13th Day of Winter, 513.
Was it really such a wonder that a squirrel would enjoy some private time in the forests over the outskirts of the city?
He was a squirrel, after all - he wasn't made for the city of monks, he wasn't made to be surrounded by large people and their large feet walking about the narrow, steep streets. He could traverse it of course, he could adapt to the surroundings and the stone trees with no branches, like all of the Pycons and the humans and the others. As all would believe, the world would shape him and in turn, he would shape the world - it was the natural order of things, as he accepted them, as many others would accept them or succumb to them, one way or another. But there would always be a line that would never be crossed, and this was the forest that would always be calling him from just beyond those thick stone walls. He'd resisted it for a while, for the sake of his studies and for the sake of his work in the city to gather up resources that he would need to learn more, and to eventually make the pilgrimage from Nyka back to his home in Syliras, and begin working his way up the ranks of the knights. But his line had been reached. He ached for nature again like nothing else that the world could offer.
He'd sprinted from the hostel, across the city from the Celestial. In his haste, he didn't even register most of the leaps and twists that he performed over the roof - he just took them for what they were and continued on his way. He was getting better, he could feel it in his body and in the lean understanding of the Nykan city. The different rooftops that he vaulted between, occasionally catching on the edges of the roofs to swing his lower body around and land with a small roll - not to mention a few leaps of faith that ended in the squirrel rolling over his shoulder, curling his tail behind him so that it wouldn't be crushed before bounding ahead again. A few springs here, switching between a two-legged run up and a leap to catch the edge of the roof with his hands; a few vaults there, with four legs being put to its advantages by producing a faster run-up and the occasional run-and-climb up to a higher level of the rooftops and balconies. Four legs always had their advantages, as well as claws, even if they were made out of clay. A natural advantage, and something he would never take for granted.
It surprised even the squirrel, by the end, how far he'd covered in such a short amount of time. The few rooftops that were long and sturdy enough, he'd been running at full sprint bursts and those that weren't had been at least bounded across with a fairly sure footing. Monks watching from the walls took some notice, but didn't intervene - he didn't think they'd be able to catch him if they wanted, but it wasn't his choice to make. Of course, there was always that one extra-long jump that he knew he wouldn't be able to cross.. unless he took use of his Py-Pole. He hadn't brought it with him today, though, in his reckless haste. He still tried, with a fairly long our-legged run-up and a sure-footed leap into the air, arms outstretched and waiting to catch the edge of the roof and haul himself up.
Of course, he didn't make it. In the end, he didn't really expect to, and some small part of his mind blamed that. The rest just blamed his inexperience, and looked ahead to the future when such leaps would be commonplace. His forearms dug into the smooth stone and he pushed back, falling the short distance to the floor with a sigh, and continuing down around the drains lining the edges of the houses in order to avoid the uncountable mass of humans and others walking through the streets. At least his fall had been considerably safer than last time; it was a relief that he could practice his art without putting himself in considerably grave danger.
A few chimes, and he was bolting through the open gates of Nyka, and into the dense forest just outside the outskirts. He sprinted the entire way, on all four legs, pushing himself until what he imagined would be his lungs ached. Somehow, it made him feel alive, to feel such things - the ache in what should have been his muscles, the pounding of where his heart would have been. He knew these things from talking with the humans around Syliras. It made him value the differences between their races, and their bodies. There really was nearly nothing in common between them - not even their bodies were made of the same materials. And yet they survived happily enough next to each-other.
Was it really such a wonder that a squirrel would enjoy some private time in the forests over the outskirts of the city?
He was a squirrel, after all - he wasn't made for the city of monks, he wasn't made to be surrounded by large people and their large feet walking about the narrow, steep streets. He could traverse it of course, he could adapt to the surroundings and the stone trees with no branches, like all of the Pycons and the humans and the others. As all would believe, the world would shape him and in turn, he would shape the world - it was the natural order of things, as he accepted them, as many others would accept them or succumb to them, one way or another. But there would always be a line that would never be crossed, and this was the forest that would always be calling him from just beyond those thick stone walls. He'd resisted it for a while, for the sake of his studies and for the sake of his work in the city to gather up resources that he would need to learn more, and to eventually make the pilgrimage from Nyka back to his home in Syliras, and begin working his way up the ranks of the knights. But his line had been reached. He ached for nature again like nothing else that the world could offer.
He'd sprinted from the hostel, across the city from the Celestial. In his haste, he didn't even register most of the leaps and twists that he performed over the roof - he just took them for what they were and continued on his way. He was getting better, he could feel it in his body and in the lean understanding of the Nykan city. The different rooftops that he vaulted between, occasionally catching on the edges of the roofs to swing his lower body around and land with a small roll - not to mention a few leaps of faith that ended in the squirrel rolling over his shoulder, curling his tail behind him so that it wouldn't be crushed before bounding ahead again. A few springs here, switching between a two-legged run up and a leap to catch the edge of the roof with his hands; a few vaults there, with four legs being put to its advantages by producing a faster run-up and the occasional run-and-climb up to a higher level of the rooftops and balconies. Four legs always had their advantages, as well as claws, even if they were made out of clay. A natural advantage, and something he would never take for granted.
It surprised even the squirrel, by the end, how far he'd covered in such a short amount of time. The few rooftops that were long and sturdy enough, he'd been running at full sprint bursts and those that weren't had been at least bounded across with a fairly sure footing. Monks watching from the walls took some notice, but didn't intervene - he didn't think they'd be able to catch him if they wanted, but it wasn't his choice to make. Of course, there was always that one extra-long jump that he knew he wouldn't be able to cross.. unless he took use of his Py-Pole. He hadn't brought it with him today, though, in his reckless haste. He still tried, with a fairly long our-legged run-up and a sure-footed leap into the air, arms outstretched and waiting to catch the edge of the roof and haul himself up.
Of course, he didn't make it. In the end, he didn't really expect to, and some small part of his mind blamed that. The rest just blamed his inexperience, and looked ahead to the future when such leaps would be commonplace. His forearms dug into the smooth stone and he pushed back, falling the short distance to the floor with a sigh, and continuing down around the drains lining the edges of the houses in order to avoid the uncountable mass of humans and others walking through the streets. At least his fall had been considerably safer than last time; it was a relief that he could practice his art without putting himself in considerably grave danger.
A few chimes, and he was bolting through the open gates of Nyka, and into the dense forest just outside the outskirts. He sprinted the entire way, on all four legs, pushing himself until what he imagined would be his lungs ached. Somehow, it made him feel alive, to feel such things - the ache in what should have been his muscles, the pounding of where his heart would have been. He knew these things from talking with the humans around Syliras. It made him value the differences between their races, and their bodies. There really was nearly nothing in common between them - not even their bodies were made of the same materials. And yet they survived happily enough next to each-other.
