Songs of Healing

The early light of dawn stole through the mouth of the cave sooner than she was prepared for. The summer was taking it's time in coming this year and Daylin found no comfort in the waiting. Summer was the time of action and movement, it was her favorite season of life and with each passing year she looked expectantly to the beginning of warmth from the Great Father. Trying to shake the headache from last night's healing she rolled over in her pallet and tried to sleep. The winter had brought illness to the People unlike anything she had ever encountered. Even the animals stirred with desperation and rage. Though she was young for her standing in the community, she had a power not seen in the lifetime of any tribal leaders. Daylin was beloved by the children, respected by the women and feared by the men. The warriors especially, always seemed to fear what they did not know, and her strength in battle and capacity for healing in one so young gave cause for concern. There was wildness about her, the way she wore her hair, long and free from the braids commonly worn by the women of age. She had refused the traditional and ritualistic ways of the people to find her own path in the Great Journey. There was a restlessness about her which was unusual for a woman. Driven by unexplained passion she kept herself apart, she lived alone, in her own dwelling. She hunted her own food, and refused at The Age to couple and bear children. Some of the men believed the force of her power was driving her mad, others, especially the tribal leaders, felt she was growing into a great shaman, probably the greatest the tribe had seen for many generations. Only the Great Father knew what plans he had for them and for her, and so they watched and waited.
Unable to sleep she sat up slowly. Nausea filled her body and she cringed as she slid the bearskin blanket off of her body. The damp chill of the air made her shiver and she swallowed hard with her eyes closed trying to not vomit. Keeping her breathing slow and steady she reached for her medicine bag that had once belonged to her grandmother. Feeling her way inside the pockets and through the remnants of her herbs she found the incense she was looking for. It was a short braid of three dried cords of willow grass, each chord being harvested at a different time of season. Combined together, in the way of the elders just like her grandmother had taught her when she was just a girl. One end of the braid was charred from previous burning and before she thought to light a fire or straighten her mussed clothes she knelt. Lighting the chord briefly and then extinguishing the flame she inhaled the smell. Holding the incense in folded hands just below her chin she began to sing softly in her throat. It was a song she had learned from her grandmother; it was a song of gratitude to the Great Father. Thankfulness for the sunrise, the earth below her and the life of all things. It's hard to be agitated when you hold gratitude in your heart and on mornings like these when she was worn and sick she needed to be reminded that the Great Journey is the gift of the Father. Slowly she felt the tingle of healing in her body, as if a current of energy was pulling her upward, up from the pit of her stomach through her chest and out the top of her head. Her eyes began to slightly water and as she lifted her bowed head toward the ceiling of the cave. Daylin exhaled breathing out the side effects of her tasks the night before her headache dissipated and she, although tired and weary began to ready herself for the day ahead.
Walking hurriedly through the camp she made her way to the sacred circle, there was a meeting of the tribal council this morning to decide what to do about the feral bear that was encroaching on the camp. Two young ones had been mauled quite severely yesterday afternoon and she was not sure that either of them would survive. The casting and laying of hands that it took to heal their wounds, even partially, was more than she had bargained for. If there was a scouting party to be sent looking for the beast she was determined that she would go. There would be objections of course, especially from the warriors who did not like her. Whether they liked her or not she cared little, they would need her; perhaps that's why they resented her. The foresight was strong in her. That ability to connect with animals, to feel their energy and spirit and understand their hearts. It was as if she was looking through their eyes and feeling their bodies. She paused just outside the ring of stone pillars that made the sacred circle, taking a deep breath and straightening her leather tunic she remembered she had not bothered to comb out her hair from the previous night's tossing restless sleep. Amnon, the tribal chief, would not be pleased to see her in such disarray. He could never understand why she insisted on not following tribal custom, even in the simplest form. Daylin hated to see him displeased, he was becoming a sort of father figure to her and she wanted him to be proud of her. She was determined, however, to find her own way. Stepping into the circle she realized that the council had been waiting for her arrival. Seated around a welcoming fire, they were all present, and she, bowing to each in turn at last seated herself beside the only other woman to hold a place on the council. Avra was an elder, the head of the women's circle and the voice of calmness and reassurance among the young men. Amnon spoke first, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.
"Welcome Daylin, to the gathering." Avra could sense the irritation behind the formal welcome and a mischievous grin stole across her old and wrinkled face. Some of the men who sat opposite Daylin glared disapprovingly at her appearance, but sitting rigidly with her knees underneath her, she lifted her chin to meet their gaze head on. Stoic in her resolution to prove her equality, the look in her eyes added to the wildness of her unkempt appearance and some of the men visibly trembled to meet her gaze.
"I am honored to be welcomed into the sacred circle."