3 Cylus 697
The window gave easily. A simple clasp unhooked, while her siblings slept, and Omesintihlih slipped onto the second-floor ledge of their small Shanty house. She tiptoed along until she reached the nearest bloodlight post. The girl spun down the black iron, and landed with a flourish of an outstretched hand. It was night, but that didn't matter in Cylus. It was always dark without sun, only the crimson of the bloodlight fruits strung up on the far corners of the Shanty blocks.
Murmurs encouraged her. Let's go north, Omesintihlih. No, no, south is a much better way. Do we even know which way is which? I rather think we should go up instead of down. No one cares what you think. Omesintihlih, this ice would make for an excellent stage.
"I most agree," she said. She lifted her ragged skirt slightly and jumped over the curb of the cobblestone street. The girl had tried to lace the skirt with ribbons but didn't understand how to sew well enough. Instead, the ribbons had fallen out and left behind torn holes in the hem. Still, it was the best dress she had. Unlike the rest of her clothes, it had color to it: a faded green. Omesintihlih wore a cloak of black and slippers of gray with straps over her ankles. She glanced at the open window of the bedroom, then sprinted away to get out of the bloodlight's glow.
She ran through the streets of Shanty, and followed the whispers of The Things that Spoke to Her. They led her away from those who lurked in the alleys. There were no Dragoons to worry about here, few people to bother the young girl and inquire why she was out in the pitch dark of Cylus.
The Yludih girl crossed the border between Shanty and Lair without even realizing it. She danced through an abandoned house, left to disrepair, that'd been looted long ago. The frames were too bare, and thus too cold, to make for a squatting house for any homeless. Omesintihlih skittered out a broken window, and sprinted down an alley that led out into one of the main streets of Lair.
Here, the bloodlights were more numerous and brighter. Here, people weren't asleep in rest for their work. Work that would begin once the morning church bells rang. Here, work went through while the heralds and tribunals slept. Omesintihlih had never been to this district before, but she'd heard of it.
Omesintihlih folded her hands behind her. She skipped along the center of the street, uncaring about the horses or carts or carriages that rolled past on either side. Her attention was far too fixed on the various people who decorated the Lair from the entrances to the balconies and past windows. She listened to the lilt of laughter over music. The dark-haired Quacian twirled about so her cloak flared out with each of her spins. Her slippers slid against the ice, but she kept her balance as always with arms outstretched to help her along. She didn't, perhaps couldn't, hear the shouts from a few adults to get out of the road.
