Tag: prehistoric fiction

The Healing Flame

Taranis stood before Drax, his bare feet silent on the cold earth. A soft golden light shimmered around his small hand as he reached up and gently placed it on Drax’s forehead. His voice was quiet, yet steady words none had taught him falling like raindrops from his lips.

“The dragon and the wolves told me,” he said, eyes glowing faintly with an ancient knowing.

Lore stepped forward, startled. “The dragons? You mean a tribe, little one?”

But Taranis did not answer. Instead, Drax stirred, groaning as colour returned to his face. His eyes fluttered open lucid for the first time in moons and the golden glow around Taranis vanished. The boy collapsed into Lore’s arms, suddenly limp but breathing.

Lore caught him, heart pounding. He looked back at Drax, who now sat up slowly, blinking into the firelight.

“What were they doing to you, Drax?” Lore asked, still holding his youngest brother close.

Drax’s voice was hoarse, but calm. “Cleansing the darkness. They say I must walk the coals soon burn the madness away.”

Lore frowned, tightening his grip on the child. “Well… this little stormborn saved your life. Whatever you believe, that’s truth.”

Just then, Conan their father, the chief appeared in the doorway, drawn by the strange stillness and the fading light.

Taranis stirred, his head against Lore’s chest. “My fault, Father,” he murmured in a drowsy voice. “He was hurting… so I fixed it.”

Father stepped ahead slowly, kneeling before them. His eyes flicking from the barely conscious Drax to the sleeping child in Lore’s arms. His voice was heavy.

“He’s only one year old… and he’s healing the broken?”

Lore nodded. “He called it the gift of wolves and dragons.”

Conan exhaled, rubbing his weathered jaw. “Then we’d best prepare. Whatever storms are coming, they’ll start with him.”

“You calling the council father?” Drax asked “I will be punished he’s just a child “

“You have many matters to deal with Drax. little Taranis actions his disobedience to rules not to come here and what ever he did to you will be dealt with in due course a water cleansing, more gathering to keep him from wandering “

“How do you feel brother?’ Lore asked

“Clear minded, like what ever was heavy in me is gone. I feel love for the little one shame for wanting him dead. I’m not expecting you to trust me”

“Trust is earned, ” father said and looked to two men ran. “let him out but no contact with the others no binds this time. I see his food is low let him gather but watch.”

The men nodded no one other
a selected group of tribal elders. Had been permitted to talk to my brother for months. Now the discipline was slowly lifting. The men moved their heads indicating for him to move out still not a word broke.

“Now ostracism starts he outside being watched and we can see him but he can’t interact with us?” Nyx asked

“Yes if he talks to us or the tribe he will receive harsher punishment. One of which was decided to remove his tongue As I’m not killing my own kin. He either follows the council and gets well or he will remain how he is until he dies” father said with a heavy heart “this is the first time I’ve seen him in months and your mothers not seeing him like that a once big strong man now skin and bones this isn’t just punishment for him but for us “

I never thought of it like that the cheif and his wife punished for their sons actions. A powerful man within our tribe powerless to protect his son against the elder councils decisions. After a while we carried the little one out and to home. The largest hut of them placing him on his bed.

That night a meeting was called the elders had demanded with my father. But little Tanaris was still sleeping crying in his sleep and burning up.

I walked to the edge of our camp “BOLDOLPH WHERE ARE YOU” Lore shouted seeing a giant of a wolf beautiful black like the nights sky with a gold five pointed star and red fiery moon on his chest and red fiery eyes

Boldolph strode over putting his head in mine nudging it

“You’re upset young one” Boldolph said his mind connection with mine

“I am my friend, your the tribes sacred ally. Your wiser than you know but did you tell my brother Taranis how to heal?” Lore asked the wolf

“I did ” a small grey wolf lowered his front half as if bowing to Boldolph. “I’m sorry sire, I heard the bright one crying and sought to help him. He missed Drax “

“He hardly knows Drax, father forbade any meeting between them unless Drax was bound and flanked by men. You had no right to interfere silver ” Lore replied

“He ran straight in to the condemned mans hut. Pure disobedience when I called him to stop. Drax could have killed him but my brother used the chant Drax said its like a heavy weight was lifted. Now Taranis is sick with fever .

“Your father?” Boldolph asked glancing angry ar the white wolf

“The tribal elders have called council I’m worried this weakens fathers position. If they lose trust in father, if they consider my baby brother ” Lores voice dropped as he looked to the earth

Boldolph launched at silver growling and teeth bared ready to rip the older wolf apart but a pure white wolf red five pointed star and gold sun on her chest

“STOP THIS ” she snapped at the other wolves parted

“Morrigan it’s an honor to see you again “Conan said kneeling to her level “Boldolph let’s wait for council if my family and I find ourselves displaced then kill silver by all means if it makes you happy”

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

June 29, 2025
Life and Prophecy: The Birth of Taranis Stormborne

Birth and Celebration

The Naming

The women of the tribe had already begun preparing the celebration.
Only the finest foods would be offered on this special night the night of my brother’s birth.

