unless there’s further advice you can share,” he told her, letting his anger make his tone snappish, “I’d suggest you pack your own supplies.” She took his aggression in stride and left to pack. He sighed, already regretting this trip. He stashed his saw and razor though he didn’t know when he’d manage to use either.
He made his way to Elder Celia’s but to request some salves and other potentially helpful items. She had been expecting him, he realized, a row of jars already waiting on a small table.
“You make this clan proud, Raff dearie,” she told him gently, “I know your father has been hard on you, expecting you to be like him.” He nodded, a reply impossible as his throat closed up. “Not all battles are fought with blades no matter what he and Mael may think.” He knew she was trying to console him, thinking he had merely been unable to attend raids, not unwilling. “Be safe, young one.”
“I will try,” he replied hoarsely, “Joe is rather… difficult to get along with.”
“She is an odd female,” she agreed, “refused to be rescued with the two others and was actually armed if the reports are true.”
“Interesting,” was all he could manage as he took his leave. It didn’t take long to find Joe again and he wondered if she had any blades stashed in her pack. They made their way to the southern edge and he saw a male waiting. He thought perhaps his father wished to bid him farewell, but as they drew closer he saw it was Elder Mael instead. Hiding his disappointment, he greeted the weapons master.
“I know you are still officially an immature male Raffael,” he said gently, “but you will need a weapon out there.” He held out a sheathed machete. “This blade has served me well for many raids, may it serve you well now.”
“You honor me with this blade,” Raff replied, reverently taking the blade and strapping it to his waist. He had trained for years with a blade like it so the weight was familiar beside his front hip. The elder male clasped his forearm in farewell. “Good hunting out there.” Raff nodded and the male trotted off, leaving him and Joe to stare at the path ahead of them.
Dappled sunlight from the afternoon sun danced across the narrow trail with every breeze. The weather was pleasant, spring warming the air just enough to allow for lighter clothing without the heavy mugginess of summer. It had been his favorite season before his antlers had started coming in and it felt like the perfect time to travel. Blooms of pink, yellow, and blue decorated many trees as they made their way south. Flowers in white and purple added pops of color to the ground between lush green ferns. Joe was a quiet shadow beside him, though he could feel her eyeing his new blade. After what felt like hours he decided he had enough silence.
“Do you know how to use one?” Raff asked her.
“A female is not allowed to,” she remarked. He scoffed, deciding to parrot her earlier barb.
“Oh you’re a female?” He quipped snarkily, “From all I’ve seen and heard so far I was beginning to wonder.” She stopped, staring at him hard. He was seconds from apologizing when she began laughing.
“I think I like you,” she stated, grinning and resuming their trek, “yes, I can wield both blade and bow. I had three older brothers. They thought it was amusing to see their baby sister struggle to lift blades and string bows… until I got better at it than them.” He imagined their amusement quickly became contempt at that point.
“Good to know you can hold your own if needed,” he said, “Elder Mael personally taught me as a favor to my father.”
“And yet you are still immature?” Joe asked, her expression confused, “you look to be eighteen summers or so.”
“Twenty,” he corrected her, “I am without beard or antler so I’m an immature male.” Her eyes narrowed and he knew she suspected something. He expected it and knew the best he could hope for was her silence.
“I see,” she said, “you seem content enough though.” Raff nodded.
“I do not mind the chores assigned to me,” he replied calmly, “Elder Celia has been especially kind, tutoring me in her craft.”
“Most males would not have the patience to sit studying plants and books for hours,” she commented, “a number of females wouldn’t either.” He chuckled, remembering Cerise thinking to join him with his studies. She had far too much energy to sit still and found telling even mallow from hibiscus confusing.
“Cerise didn’t last thirty minutes trying,” he admitted, remembering that scrunched up face she had made.
“Speaking of her,” Joe began, her voice turning sly, “still an immature male in that regard too?” Raff stumbled, surprised by this female’s boldness in talking about mating.
