Why I want to be a Thunder.

There’s been at least one Everling every generation in a Thunder, and that’s going back some nine hundred years — from my grandpa Highland Horres Everling to the first of all Everlings, Heraticus Helio Everling.  I believe that still stands as a Thunderland record.

Now my father is of the… bootstrap persuasion, meaning he believes you have to pull yourself up by them to get anywhere in life.  But that’s probably because he has to listen to everyone’s problems everyday. He’s a barkeep, that’s what they do. And trust me; my father has an opinion on everything.  In fact, I think he has more opinions than our town priest and they usually have something to do with working hard and wildlife.  Don’t ask me why.  “Son,” he once said, “You gotta start getting your hands dirty. The world isn’t going to come to you. You gotta go to it.”  It usually takes me scrunching my nose for my dad to explain where he’s going. “Look,” he said, “Nobody’s going to take you seriously if you don’t start applying yourself. Do people ask eagles why they soar? No, they don’t have to. And they don’t have to ask hogs why they root for mushrooms either. Eagles soar and hogs root because they were born to.  And giraffes — don’t they reach for the highest leaves for the very same reasons you can’t stop a salmon from swimming upstream if he thinks it’s mating season?  Its nature, son — survival of the fittest! — that’s how you get what you want out of life — you push and push and push with everything the Triunes put in you.  That’s how any of us get what we want out of life.”

Truth is all of my father’s talk about survival of the fittest and push, push, push never really settled too well with my mother. I think one time she pulled me into the laundry room just so she could make sure she could still straighten me out.  “Son,” she said, “Yes, reach for the stars and work hard.  Make your father proud. But, by the Triunes, acknowledge the Gods!  Only a fool believes he can define his roads alone.  And I’m not raising a fool, am I, son?  Look at my tulips — they don’t bloom without the rain.  And Jax — you don’t honestly think that lazy Bremma Hound of yours actually feeds himself, do you?  So don’t believe your purpose, whatever it is, is only on you to make happen.  It isn’t.  Life also takes faith, son, and one day I hope you can see that.”

Why do I want to be a Thunder?  Because whether it’s my father’s self-reliance that runs in my veins or sharing in my mother’s faith, I know one thing: there is no higher call than serving the land you love.  Uncle says you become a Thunder because you possess the character that Thunder needs.  He says you become a Thunder because you’ve been selected, because you meet the standards of what it means to wear the uniform, that you become a Thunder because you’re called.  I tend to think it’s because you can’t imagine your life as anything else.  And I can’t. Isn’t that what makes a warrior a warrior?  Isn’t that what fuels his heart to grin at death?  I am meant to be a Thunder. I’ve known it my whole life. I am an Everling — Thunder is in my blood and Thunder is in my name.

Long live the sword and shield!

Respectfully,
Hermium H. Everling

Inkling #20:

What is the Seven Thunders?  It is the Everling Child and the burden he bears.  He is the hope of the world and he is its harbinger — a paradox.  And on him all fates will ride.