The birth of Taranis Stormborne.

In the woods, the younger children laughed as they filled baskets with berries, blackberries and raspberries, bilberries (wild blueberries).
elderberries (cooked only), hawthorn berries, rose hips, crab apples, and sloes from the blackthorn.

Their chatter echoed with pride
a new life meant strength for the tribe.

The women worked in quiet rhythm.
Hazelnuts, acorns (leached to remove tannins), beech nuts, pine nuts, and the seeds. Young leaves of nettles
were piled high beside bundles of wild garlic and sacred greens.

I saw my mother’s sister lay a sprig of rosemary at the fire. Not for seasoning but for blessing.

“Hey, young Lore,” someone called, grinning.
“You coming hunting? Father says we’re after red deer and boar, fox, grouse, even river salmon. Only the finest meats for your mother and father. A new chieftain has been born!”

“Father’s naming him tonight? I’m coming!” I said, breath quickening.
I tried to keep the smile off my face, but it broke through anyway.

I was seventeen — broad-shouldered, proud, still hungry to prove myself.
I grabbed my spear and cast a glance back at my brothers and father.

our father, stood straight as an ash tree his expression unreadable.
Part of him was already in the cave, beside my mother and the child.
The rest of him… watched the woods.

I ran to join the others, my heart pounding. Together, we hollered and sprinted into the deep forest
a forest older than memory.

But as our laughter faded behind us,
a silence settled.

And then…
that chill again.

Not the kind that comes with wind or storm. No, this cold was the kind that clung to your bones. The kind that made birds quiet and your breath feel too loud.

Something was watching.
But nothing moved.

Still, we pressed on.
The Naming Feast had to be worthy.

“I hope he survives,” I muttered, trying to sound casual but Nyx heard the worry in my voice.

“Drax is furious,” he said under his breath.“He thinks the prophecy’s come true.”

He didn’t say what the prophecy meant but we both knew the stories.

A child born under eclipse.
A name written in fire.
A brother… destined to break us or save us.

Suddenly, Nyx raised a hand.
A deer just ahead.

I nodded once, crouched low, and let my spear fly.
A perfect strike.

Nyx gave the bird-call whistle to alert his father. We hauled the carcass back to camp together.

The others returned soon after.
The fire was lit. The meat laid out.
Herbs were thrown onto the flames
and their smoke curled skyward.
in a spiral that reminded me of a dragon’s breath.

Tonight, my baby brother would be named.
But even as the tribe gathered in joy.
I couldn’t shake the feeling
that something was coming through the trees.

© written by ELHewitt

Further Reading

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

June 27, 2025
Taranis and Boldolph: The Birth of a Chosen One

The Myth of Taranis and Boldolph.

The rest of us stepped back.

Father’s eyes had changed
flashing a pale shade of red.

Thunder cracked as he stepped into the cave. Ready to lay eyes on Mother and the newborn she had fought to bring into the world.

We stood behind him in silence,
all of us but one.

One brother, whose eyes held no joy.
Only fear.
Only the taste of blood.

“Thirteenth son of the thirteenth son,” he muttered.
“Born during a storm… and an eclipse.
Even the dragons have fallen silent.
And the wolves, they’ve stopped howling.”

Just then, as if the forest itself heard hima sound split the trees in two.

Boldolph.

His howl rose like thunder turned voice,
a cry so powerful the very air seemed to flinch.

Artistic depiction of Boldolph, the powerful wolf, alongside symbols of mythology and nature.

At his side stood Morrigan,
his bonded mate white as new snow.
She gave a low, haunting cry
and pressed her head gently against his.

Then the dragon stirred.

It lifted its head,
wings stretching wide like a storm reborn.

And with a roar that lit the sky,
it rose.

Fire molten and blinding
erupted from its throat,
painting the clouds in gold and crimson.

And there, across the eclipsed heavens, the name appeared.

TARANIS.

Burning.
Brilliant.
Undeniable.

As if the stars,
the storm,
and the breath of the gods themselves
had spoken as one:

This child is no curse.
He is chosen.

© StormborneLore. All rights reserved.

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Further Reading

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

June 27, 2025
Taranis and the Thief.

A Story of Kindness.

The fire crackled low, licking the belly of a fresh kill. A young deer brought down by patience and precision. Its scent mingled with pine resin, wood smoke, and the dry musk of wolf-fur.

