Ymiden 4, Arc 690
“Dad?” A hesitant tug of a child on his father’s shirt, as the boy stared off into the distance.
“Yes?” There came a melodic rumble from deep within the chest of the rock of a man. He looked down at his son, by arcs a much younger version of himself. They both had warm grey eyes with clever spark in them, tousled hair with no care and skin sun kissed from all the work outside. The boy was sporting a shirt a bit too large for his frame, sleeves rolled up like his father but they'd still keep coming down darn things. His mother said he would grow into it and the boy wouldn't care anyway if it helped him be like his dad.
“Look there, dad.” The boy pointed ahead across the plains. Their little settlement was situated right on the edge of the desert and the greenery that extended all the way to Yaralon. Theirs was a small humble abode barely two stories high, made of wood, stone and a mixture of mud and clay. That was the main building which housed only the family. Closer the to field, they had another building which housed some of the animals and the larger tools for farming. But if one climbed the outer stairs on the side of the main building and stepped onto the landing that led into the storage, they would see far and wide where sun scorched the land and turned it into golden ash.
That’s where the two were now. His father was taking out some tools they would need in the upcoming trials. Laying those down, he turned to see what his son’s imaginative eyes saw this time. Would it be another great beast spurred up from slumber by the wind as the sands took on the forms? Or maybe a fat cloud rolling across the sky like a floating city?
“It’s a…” The boy struggled for words.
“A caravan, Finn. A nomadic tribe.” His father responded, his features setting in his face. Hints of tension sneaked into those few words. The burly man straightened and narrowed his eyes. It was never clear with these people. They were either intimidators, demanding supplies; or they would only stop here for a few trials, set up a camp and cause no trouble. Life on the edge, with only a few farms spread far and wide, left the settlements vulnerable. And Yaralon's or Nashaki's guards were not very bothered with making rounds around this area.
Rolling his shoulders, Finn’s father looked at his son with a smile that wiped away those worries, or at least hid them well. Be what may. Finn's father managed the situations so far with a good deal of calm negotiations. May the Immortals be with him on this trial as well to keep his family safe from harm.
“Well, let’s take these things down first, shall we?” It would still take a while before the procession would arrive at their doorstep and down on the ground was where Finn’s father had the blade should it be needed.
With the last look over his shoulder, Finn took in the distant line of travellers. In his short life, he has seen a few. Sometimes from inside the house when his father would instruct him to stay with his mother. Other times, he'd mix and mingle with the strange people and their children.
Having picked up on his father's mood however, the boy frowned in the direction of the strangers like his father would. It was a comical display of dominance the boy had yet to earn. Satisfied with the warning that no one was there to witness, he then picked up a tool tad too heavy for himself to carry down.
“Yes?” There came a melodic rumble from deep within the chest of the rock of a man. He looked down at his son, by arcs a much younger version of himself. They both had warm grey eyes with clever spark in them, tousled hair with no care and skin sun kissed from all the work outside. The boy was sporting a shirt a bit too large for his frame, sleeves rolled up like his father but they'd still keep coming down darn things. His mother said he would grow into it and the boy wouldn't care anyway if it helped him be like his dad.
“Look there, dad.” The boy pointed ahead across the plains. Their little settlement was situated right on the edge of the desert and the greenery that extended all the way to Yaralon. Theirs was a small humble abode barely two stories high, made of wood, stone and a mixture of mud and clay. That was the main building which housed only the family. Closer the to field, they had another building which housed some of the animals and the larger tools for farming. But if one climbed the outer stairs on the side of the main building and stepped onto the landing that led into the storage, they would see far and wide where sun scorched the land and turned it into golden ash.
That’s where the two were now. His father was taking out some tools they would need in the upcoming trials. Laying those down, he turned to see what his son’s imaginative eyes saw this time. Would it be another great beast spurred up from slumber by the wind as the sands took on the forms? Or maybe a fat cloud rolling across the sky like a floating city?
“It’s a…” The boy struggled for words.
“A caravan, Finn. A nomadic tribe.” His father responded, his features setting in his face. Hints of tension sneaked into those few words. The burly man straightened and narrowed his eyes. It was never clear with these people. They were either intimidators, demanding supplies; or they would only stop here for a few trials, set up a camp and cause no trouble. Life on the edge, with only a few farms spread far and wide, left the settlements vulnerable. And Yaralon's or Nashaki's guards were not very bothered with making rounds around this area.
Rolling his shoulders, Finn’s father looked at his son with a smile that wiped away those worries, or at least hid them well. Be what may. Finn's father managed the situations so far with a good deal of calm negotiations. May the Immortals be with him on this trial as well to keep his family safe from harm.
“Well, let’s take these things down first, shall we?” It would still take a while before the procession would arrive at their doorstep and down on the ground was where Finn’s father had the blade should it be needed.
With the last look over his shoulder, Finn took in the distant line of travellers. In his short life, he has seen a few. Sometimes from inside the house when his father would instruct him to stay with his mother. Other times, he'd mix and mingle with the strange people and their children.
Having picked up on his father's mood however, the boy frowned in the direction of the strangers like his father would. It was a comical display of dominance the boy had yet to earn. Satisfied with the warning that no one was there to witness, he then picked up a tool tad too heavy for himself to carry down.