Interesting concept, Kiya - I'll think about it!

Some more information? OK <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />
Here it is!
(I changed the color scheme from tricolor to bicolor - so don't be confused since it differs from the first story post)

Leaf hesitates, leans back and takes out a crooked piece of wood out of his pack, fills some aromatic herbs into a hollow at the end, and lights it by conjuring a flame. His mind is blank while he concentrates doing that – interesting! He then sucks at the other end and puffs a smoke ring towards the ceiling, where the light sphere he created in the front cave is still hovering. “What are you doing?” I think, amazed. I suspect some magic, but can sense none, nor see any effect other than the aromatic smoke.

“This”, answers Leaf, holding up the wood, “is a pipe. I’m smoking. There is nothing to it – it’s just for pleasure, taste, and it helps me relax and think”.

“I have heard of pipes – but I can’t hear anything”, I wonder.

Leaf smiles. “Pipes for sounds are something else, but you are right to be confused – the name is identical, but the purpose is quite different”.

I get the distinct feeling that he is trying to avoid the name question. “How about a name, then?” I insist.

“In my culture a name is partly given by your parents, that’s Leaf in my case”, he says, “and partly earned by feats when you reach adult age – so I got Swifthand”. He continues puffing his pipe, the smell of which slowly fills the cave, and looks at me lying flat on my belly in front of him. He thinks “Are you male or female?” I consider this, sending my thoughts to him – as I remember from the creator’s memory, he took a male wolf, a female eagle, and a brain from some magical creature I have no memories of. Now, what does that make me? But, thinking of my body’s anatomy, I am male.

“Male!” Leaf nods, “What was your creator’s name? Since this is the closest you have as parents”.

“The creator’s name?” I search deep in my memory. “Sure, he had a name – but since we were living all alone, he seldom thought of it - but I do remember a visitor long, long time ago, called him – Astaroth of Anwynn”.

“Considering what he did, it’s maybe not a good idea, to take his name”, Leaf contemplates. I fail to understand. What he did? In creating me? What could be wrong with that? “Trying to create beings is blasphemy in my world”, explains Leaf. I still don’t understand. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault, and it’s done “.

Leaf's pipe stopped burning, and he empties the ashes into the stove. Then he bends over, looking in my eyes, studying my features. “You know, in a way you are beautiful”, he says, and then murmurs “black and silver – night and day; no - silver is the light of the moon. Wolf, eagle, dragon – earth, air and fire”. He shakes his head, confused and irritated. “You have any magic skills?” he asks.

“No, I can’t do magic. How could I? No voice to speak a spell, no hands to manipulate the magic aura. But I can detect magic; I sense it, if it’s there, whether it’s active or passive. And I seem to be immune to it. Once, when I encountered a mage, he threw fireballs at me, though I really didn’t want to eat him at all. But the fireballs dissolved before hitting me. And then he tried lightning bolts, and they also did not hurt me, though he could not have missed me. On the other hand, when I once flew into a tempest, a lightning hit me – and that hurt! I fell out of the sky, unconscious, into a lake, where I woke up quickly and swam ashore”.

Leaf rubs his chin, “By the might of Pharys! So a natural Lightning, weapons” he fingers at a little scar at my shoulder, where an arrow hit me, “can injure you – but magic cannot. Did this heal well?”

“Oh yes – I never bleed long, when I am hurt. The wounds close almost immediately, and after a short rest I feel nothing of it”.

“That definitely is magic!” says Leaf, “You know – you can do more than you think, although it comes naturally to you, not consciously. I wonder what you could achieve with proper training”.

He leans back, closing his eyes. “I’m tired”, he thinks, “I’ll defer finding a name for you until later. I must rest”. And while he drowses off, the light sphere above him fades. Darkness fills the cave.

Since the author shines through anyway - why not? (puff, puff - smoke ring) <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

In times of crisis it is of the utmost importance not to lose your head (Marie Antoinette)