Keira 28th Day of Summer, 516 AV One, two, three. Run. Four, five, six. Stop. Seven, eight, nine. Run again. Ten, eleven, twelve. Breathe. In modulated quick steps, a figure slipped in and out of the shadows and weaved between the few people that populated the currently sparse streets of Kenash. The sun was just starting to dip under the horizon and the swampy city and its surrounding rivers, were bathed in glittering golds, russet, and pinks. Any peek of blue, seemed to be swallowed by the sunset. The picturesque view would have been a beautiful sight for those that were visitors, but in this particular case, the seemingly gentle scenery only served to surface emotions that danced on the edges of bitterness and disdain. To a little street-rat, living day by day on a knife’s edge, the city was nothing short of a dirty hell; corrupted to the bones by those who wanted power and carried on the backs of those it enslaved. But this city was all Keira knew so it was home nonetheless. Beneath the dwindling daylight of Kenash, the skittish teen continued to dart from building to building as she stuck to running between the overhangs of the homes and smattering of shops that lined the streets. This, was not where she wanted to be but it was the only path she knew the get to where she needed to go. It was the one street that would be the least populated at this time. Settled back in their home after a day of enjoyment and work, most people would be done for the day, and for those that were not, it would be a good hour before the ones that enjoyed and frequented the night would leave their abodes to play. This window of opportunity was the only grace period the mixed blood would have to travel in relative peace and not worry too much about attracting too much attention. It might have been an overly cautious move on her part but it had kept her alive thus far and she saw no pressing need to change the learned habit just yet. As it stood, it was also a nice break from the pressure of constantly being on guard. If it was not for her slowly dwindling Mizas’, Keira would not be this close to the busy center of town in the first place. There were too many risks, too many people, and even if she had been hiding for a year, there would always be a fear of being recognized and captured ingrained into her. Glancing one last time at the path before her and at her surroundings, she bolted around the two straggling strangers before veering right and slipping into the entrance of the entertainment area of the town. Pausing to catch her breath, Keira rested her back against the wall, a salty bead dripped down her forehead. The thin sheen of sweat that coated her body caused her ragged dress to cling to her thigh and back. Another breath was taken, summer heat in the swamp was never kind. A backpack, was shrugged off and held in a loose grip as the dark haired girl walked deeper and deeper into the district. She would not stop until she found herself in a clear enough spot near a fountain to sit. Sleek black locks flowed as it was tugged out of its braid. The usually sleek strands were curled and wavy from the pressure in which they had been twisted with. Looking just a bit older with the mass of hair, Keira hoped that it would be enough to blur any notion of familiarity. She was well aware that there were a few people after her and before she reached her goal she had no desire to be caught. The ebony haired girl settled onto the sun heated stone of the fountain. There was a little comfort to be had in the warmth. It reminded of simpler times and of gardens that always smelled of sweetness and earth. Small rough fingers reached into the ragged backpack to pull out something that was not as beaten up. Carved from wood and wound with gently frayed strings, a lyre was cradled against her lap. Care was taken as the item was tuned with practice. The soft clinks and plinks of pulled metal echoed across the space she occupied. It would be different than the humdrum of life and gossip about the area, soft and lilting, but clear. Another look was spared and a backpack was left open just a peek in askance for tips. It had been long since she played for another, but push had come to shove and Miza’s was Miza’s; she needed it. The first verse played was littered with uncertainty. Clumsy, were the digits that fluttered across the wires. The second had more sureness and by the fifth, there was a steadiness that bodied some-practice. It was not good but it was not entirely too bad. For that little moment, Keira face soften as she unwittingly fell into memories. The soothing tinkle of the lyre would be heard for a long while yet. The waif of a girl would busk until it was unsafe to do so, or when her bag looked fluffed enough with coins . |