Sins of the Past: Zyanya (Preview)

Hey readers! A patreon exclusive snippet of a larger project going into the Menagerie staff as characters. Here's a snippet from part 1 of three: Sins of the Past: Zyanya

"“Zyanya,” the young vulpine's mother called out, “where are you?”
“Coming mother!” she replied, though she possessed no urgency to stop what she was doing. With a pleasant hum Zyanya was slowly grinding a selection of herbs in her mortar to a smooth brown paste.
Young was a relative description of course. Younger than her present self definitely, but the Mythical Coyote had already lived through two hundred summers. Compared to their shorter lived cousins, she barely looked over her mid twenties. She wore a trio of feathers in her straight black hair, just behind her ear; symbols of her accomplishments in life thus far as a shaman and medicine woman.
After a minute the flap of her tepee was cast aside. Zyanya’s mother, and the tribe's current elder, making her way in. From their looks you would be more inclined to believe them sisters as opposed to a mother and daughter. The elder had the beginning evidence of crows feet in the corners of her dark eyes, but her fur was still just as shining brown as her daughter’s. “I know you've made great strides in medicine for our people Zyanya,” her mother mused, taking the younger Coyote by the shoulder, “but that is no excuse to ignore the call of your elders.”
With a smile Zyanya set her tools down, “Sorry mother,” she offered as the older woman led her out.
Pushing out into the world the sun beat down upon them with its warm glow, mixed with the salty chill of the wind coming off the ocean to create a beautiful summer day. All around women were tending to daily work, all of them Coyotes, and all with extraordinary abilities. One sat painting the bodies of her sisters, her fingertips taking the form of brushes that could change colour mid stroke, letting her create works of true majesty on their fur. Another worked with hides, the edge of her arm sharpened into a firm blade that she used to scrape and clean them. Down by the beach were a trio, one picking fish from their net while the other two dove into the water with their feet made into wide fins, and their tails thinned to rudders that cut through the water.
Her mother gave a small scoff, knowing it was no true apology. Her brazen daughter would do it again, putting work before everything. “The whites should arrive any day,” she reminded her daughter, “are you prepared?”
That sparked proper interest from the younger Coyote, “They’re like us right?” she asked.
The elder gave a nod, “There was a time where they and we were one in the same. Before the waters tore the earth and the land was whole,” she recounted.
“And yet, from what they've sent us they are very different,” she countered.
Her mother gave a laugh, “I remember the look on your face when you discovered their drawings on bark were words,” she teased, “I thought you might give up storytelling right there and put all your words on stone.”
“I may yet,” Zyanya replied with a wag of her finger, “If I can put my stories on stone then, even though I've still a thousand summers left before I'm gone, if my daughters preserve them properly my stories will outlive me,” she exclaimed.
Scoffing her mother shook her head, “You learn to delay the moon and believe yourself above tradition,” she accused playfully.
“We’ve only so many moons to bear children mother,” she retorted, “By stopping the bleed I've given the ability for us to not be limited to our first three hundred summers to bear daughters.”
Her mother chuckled in reply, “Yes, and as a result you may be the first to not be able to share your stories with you great granddaughters,” she countered.
The younger Coyote turned over to a group of their tribe’s children, all sitting around an older woman regaling them with a tale of their ancestors. A number of the young kits were her own, and many even the daughters of her daughters already. “I think I'll be fine mother,” she teased with a giggle. Not all her daughters shared her views, many would go out into the world to bear daughters for the tribe. As it always was, and always would be. “My cure simply offers the choice. The chance to learn and expand our breadth of wisdom before bearing more kits,” she explained with light behind her dark eyes as she spoke.
“Always looking forward Zyanya,” she shook her head, “Just do not forget that there is still much wisdom in our past.”
“Of course mother,” the younger Coyote replied.
As they were speaking a Coyote from the beach was bounding up to them, “Something on the water,” she called out, pointing behind herself. "
- "Sins of the Past: Zyanya" by Madam Materia