“We grew up together,” he explained quickly, hoping to flee the topic, “she’s basically a sister to me.”
“Any other doe strike your fancy then?” Raff choked, suddenly wishing for any other companion.
“Most aren’t interested in the attentions of an immature male,” he hedged, hoping she didn’t see how red his face had gotten.
“But you are interested in them?” He paused, considering. He did find many of them quite lovely, even Joe, but he didn’t feel any drive to mate with any of them.
“I have no real interest in mating,” he admitted, “I am content with my chores and studying with Elder Celia. Courting honestly sounds like too much hassle from what Cerise tells me.” Raff relaxed as Joe laughed some more.
“That female certainly has her hands full,” she acknowledged, “most of us have one, maybe two males, interested at best.”
“We have so few females of late,” Raff countered, “surely you have more than two vying for you.”
“I have none actually,” she replied blithely and he felt his eyebrows shoot into his hair, “most are too busy going after Cerise and the rest have no interest in someone so… unfeminine.” Raff could understand most males finding her behavior rather uncomfortable, but to dismiss her as a potential mate completely for it seemed cruel. He blinked, realizing something was missing.
“You aren’t upset by the lack,” he stated, stepping over some tricky roots on their path.
“Caught me,” she admitted, chuckling, “I have no interest in males.” Raff nearly stumbled. She hadn’t said mating, but males.
“You prefer females?” Raff couldn’t hide the surprise in his tone. He had heard of females who preferred such, males too, but none had made their way to his clan.
“Is that a problem?” She challenged and he promptly shook his head, “I’m not so besotted by the red as the males, but your Cerise is quite the beauty.”
“Hoping to butter me up on this adventure so I put in a good word for you?” He teased.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” she replied with a playful wink. The silence that followed was far warmer than the start and Raff found himself liking this rather odd female.
They stopped for lunch by a small creek and Raff suspected it was the same one that connected to his pool. He sat back, enjoying the gentle gurgling. In the canopy above giant pink flowers hung, their petals easily the size of his hand. The dark purple streaks radiating from their centers made them easily identifiable.
“I bet you can tell me not only what they are called, but also what use they have.”
“Mallow,” he answered, “made as a tea it can help with coughs.”
“Knew it!” Joe crowed victoriously beside him.
“I could have called it anything and given any use and you probably wouldn’t know the difference,” he challenged.
“But you didn’t,” she said, smiling, “I do actually know this one. Had to prepare the tea for my eldest brother one winter.” Her smile faded as her thoughts seemed to drift to a sad memory.
“Where are they now?” Raff asked her, “will I get to meet them when we get to your birth clan?” He watched her shake her head.
“No,” she said softly, “they moved north years ago, following rumors of a possible cure for the fog madness. One of my brothers was caught in it. Only a few moments, but that’s all it took. He doesn’t recognize any of us anymore and has frequent fits where he lashes out violently, thinking he’s being attacked.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, feeling the words were a paltry comfort. He couldn’t imagine having something like that happen to someone he cared about. He felt the heaviness persist as they continued their trek.
“I let myself get captured in a raid after most of our leads failed to pan out,” she said finally, “I keep hoping the next clan has some clue how to cure him.” Raff wished he had the answer for her. “You don’t happen to have the answer in one of those books of yours, do you?” Raff thought about it. If the fog caused hallucinations it may be some kind of spore to blame, but typically such spores required regular exposure to have the effects persist.
“I will look into it when we get back,” Raff assured her, “if you can describe the event that caused exposure and the resulting symptoms, even behavior you think isn’t related, it’ll help me narrow what is in the fog that’s causing the madness.” Joe nodded beside him and launched into her story.
She was running, an activity she had always enjoyed immensely. Her brother was playfully chasing her as he often did. There was no sign of the fog in their meadow, the sun hung high in the sky and blue stretched for miles.