Taranis sat cross-legged near the embers, his gray eyes fixed on nothing.

He had not spoken aloud in days. The wolves Boldolph, silent and alert. Morrigan, fierce-eyed and restless watched him as they always did, as if tethered not by duty, but by knowing.

He tore the meat with his fingers, chewing slowly, not tasting. Hunger had long become a ghost he ignored, like the grief that gnawed behind his ribs.

Then came the rustle. Too light for bear. Too soft for storm.

He didn’t move. But the wolves did.

A man emerged from the trees, thin, mud-streaked, crouching low not with confidence, but desperation. He made for the meat as if pulled by instinct stronger than fear. But the moment his hand reached toward the platter of bark and stone…

A low growl stopped him.

Morrigan’s teeth shone like bone in firelight. Boldolph blocked his retreat. And Taranis finally looked up.

Their eyes met. One pair hollowed by loss, the other by starvation.

“I thought you would kill me,” the stranger whispered.

“I have,” Taranis replied, “for less.”

He stood slowly, towering over the man a figure carved by exile, his face painted with ash and time. But there was no rage in him now. Only silence. And a slow understanding.

He broke the meat in half. Handed the larger piece to the thief.

The man hesitated, then took it with shaking hands.

“What’s your name?” Taranis asked.

The man blinked. “Rhonan.”

“No longer a thief,” Taranis said, sitting again. “Tonight, you eat with me. Tomorrow, you hunt beside me. And if you run…” He glanced to Morrigan. “You’ll not outrun the black one.”

Rhonan gave a breath that was a laugh, or a sob.

And for the first time in many moons, Taranis chewed his meat and tasted it.

From the author:

This story bridges two truths: that hunger drives desperation, and that mercy can be stronger than fear.
Taranis’s decision not to punish the man reflects a deeper shift. one from raw survival to the beginnings of community, yet small.

If you’ve ever chosen kindness when the world expected cruelty this story is for you.

© written and created by ELHewitt

Further Reading

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

June 24, 2025
Taranis and the Wolves: A Tale of Mysticism

Tale of Storms and Shadows

A vibrant, stylized tree under a dark sky, adorned with colorful leaves and a glowing moon, symbolizing the intertwining of nature and mysticism.

Taranis had wandered for three days since his exile. Taranis wore no furs now., just the old stag-hide wrap and the necklace his mother had pressed into his palm with shaking fingers.

He ate roots and river water,. Asheand slept like a fox with one ear open and his back to a tree.

That night, a full moon watched the world from behind broken cloud. The forest lit with silver veins. Taranis crouched low near a hollow oak, flint blade across his lap. He had not lit a fire. Fire betrayed you. Fire drew eyes.

But still eyes found him.

Two pairs.

One black, one white.

Both wolves. Both silent. Both watching from the mist beyond the briar.

He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

The white one larger, its coat matted with burrs stepped ahead. A long scar dragged across its eye, but the eye still burned red. Not the red of rage, but of knowing. Of memory.

The smaller wolf circled left. Her coat was black as smoke and moved like shadow even under moonlight.

Still, Taranis did not move. This was not a hunt. Not a threat. This was a test.

When the white wolf sat, the black one joined him.

They stared.

And then they spoke.

Not aloud not in the way people do but in the marrow of his bones. In the beat of his pulse. In the dreams he hadn’t yet had.

“You carry the storm. Not all storms destroy.”

He blinked. He gripped the flint tighter.

“We are not what we seem. Nor are you.”

A striking depiction of a black wolf howling at the moon, surrounded by vibrant blues and purples, evoking a sense of mystery and wilderness.

Then, the black wolf Boldolph moved first. He stepped to the base of the hollow tree and pawed at the ground. When he pulled back, there was something in the soil. A ring of old stones. A feather. A scrap of iron, ancient before iron had names.

The white wolf Morrigan touched it with her snout.

And in a moment that split the world like thunder, they changed.

Two wolves became two people. Not naked, not fully human, but forms caught between part smoke, part bone, part memory. She bore a crow’s wing in her braid. He had a jaw shaped not by age, but by sorrow.

Taranis did not flinch. The storm inside him had seen worse. Had survived worse.

Morrigan reached ahead and laid the feather at his feet.

“Blood forgets. But stone remembers. You are carved already.”

Boldolph raised his hand, three fingers missing. Still, he gestured not in threat, but in oath.

“This forest sees you. You are not alone.”

And just like that, they were wolves again.

Gone into the mist.

Only the feather remained.

And the storm inside Taranis? It no longer howled alone.

© written and created by ElHewitt

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Futher Reading

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

Taranis Stormborne: The Ultimate Guide to the Storm

June 24, 2025