Spring 22nd, 513 AV; Day of the Challenge
Having shaken off an over-sized sleeve, a pale hand reached up to lightly brush the side of an older Yasi's knee. "Excuse me, please," spoke the diminutive owner of that ashen hand, face raised in an attempt to make eye contact. But amidst the babble and rustle of the crowd his request went unnoticed, or at least unheeded. Clearing his throat, or at least that's what it sounded like, he spoke a little louder this time. "Excuse me, young human," and this time he tugged firmly at the pants of the adolescent Inartan blocking his way. This time the boy stopped craning his neck in an effort see past the adult in front of him long enough to look at whoever was bothering him. His first glance went far over the head of the be-robed Pycon that stood behind him, but another discrete clearing of the throat brought his gaze down to the appropriate level.
Giving a small start, the lad quickly decided that no matter how strange the little creature was, it was certainly no threat to him. Cocking his head to the side and showing no more of a reaction now than a slight wideness around the eyes, he jerks his chin up in mute acknowledgement of the animated curiosity that has been trying to get his attention. "I was hoping you might let me by." The Pycon's voice gives the boy another shock, so deep and mellow that it tugs at something in the boy's guts like a brief moment of vertigo; but more than that it is the complete lack of any obvious way for the little fellow to make noise that makes the soon-to-be man freeze in place as he tries to blink away his confusion. Despite a perfectly normal head sitting on what seems to be human shoulders beneath a drab robe that looks patched together from scraps, the little clay man lacks any facial features whatsoever. Eyes, mouth, nose, even ears show no sign of having ever been present and yet he spoke, and there is little doubt in the boys mind that he is being watched by that blank, stone-smooth face.
Stepping wordlessly aside by pressing up against the person next to him, the youngster can only stare as the walking, talking statue moves past him with the straight back and purposeful stride of someone with a great deal more dignity than his shabby clothing would seem to suggest. Still, it seems clean and well-mended at the least, and it is unlikely that the mud man need fear lice or other crawlies. Stopping just before he passed the youth, the smaller figure turned his unnervingly featureless countenance to look up into the boy's eyes. "Thank you." Nodding dumbly, the boy watched the near-regal movements of the clay man with wide eyes as he slipped between two adults to reach the front of the gathering.
Claude, as the mellow Pycon called himself, was not altogether happy to be up this early and it would have showed to another of his kind. Back home, he still thought of it as 'home', he would not have risen when the pink of dawn had not entirely faded from the sky for anything short of murder or fire. But here he was, with no more purpose than to watch some -Endals- engage in a competition of fitness. Reeds claim me, but their madness must be catching, he half-muttered and half-thought as he wrapped the robe tighter around himself to help ward off the spring chill of the early air. When he'd first arrived, the Inartan manic determination to celebrate at every opportunity had driven him to seclude himself as much as was possible in such a small community, but every day he found himself experimenting with just a little more of their wild joys.
And here was one of those, the smaller and cooler lake that emptied into waterfalls of spectacular height and violence. Everything about it seemed exceptional to him, drawing his attention sometimes even when he had no reason to think about it. Pearly white sand rose from waters that reflected the pink-tinged sky and jagged mountain peaks in equal measure, turning into green grass and sweet smelling loam that seemed almost designed for a gathering such as this. Or perhaps a picnic later in the day, or a pillow at night during summer if one felt compelled to sleep under the open sky. From here he could look along the line of expectant Inartans to the few stone steps that were cut into the mountain and led up to a small landing pad. There the eagles would land after the flight part of their contest, and then into the lake for the swim along the shore. After that, he had been told, there would be running but there were no good seats for watching that. Stamping his feet in a futile effort to warm his cold earthen body, he raised his eyes up to a sky going the blue of a proper mid-morning in an effort to spot the eagles before they landed. As he did so a small shift in the detail of the muscles across his chest, though hidden by his robe, would have meant the same emotion to one of his kind that a tiny smile would have meant to a human.
If I must catch something, I suppose a little 'zest' is hardly the worst of fates.
-
Giving a small start, the lad quickly decided that no matter how strange the little creature was, it was certainly no threat to him. Cocking his head to the side and showing no more of a reaction now than a slight wideness around the eyes, he jerks his chin up in mute acknowledgement of the animated curiosity that has been trying to get his attention. "I was hoping you might let me by." The Pycon's voice gives the boy another shock, so deep and mellow that it tugs at something in the boy's guts like a brief moment of vertigo; but more than that it is the complete lack of any obvious way for the little fellow to make noise that makes the soon-to-be man freeze in place as he tries to blink away his confusion. Despite a perfectly normal head sitting on what seems to be human shoulders beneath a drab robe that looks patched together from scraps, the little clay man lacks any facial features whatsoever. Eyes, mouth, nose, even ears show no sign of having ever been present and yet he spoke, and there is little doubt in the boys mind that he is being watched by that blank, stone-smooth face.
Stepping wordlessly aside by pressing up against the person next to him, the youngster can only stare as the walking, talking statue moves past him with the straight back and purposeful stride of someone with a great deal more dignity than his shabby clothing would seem to suggest. Still, it seems clean and well-mended at the least, and it is unlikely that the mud man need fear lice or other crawlies. Stopping just before he passed the youth, the smaller figure turned his unnervingly featureless countenance to look up into the boy's eyes. "Thank you." Nodding dumbly, the boy watched the near-regal movements of the clay man with wide eyes as he slipped between two adults to reach the front of the gathering.
Claude, as the mellow Pycon called himself, was not altogether happy to be up this early and it would have showed to another of his kind. Back home, he still thought of it as 'home', he would not have risen when the pink of dawn had not entirely faded from the sky for anything short of murder or fire. But here he was, with no more purpose than to watch some -Endals- engage in a competition of fitness. Reeds claim me, but their madness must be catching, he half-muttered and half-thought as he wrapped the robe tighter around himself to help ward off the spring chill of the early air. When he'd first arrived, the Inartan manic determination to celebrate at every opportunity had driven him to seclude himself as much as was possible in such a small community, but every day he found himself experimenting with just a little more of their wild joys.
And here was one of those, the smaller and cooler lake that emptied into waterfalls of spectacular height and violence. Everything about it seemed exceptional to him, drawing his attention sometimes even when he had no reason to think about it. Pearly white sand rose from waters that reflected the pink-tinged sky and jagged mountain peaks in equal measure, turning into green grass and sweet smelling loam that seemed almost designed for a gathering such as this. Or perhaps a picnic later in the day, or a pillow at night during summer if one felt compelled to sleep under the open sky. From here he could look along the line of expectant Inartans to the few stone steps that were cut into the mountain and led up to a small landing pad. There the eagles would land after the flight part of their contest, and then into the lake for the swim along the shore. After that, he had been told, there would be running but there were no good seats for watching that. Stamping his feet in a futile effort to warm his cold earthen body, he raised his eyes up to a sky going the blue of a proper mid-morning in an effort to spot the eagles before they landed. As he did so a small shift in the detail of the muscles across his chest, though hidden by his robe, would have meant the same emotion to one of his kind that a tiny smile would have meant to a human.
If I must catch something, I suppose a little 'zest' is hardly the worst of fates.
-
