[Southern Grasslands) Play, Prepare (Jaspayia)

[Solicah]

12, Winter 502

The fresh morning air settled in a soft morning dew touched with the slightest of frost upon the tall grasses surrounding the Moondirge Pavilion's temporary home. Solicah woke with the first light as always, and conspired to wake his ailing cousin come dawn. She slept soundly, undisturbed, but wheezing loudly against the cold which had taken to her two days prior. Solicah's plight of boredom had been severely reprimanded with a stern an unforgiving look from her mother, then rerouted with a mission. Solicah was sent out on a fools errand onto the slight slopes of the plains cropping the collection of colorful tents to retrieve a basket full of roots, basing nearly dead flowers which faded slowly and stubbornly against Morwen's approach.

The plants were not easy for the young man to spot, but this registered little concern in his mind. He knew full well, letting the skillfully crafted collapsible basket rock lifelessly by his side, that the mission had simply been a ploy to busy Solicah in the morning hours as the adults reluctantly performed their morning duties, and his cousin gathered rest.

Instead of scanning the ground as he ought to Solicah looked to the horizon, witnessing Synas approach in it's full glory, as he did nearly every morning, excluding those that followed a burial rite. The wool shirt his mother had traded for a season before had grown dirty, and his recent growth had caused it to tighten about his chest, and leaving a thumb's width of distance between the ridge of his loose worn shorts and it's frayed end. Still, the long sleeves and his inherently hearty disposition were enough to save Solicah from morning chills, along with the early mug of steaming tea prepared by his mother, another early riser. She had no time to entertain him that morning, however, having important news for the Ankal. Solicah had inquired what this might be, but the look he retrieved in response told him enough. Business he would not understand, not because he was no young, for he was very much old enough to be included on Pavillion decision, but because unlike his mother he was not a storm warden, and most importantly he had yet to earn his wind marks. This separated him often from his family, much as the other children were.

So, to dull the agonizing pain of boredom and isolation he hummed, clumsily, the prayers of Leth and half danced, half twirled his way from the tents, watching with passing rapture the sun climb upward and bring the southern plains the day's warmth.