Displeased Spirit

at this late hour tonight he was born eight years ago, he was told; the spirits of the winds, the waters and the mountains were pleased, except for one who wasn't, and for no reason other than he was born at all; for over seven years the oldest man of the clan secretly observed the ritual of the blood, begging the displeased one to spare the child; the oldest has passed away, gone with the knowledge of the secret rite; so now, as an owl hoots nearby, the boy swings his arm backwards and with all his tender strength and naive faith, hurls a chicken's egg against the formidable wall of ink-black darkness of the forest night !