章節 740: Frost Moon Ⅶ
With a thick wall of thorns and only a thin opening in the copse, Nadira most pointedly did not fly over the wall of thorns having already learned the hard way that there are traps and painful nets hanging hidden high above in the tree tips to capture any type of beast capable of getting over the thorn wall. She lingers at the entranceway until the centaur arrives with the protector before bursting through to the other side.
Through the carefully hidden entrance, Rowan's eyes widen as they emerge into a clearing completely free of snow. However, that was not what astonished her but rather the still living greenery in the large clearing. The greenery was lush despite the cold of winter.
The air itself was rather warm, warm enough for Rowan to feel slightly overwarm in her heavy fur-lined robes. Large hide tents are set up throughout the very large lush green clearing. The animal hides tents resemble the Native American Tipi's only less vertical and far more open resembling more of the Sámi Lavvu style except that these tents are far larger and grander due to the Centaur's size and stature.
For the first time in Rowan's life, she sees young centaur children laughing innocently as they play and chase each other through the green meadow. The adults openly laugh and chat as the youth flirt and tease each other. The mothers with newborns or young children mind them closely, before gently ushering them into the tent to rest for the night. Even newborn centaurs could trot on four legs much like baby horses could after a few hours. For this reason alone, female centaurs fiercely guarded their young lest harm comes to their offspring.
It was also the first time that Rowan had ever seen the centaurs so carefree. In every single instance that she had met the centaurs, they had always been guarded with the exception of Firenze. However, the explanation was rather simple the centaurs did not trust anyone that was not their own kind. But here in their village, they were safe and were able to be themselves, a free-spirited people.
All a sudden the children spot Nadira winding leisurely in the air as the children cry out with excitement. "The guardian has returned!" The centaurs turn to gaze at the guardian of the land, but their eyes go directly past the beautiful, albino serpent twirling underneath the light of the full moon, but rather to the recognizable figure of the next shaman, Firenze.
The adults slowly rise to their feet with caution at seeing that the next shaman, Firenze carried a hooded figure on their back. The two warriors that stood guarded the entry from behind a wooden wall, a few feet away raised their weapons. "Halt, Firenze!" Warned a young marron-colored centaur nocking an arrow on a taut bowstring; while his companion a thinly bearded centaur with a deadly-looking spear held in hand in a practiced fluid motion twirled it in his hand before pointing at the duo.
The centaur females hastily whistle to their children to return to their homes. The children although curious obey their mother's whistles and gallop hastily back to their homes. Many a time a warning whistle had saved their lives from the attacks of the beasts within that Forbidden Forest that breached the thorny walls of the conclave.
The females and elderly retreat to the safety of their tents while the female warriors and male centaurs reach for their weapons ready to take action if needed. More than once a wizard or witch had attempted to forcibly enter their tribe to take possession of that which they rightly believed or claimed was theirs. The humans were not trustworthy and even less those possessing magic.
"Enough!" Loudly echoed the voice of Magorian, chief of the Centaurs. With a proud, high-cheekboned face, and long black hair, the centaur chief made his way forward.
"Guardian," Magorian humbly greeted the coiling form of Nadira, who slowly relaxed.
Turning to Firenze, he faintly bows his head towards the figure on Firenze's back. "Child of the Founders, the Shaman has long awaited your coming," Magorian said giving the guards a pointed look to lower their weapons. "Please Firenze, if you would lead the way, the Shaman awaits."
The centaurs whisper in confusion as Firenze moves past the confused centaurs, who peek with curiosity at the hooded figure still astride the next shaman. The centaurs whisper to each other as those who had been present in a hushed tone explain that the one carried on the next shaman's back is the one, who carries the child of the Founders of Hogwarts. And also, the one whom the guardian of Hogwarts, Nadira had elected as protector. (Which technically wasn't true, but well, they didn't know that….)
Clear across the large clearing at the opposite end is an old battered tent with old dyes of ancient scenes and more recent paintings on the tent depicting the past of the centaurs. A large, clear pool of water deep enough for a centaur to bathe. The pool's crystal clear waters glisten in the moonlight and reflect everything just as clearly as a mirror.
Beyond the pool is an impossibly large garden filled with the scent of various plants and herbs with a well-built fence to keep rabbits and curious young centaurs out. Baby-centaurs tended to get into everything and anything as they possessed no concept of self-preservation. There was a very good reason, why centaur mothers were so fierce with their young. Otherwise, their young would surely perish from sheer naivety.
On the other side of the tent is a large, wooden building, the only one which, Rowan had seen. A warehouse of sorts, but Rowan wasn't curious enough to pry. Everyone was entitled to their secrets including her own. Still, if she had to guess pottery, herbs, and other precious items were stored therein.
