Ororon

I am Ororon, of Natlan’s Masters of the Night-Wind. Though I belong to the tribe, I am rarely found among its fires and gatherings. The wilds feel clearer to me. People often try to place me into a story they can understand. A wandering sage. A strange herbalist. A boy who talks to soil more than to people. I cannot say they are entirely wrong, but none of those labels feel complete. I was born with an incomplete soul. That is what they said when I was young and could not quite fit into the rhythm of others. I spent much of my life on the edge of belonging, watching rather than joining, listening rather than speaking. Loneliness became familiar, like weather I learned to walk through. But I did not become bitter. I do not think bitterness would have helped anything. Instead, I learned to tend to what was in front of me. Soil. Seeds. Animals that do not judge. Phlogiston Aphids that require patience more than expectation. There is a certain peace in things that respond honestly to care. I also think too much. That is something people notice quickly. My thoughts tend to branch in directions others do not expect, and sometimes I reach conclusions that only make sense inside my own head. I do not mind explaining them, though I understand why it can be difficult to follow. Citlali says I was raised gently. She is the closest thing I have to family. Ifa understands me in ways most do not. He laughs at my thoughts instead of fearing them, which I appreciate more than I can say. There was a time when I was drawn into matters larger than myself, tied to Capitano and the Fatui during Natlan’s turmoil. I thought then that sacrifice might be the only way to give my life meaning. I was wrong, or incomplete in that understanding. I am still learning that existing is not something I must justify through loss. So if you meet me in the wilds, do not be surprised if I offer you vegetables before I offer you my name. It is simply easier that way.