The ground trembled and shifted, but she dashed on, not understanding the danger. She felt it lurch upward beneath her, creating a small cliff and she struggled to stop in time. She managed, but her larger brother saw it too late and went over. The fall wasn’t bad, he merely tumbled a few feet down the now steep hillside. The crack in the ground, however, had released a large plume of the fog and it swirled at the base where he lay, stunned briefly. She had shouted, rousing him, and watched him quickly climb back up to her.
“It wasn’t immediate,” she continued, “the walk back was normal at first and he assured me he was fine multiple times. Then he started muttering to himself, saying ‘you’re not real’ and telling figments to be quiet with more and more frequency. By the time we got back to the village he was decidedly not fine, lashing out and screaming incoherently.” Raff mulled over the information.
Reports had made the madness sound immediate, but what Joe was saying sounded far more gradual though still a rapid progression. He had a feeling his spore theory was more accurate than he had first thought. It seemed that these particular spores could multiply in their host, creating a consistent madness. Destroying the spores would likely destroy the host, but if the propagation of new spores was inhibited, perhaps the body would slowly recover as the spores died off naturally. A touch on his arm brought him out of his thoughts. The forest was slowly thinning and a soft susurration could be heard ahead, a sure sign they were approaching the grasslands.
Raff was nervous as he stood at the forest’s edge and looked out at the seemingly endless expanse of grass. He had never left the forest before and stepping into such exposed terrain was daunting. Still, it was necessary for his clan and they were counting on him. Joe strode forward, likely only pretending not to see his hesitation. He stepped forward, most of the tall blades danced around his knees, but a few tickled his underside as he followed Joe. The reddening sky above indicated more time had passed than he had expected, likely due to being caught up in his own thoughts so much. It would soon be too dark to travel had they stayed in the forest, but the grasslands seemed to grant them a few more hours before they’d need to bed down for the night.
Ahead, Joe gave a delighted whoop and shot off like an arrow. Hurrying forward, Raff realized the grass stopped and soft warm sand stretched along a giant blue horizon. The salty air made his nose twitch, but he ignored it, more concerned with the steadily shrinking silhouette of his guide.
He could understand Joe’s love of running, his hooves digging into the soft sand and launching him forward, a plume of sand following in his wake. He watched Joe swerve, edging closer to the water until she was kicking it up instead of sand. Curious, he did the same and found the spray of water refreshing and the cooler, firmer sand easier to run on. He was out of breath, but elated when Joe finally slowed down enough he could catch up.
“Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that was you going slow?” he asked once he caught his breath.
“You’d be right,” she replied cheerfully, not the slightest bit winded, “when you spend hours everyday running about you can really build up your speed. Eventually, my brother was the only one able to catch me so was tasked to watch me. Luckily, he enjoyed running as much as I did so it was never a chore to him.”
“Running was only ever a punishment,” he admitted, “if I failed to do something to my father’s liking I was tasked to run laps until he said to stop or I collapsed, usually it was the latter.” He could tell by her horrified expression that his experience was not as normal as it seemed to him.
“Your mother allowed such?” Raff winced at her sharp tone. He knew she noticed as she continued much softer, “she isn’t around, is she?” He shook his head sadly.
“She was a beauty I’m told,” he replied softly, “but she was delicate and had many miscarriages before I was born. It was a difficult labor and the following winter was not an easy one. She became ill from the strain and died before the spring thaw. We lost many new mothers that winter.” Another soft touch on his arm communicated her unspoken sympathy and he shook off the melancholy.
They resumed their run, albeit slower, and he was grateful for Joe’s gentle input on his form. He was still far from holding his own if she decided to actually run, but he found her tips on breathing and timing his strides helped him be less winded when they decided to stop for the night.
I had not originally planned to write this as an LGBTQIA story, but my characters can often surprise me as I’m writing. If you happen to be trans or lesbian and see something I’ve written as inaccurate or offensive in any way please let me know! While I am ace, I am not as familiar with the intricacies of the other labels, though I am open to learning.
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