Firenze comes to a halt and Rowan lets out a soft groan as she slides off of Firenze. She could already feel her muscles screaming in protest as she wobbled forward. She was going to be very sore in the morning. She might have to even pay a visit to the infirmary in the morning, but that was better than asking Terry, who would surely blab to Severus. And knowing Severus, who knows what ridiculous events or conclusions he might even come up with in his distorted imagination!
There a feeling of reverence surrounding the tent as those surrounding the tent and Rowan patiently wait in silence for the figure inside the tent to speak. After some time, an elderly, but steady voice filled with power emerges from inside the tent. "Enter, Child of the Founders," the voice ordered leaving no room for misunderstanding. Nadira instantly moves to follow Rowan inside, but the elderly Shaman's voice emerging from inside the tent sternly chides, "Only the Child of the Founders, Guardian, I ask that your respect my wishes."
Nadira hisses unwillingly but obeys. Firenze bows his head in the direction of the tent, before obediently retreats further away, but nearby to sit and wait. Nadira unwillingly does the same as she curls up on a large stone and intently watches the entrance of the tent with her mystical deep blue colored eyes. Firenze's lips twitch into a gentle smile as he holds back his laughter. He would hate for the guardian to take offense, and so he turned his slightly amused sapphire-colored eyes upward to the starry night sky. Saturn, Jupiter, Venus were in a line, three intersections that would connect by the will of the heavens.
Despite the green canopy protecting overhead a portion of the canopy had been pulled back to reveal a glimpse of the night sky. It was a comfort to all the centaurs as they only trusted in the will of the Heavens. However, the Heavens are not so easily read and what appears to be plain to the eye is not always what it seems for not even the present Shaman with all his wisdom and age could always read the will of the Heavens. For that is life, and the woven strands of fate are not made to be read in their entirety by the living. And so, it must remain to maintain the balance that exists between that which is living and that what which is beyond. For there is a purpose to all things, no more and no less.
The tent opening was quite high that Rowan even peered up with interest, but it needed to be as this was a tent made for taller begins than humans, centaurs. The air smells faintly of mint and other soothing herbs; but not an overpowering scent rather just enough to relax the spirit and mind, a perfect balance.
The tent is lit by a warm yellow light produced from a beautifully crafted stone lamp. Rowan's eyes widen instantly in recognition as she had once witnessed the same craftmanship deep below the lake waters in the home of the merpeople's leader, Merchieftainess Murcurs. It was a merfolk craft and revealed the fact that there indeed existed an active trade between the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest and the merfolk of the lake.
Rowan's eyes pull away from the lamp to a figure she had not instantly spotted as they sat sprawled on comfortable, thick-looking cushions and an exquisite, ancient carpet that spoke of trade with humans (likely magical ones) at one point. With solemn eyes, she studied the elderly shaman of the centaurs that paid her no mind as he continued to delicately study the ancient, yellow-aged tome before him. His fingers are long, and the tips are dyed from the many years of crafting herbal remedies, dyes, potions, and more.
The elderly shaman had long, white hair braided back similar to a French Ponytail that hung all the way down to his hips. Bright magical bird feathers are neatly intertwined into his long-braided hair. Each feather is perfectly preserved, and none belong to the same beast. Rowan's eyes even widen a tad at spotting a long, scarlet feather belonging to a phoenix. Likely belonging to Fawkes, but she couldn't be exactly certain unless she asked. Although loosely hanging from his chest is a bone necklace with a single claw and fang from the most dangerous beast the tribe had ever slain, a dragon.
The elderly shaman possesses a long angular face with full lips and a pointed chin. A spray of freckles can be seen across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His arms are thin, wiry, but still possessing muscles filled with old strength. He is rather thin much like Firenze only with a small pouch of belly fat due to age. His ribs can clearly be seen including old scars earned from fierce battles that are strewn across his rib cage, and more so on his lower extremities.
The elderly shaman's lower horse extremities are that of a Fleabitten Gray with a spray of blood marks to match the colored freckles on his upper human half. He is not a very large centaur much like Firenze and is free of facial and body hair as of that of a young boy. The elderly shaman seemed to have a perpetual youthful genetic disposition and Firenze did as well. No doubt even in his old age, Firenze would remain much the same as the elderly shaman did.
創作者的想法 
EsliEsma
EsliEsma Considering, the Centaur's size, it would make sense for them to live in nomadic styled tents. It isn't thorough the indigenous populations of europe did not have any as all roaming indigenous populations throughout the world have their own verion of tents.
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