Wild Plains

Chapter Two

"The Choosing is an ancient Caballashifter tradition, dating back to before the different breeds separated into the many different Clans. Each one has a different spirit, and ours is the Great Wind. The Choosing is our most important tradition, for it gives us our leaders. Whenever the current Lead Mare or Stallion draws close to retirement, any foals from the ages ten to fourteen are gathered, and the aforementioned Spirit will choose one to lead us in the future. Once he or she is chosen, the current Lead will retire, the current Co-Lead will take their place, and the chosen will become Co-Lead. The new Lead vows to teach their young protégé everything they know about leading the Clan, and the cycle begins anew," calls Lead Stallion Brushtail from the Speaking Stone. Somehow, the Stone's accoustics work perfectly to make the speaker's voice travel, hence the name, and even Lyra can hear him clearly from her place in the back of the cluster of older foals.

She can't help but fidget her feet in the dust and flick her tail. The steadily rising sun was causing her black coat to heat up, and it was majorly uncomfortable. Why they had to be in horse form for this she didn't know. If she were Lead Mare she'd let it wait until the actual Choosing began. That was the exiting part. She was ready for it. But first she had to slog through Brushtail's boooooring speech. As cool as the story was, and as much as Lyra loved stories, the speech dragged on past it and wound into some political talk that went in one ear as the Lead Stallion's clipped diction and out the other as "blah blah blah we're better than Streamsclan and Hillsclan and oh don't even get me started on Cavesclan, I mean, what kind of Caballashifters live in caves?!"

Sighing softly so that the nosy foals near her wouldn't notice, she let her eyes rove over the dusty Plains and the nearly dustier coats surrounding her. When she was little, she used to long for a coat that matched Sanden's creamy Palomino or even Brushtail's lake-mud brown. The shiny black of her own coat gave her away as an imposter every time, and no matter how much she rolled in the dust it always would. Letting out another miniscule sigh, Lyra lifted her head a little. She was so much taller than everyone else in horse form that she could see over their backs without even trying - not just foals, adults too. She'd been her father's size by the time she was five, and taller than him my five and a half. Luckily, in human form she was only a few inches taller than average, and the difference was easier to hide or play off. Twitching her ears, Lyra suddenly realized that Brushtail's clippy drone was gone - and replaced with an energetic female voice.

"Co-Lead Shorlyn!" whispered a dun colt close to her.

"She's so much more exiting than old Brushtail," said his friend, a redish Paint filly. "Maybe she'll actually do something about stinky Ruinsclan trying to encroach on our Plains."

The words stung Lyra a little bit - Ruinsclan were kind of like her, on a bigger scale, and she felt for them. No one wanted them, no one trusted them, and certainly very few even cared to try understanding them. Maybe Shorlyn would fight them when she became Lead Mare. But perhaps she'd extend a hoof. Lyra shook some flies out of her mane as she rose her head to it's full height, listening intently to the Co-Lead along with the other foals. Shorlyn was facinating to them - a tough grey Appaloosa, she had fought off a mountain lion shortly before being chosen. She was only twelve years old. The scars from it's claws and teeth were still visible on her chest and legs. They weren't the only ones, though - her barrel, hindquarters, all four legs, even her face and neck were scarred. She was a brave fighter. A protector. Almost every foal's idol. And Lyra wanted to hear what she had to say. Luckily for them, Shorlyn kept it short and sweet, yet impactful.

"Today, one of you will be chosen to help lead Plainsclan into the future. I vow to teach him or her everything they will need to know to protect and honor our Clan. However, the Great Wind will choose that foal. The Wind knows what Lead Stallion Brushtail and I do not - it know what is in each of your hearts. It sees into the place where you keep you emotions. It judges how you deal with them. It gauges what you use them for. It understands your fears, your ambitions, and your goals. And most importantly, it deciphers the love you feel for your Clan." Shorlyn looked around at all of us, the feathers in her mane twirling in the wind as it howled through her hair and tried to blow her off the Stone. Yet, she stood firm, a true leader in heart, and in right. Lyra felt the mare's eyes land on her, and she looked straight back at her, unwavering, and for the first time in her life, somewhat proud. To Lyra's utmost suprise, Shorlyn nodded at her before looking away. Seemingly satisfied, the Co-Lead began to speak once again.

"The Great Wind will arrive soon. It will be incredibly frightening, but do not be scared. If you are brave enough, run towards it. If you are not, stay where you are. The Great Wind will choose from those who are brave enough to run to it..."