SS Drabble
It had been several years since Tyrael had last seen his nephew.
They had gone their separate ways once the Horadrim had gotten off the ground. Of course, they visited from time to time - or rather, Rathma appeared on Tyrael’s doorstep.
Tyrael himself had all but retired. Adventuring days behind him, he was content to rest and wait, and he knew his nephew would come back when he wanted to. Sure enough, he’d awaken to a presence under his bed, or by the hearth, or lurking in his garden. Rathma would settle in for a few days, or even a week, and they’d simply talk. This, that, and the other. Then he’d be on his way.
Time was getting away from them though. Weeks became months, and before Tyrael knew it, winters were rolling by without word from the Ancient Nephalem. Somehow, he was sure he’d know if Rathma were dead, but even so, he worried.
Then, the reports came to him.
It was unlike Rathma to be seen, unless he wanted to be. And so, when Tyrael received word of a strange, deerlike beast roaming the countryside, he decided to investigate the matter personally.
Thus, an early afternoon found him delving deep into the forests south of Entsteig.
The forest went suddenly, unnaturally, silent. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and Tyrael froze where he stood.
Slowly, he looked up.
A pale face stared down at him.
“Rathma?” Tyrael uttered softly. “If it is you, you will not harm me. And if it is not…I’ve no hope of escape.”
The face tilted. Disappeared back into the foliage.
Silence… And then, slowly, the Nephalem began to slink down from where he perched. He was somewhat different than when Tyrael had last seen him, but given his lack of a solid state, such was to be expected.
The most glaring difference was the absence of his undulating cloak. Instead, it seemed as though his very skin had taken on the pitch black color, leaving only his belly and forelimbs white. When Tyrael looked closely, he found that the black part of his skin actually was the cloak; it rested over the rest of him, moulding itself to his form. Maybe the cloak had always been a part of the old Nephalem.
His hair had gotten much longer, and much much thicker, wrapping around his shoulders and creating a thick black mane. Tall, sharp antlers sat upon his head, and hooves still adorned his hind legs. His front limbs were a curious mix of paw and hoof, to maximize his ability to traverse terrain.
Even Rathma’s face was different. While it had always been a little other, it had at least been humanly proportioned. Now, he had more of a snout, and broader jaws. Looking closely at his mouth, Tyrael realized he had a bundle of something gripped in his jaws.
No, not a bundle.
As the Nephalem sat before him on long, slender legs, Tyrael realized that the thing in his jaws could best be considered a cub. It had a wispy smattering of fluff around its head, framing its long ears, and the rest of its body was covered in short fuzz. A rope tail curled between its hooved feet. Wide green eyes stared out at him from a dark face.
“I hadn’t realized…” Tyrael started, staring at the child. “I did not know…”
Rathma dipped his head, letting his offspring down. “You weren’t meant to.”
Free to move as it pleased, the cub stumbled awkwardly onto pudgy legs. It stared up at him for a moment, before tottering forward. Instinctively, Tyrael sank to his knees and held his hands out.
Under Rathma’s watchful eye, the child clambered into his lap, and butted its head against his hand. It grabbed one of his hands in its own clumsy pair, pulled his fingers to its mouth. It was fortunate he was wearing thick leather, as it began chewing on him.
“They are precious.” Tyrael uttered.
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