All around the village of Broskin the soft patter of rain could be heard. Its delicate dance across the rooftops and through the drain spouts quietly playing out in the night. Their dance was interrupted intermittently by the wailing cry of a woman in pain; a mother giving birth. Inside a small home, little more than thatch and stone, a priest gave cooing reassurances to the father, while the midwife and her scurrying maidens did their best to comfort the mother.
“What if she doesn't make it? What if the child dies? What if she dies” fretted the father, a simple man by the name of Bromen.
“Have faith, Bromen. I'm certain Chauntea has blessed your marriage. You will have a fine, healthy child.” the priest assured the man, in a gentle tone.
“You can't know that!”
“But I can have faith in her, and the midwife.”
Bromen turned away from the priest, practically chewing a hole in his lip as his wife's screams intensified. The midwife took her position at the foot of the bed, yelling instructions and assurances over the screams as a small form emerged from the womb. The midwife made a strange expression, and let out a barely stifled gasp as she swaddled the child, swiftly handing the child off to the priest.
“Do your work, Pastoral Pelsyn! A demon has come in our midst! Cast it out, and destroy this wretched little beast, before it dooms us all!” the old woman croaked out as she backed away, putting what little distance she could between herself and the bundle.
Pastoral Pelsyn squeezed his holy symbol, the rose of Chauntea, tightly in his free hand for just a moment to steady his nerves. As he reached out to pull the cloth aside he felt something wrap around his forearm. He nearly dropped the child in his panic to see what exactly was attaching itself to him. A small, slimy tendril, leading back into the swaddling bundle. No, not a tendril. His fingers followed the appendage back to its source.
“A tail...” he nearly whispered. “The child has a tail, and...”
He pulled back the rest of the cloth to reveal the newborn babe beneath, and couldn't help but smile, even as the rest of the rooms occupants cowered, or grasped door handles for a quick escape.
“Green eyes, Bromen. Like your mothers.” the priest chuckled softly as he turned to show the father.
Bromen's expression went soft for but a moment at these words, but as soon as he gazed over the babe, it returned to its sour, hard, hateful state. “That's no child of mine! Just a demon in disguise, trying to burn us all! I'll drown the little bastard myself!”
The priest frowned, and let his free hand casually drop down to the cudgel hanging from his waist. “No, Bromen. If you can't find it in yourself to be a father, then you have no right to decide his fate. I will take him to the temple, and I will care for him until your wife is well enough to see him herself. She may decide what she wishes for her child.”
The rough man growled and clenched his fists, staring for a long moment. Long enough Pelsyn feared he might actually have to brain the man, but he angrily acquiesced, stomping over to the door and throwing it open. He said nothing as Pelsyn grabbed his cloak, shielding the child with it as he walked out into the now gentle rain.
“Rain gives life to the fields, little one. I think, perhaps, The Great Mother might have plans for you. At the very least I will give you the love she gives all beings.”
Days passed, and Bromen's wife, Alanya, never came to the temple. He was rebuffed from their household every time he tried to visit, and after two weeks, simply gave up. He supposed the child was his, then. A blessing in disguise, mayhaps. A seed to nurture in his own way, guided by Chauntea. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud wail, and he sighed. Hungry again. “Great Mother give me strength through this trial.”
He picked up the child, already showing signs of unnaturally bright red hair on his head and tail. “I suppose a good name is in order. Shall we ask the goddess, little one?” He laughed softly as the little creature wiggled in his arms. “No? Alright then. I think... Ezekiel. Seems a good enough fit to me.” The child simply stared back up at him with wide eyes for a moment, before resuming its crying.
“Always bloody hungry...”
